Fling 'Peregrine Pickle' under the toilet; throw 'Roderick Random' into the closet; put 'The Innocent Adultery' into 'The Whole Duty of Man;' thrust 'Lord Aimworth' under the sofa; cram 'Ovid' behind the bolster; there, put 'The Man of Feeling' into your pocket--so, so--now lay 'Mrs.Chapone' in sight, and leave 'Fordyce's Sermons' open on the table." LUCY.

O, burn it, ma'am.

The hairdresser has torn away as far as "Proper Pride." LYDIA.

Never mind; open at "Sobriety." Fling me "Lord Chesterfield's Letters." Now for 'em! It will be perceived that the property-master of the theatre is here required to produce quite a library of stage-books.

Does he buy them by the dozen, from the nearest book-stall--out of that trunk full of miscellaneous volumes, boldly labelled, "All these at fourpence"?
And does he then recover them with the bright blue or scarlet that is so dear to him, daubing them here and there with his indispensable Dutch metal?
Of course their contents can matter little.