(From a drawing by John Leech in 'Punch').] [Illustration: COMING OF AGE (Drawn by R. Caldecott).] With mamma in tears and papa in the fidgets, the bride half-way towards hysterics, and the bridegroom wishing from the bottom of his heart that the crowded dining-room would suddenly transform itself into a securely-locked first-class coupé speeding onwards in the direction of Dover, the task of those speakers on whom devolves the duty of descanting upon 'the happy occasion which has brought us together' is of a surety no easy one. And it would be still more uphill work were it not for the amount of cheerful inspiration fortunately to be drawn from the familiar foil-topped bottles. By and by, when the more serious speeches have been duly stammered through, and the jovial bachelor--a middle-aged one by preference--rises to propose 'the health of the bridesmaids,' bursts of laughter from the men and responsive titters, bubbling up like the sparkling atoms in the wine which has inspired them, from the lips of the damsels in question and their compeers, prove beyond question that Champagne has done its duty in dissipating the gloom originally prevailing. A wedding, too, is the customary precursor of other family gatherings at which the vintage of the Marne plays the same enlivening part. There are, for instance, christenings where godfathers bring as their offerings masterpieces of the silversmith's craft, and the infant's health is quaffed by turns in 'Sherry in silver, Hock in gold, and glassed Champagne;' for the wine of mirth is out of place in metal, however precious, and needs the purest crystal to exhibit all its finer qualities. There are also coming-of-age banquets, whereat young Hopeful is enabled to stumble and stutter through a series of jerky and disjointed phrases of thanks--commonplace as they may be, which never fail to awaken the tenderest emotions in the heart of the maternal author of his being--by the aid of sundry glasses of the sparkling wine of the Marne. 'O the wildfire wine of France! Quick with fantasies florescent, Rapturously effervescent, How its atoms leap and dance! Floric fount of love and laughter, Where its emanations rise All the difficulty dies From the now and the hereafter. Through the happy golden haze Time's gray cheek is bright with dimples, And his laugh more lightly wimples Than the sea's on summer days. Tongue and throat it makes to tingle, Beats the blood from heart to vein, And ascending to the brain, Bids the spirit forth and mingle With a world no longer grim, But serene and sweet and spacious, Where the girls are fair and gracious, And the Cupids light of limb.