There was some excuse for wine when it brought out that now forgotten
expression of good-will. Many a feud was reconciled in the clinking of
glasses; just as many another was begun when the cup was drained too
deeply. The first quarter of the last century saw the end of all the
social glories of the wassail in this country, and though men drank as
much fifty years later, all its poetry and romance had then disappeared.

It was still, however, the custom at that period to call on the name of
some fair maiden, and sing her praises over the cup as it passed. It was
a point of honour for all the company to join the health. Some beauties
became celebrated for the number of their toasts; some even standing
toasts among certain sets. In the Kit-kat Club the custom was carried
out by rule, and every member was compelled to name a beauty, whose
claims to the honour were then discussed, and if her name was approved,
a separate bowl was consecrated to her, and verses to her honour
engraved on it. Some of the most celebrated toasts had even their
portraits hung in the club-room, and it was no slight distinction to be
the favourite of the Kit-kat. When only eight years old, Lady Mary
Wortley Montagu enjoyed this privilege. Her father, the Lord Dorchester,
afterwards Evelyn, Duke of Kingston, in a fit of caprice, proposed 'the
pretty little child' as his toast. The other members, who had never seen
her, objected; the Peer sent for her, and there could no longer be any
question. The forward little girl was handed from knee to knee, petted,
probably, by Addison, Congreve, Vanbrugh, Garth, and many another famous
wit. Another celebrated toast of the Kit-kat, mentioned by Walpole, was
Lady Molyneux, who, he says, died smoking a pipe.

This club was no less celebrated for its portraits than for the ladies
it honoured. They, the portraits, were all painted by Kneller, and all