to Colman's farce, "Polly Honeycombe," the wayward young heroine confesses her lively gratitude for all the dangerous knowledge she has gleaned from novels.
"So much these dear instructors change and win us,
Without their light we ne'er should know what 's in us.
Here we at once supply our childish wants,
Novels are hotbeds for your forward plants."
Later on, Sheridan gave us the immortal Lydia Languish feeding her sentimentality upon that "evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge," the circulating library. Lydia's taste in books is catholic, but not altogether free from reproach. "Fling 'Peregrine Pickle' under the toilet," she cries to Lucy, when surprised by a visit from Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony. "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. Put 'The Man of Feeling' into your pocket. There—now for them!"
How "The Man of Feeling" ever went into Lucy's pocket remains a mystery, for it takes many volumes to hold that discursive romance, where everything from character to clothes is
