Preface
The Royal Crescent—
"Open we here on a Spring day fine..."
the first scene of this Bath Comedy.
The precise year, however, may not be given. A sufficient reason for reticence in the matter of exact date will be found in the unfortunate predicament of the then Bishop of Bath and Wells: undoubtedly a most mortifying episode in the life of an invariably dignified Divine. Now there were several Bishops of Bath and Wells during the second half of the 18th century, and this trifling lack of circumstantiality will do away with the least trace of scandal.
The second half of the century, however, is admitted. The fact, indeed, would be revealed at once to the curious in the matter, by the mention, on the one hand, of the King's Circus (which dates from the last years of second George), and on the other by the reference to Bathwick Meadows as a solitary site and still fitted at the time to an honourable meeting, whereas it has been known as a place of popular resort (under the name of Sydney Gardens) since the year 1795.
A few other points, again (should anyone think worth his while to consider so trifling a question), might serve to fix within a few lustres the date of Mrs. Kitty Bellairs' cantrips as they affected, among other things, Lady Standish's domestic happiness, Mr. O'Hara's connubial hopes, and my Lord Verney's sentimental education.
It may be noticed, for instance, that the gentlemen wear their swords. That was, as most people know, a distinction strenuously denied them so long as the immortal Master of Ceremonies, Mr. Richard Nash, reigned as King of Bath. Now, his autocratic rule came to an end before George the Third was King. As another landmark it will be recalled that the notorious and indecorous encounter between Richard Brinsley Sheridan and that unpleasant personage, Captain Matthews, was the last duel with swords fought in the Kingdom: and it was fought in 1772.
Furthermore, our Captain Spicer (whether veraciously or not) claims to have been a favoured pupil of the famous Angelo—and such a perfecting course in the noble art could not have been acquired before the early sixties. Then, again, there is still a good deal of powder in our actors' head-dress. The slippers of our actresses are still delicious and high-heeled: the sandal of the nineties has not yet made its dreadful appearance. And the ladies visard, if not so universal as it once had been, is still an accepted institution.