To our monarch’s return one more we’ll advance, We’ve a king that’s in Flanders, another in France; Then about with the health, let him come, let him come, then, Send the one into England, and both are at home then.[183] And, lastly, the _Clubs_. Such was their influence that Doran even wrote:--‘The Clubs ... were the chief causes that manners were as depraved as they were.’[184] But it must be remembered that they were effect as well as cause. The Calves’ Head Club was probably as bad as any. Out of a calf’s skull filled with wine, the company drank ‘to the pious memory of those worthy patriots who killed the tyrant.’ An anniversary anthem was sung. That for the year 1697 concludes thus:-- Advance the emblem of the action, Fill the calf’s skull full of wine; Drinking ne’er was counted faction, Men and gods adore the wine. To the heroes gone before us, Let’s renew the flowing bowl; While the lustre of their glories Shines like stars from pole to pole.[185] Another famous club was supposed to obtain its name from the custom of pledging favourites after dinner. Thus, Arbuthnot writes:-- Whence deathless Kit-kat took his name, Few critics can unriddle; Some say from pastry-cook it came, And some from Cat and Fiddle. From no trim beaus its name it boasts, Grey statesmen or green wits, But from this pell-mell pack of toasts Of old Cats and young Kits. In the year 1703, which was the second year of _Queen Anne_, the famous Methuen treaty was formed; war between England and France again driving us to Portuguese vintages. And thus was cancelled one of the effects of the Peace of Ryswick, which allowed the reopening of trade with France. It was during this short open-trade period that Farquhar produced his aptly named tragedy, _Love and a Bottle_. In this comedy we are for the first time introduced to champagne as a _vin mousseux_, or sparkling wine. In act ii. scene 2, the lodgings of Mockmode, a country squire, are represented; he is conversing with his landlady, Widow Bullfinch:-- _Mock._ But what’s most modish for beverage now? For I suppose the fashion of that always alters with the clothes. _Bullf._ The tailors are the best judges of that; but Champaign, I suppose. _Mock._ Is Champaign a tailor? Methinks it were a fitter name for a wig-maker. I think they call my wig a campaign. _Bullf._ You’re clear out, sir--clear out. Champaign is a fine liquor, which all great beaux drink to make ‘em witty. _Mock._ Witty! Oh, by the universe, I must be witty! I’ll drink nothing else; I never was witty in my life. Here, Club, bring us a bottle of what d’ye call it--the witty liquor. The widow having retired, Club, Mockmode’s servant, re-enters with a bottle and glasses. _Mock._ Is that the witty liquor? Come, fill the glasses.... But where’s the wit now, Club? Have you found it?