Again, and yet again, the cup goes round, until no longer he stands firmly among his companions. See him now, reeling, tottering, staggering, as he is borne away for the first time in his life, helplessly intoxicated, borne to his loving mother, whose grey hairs blanched whiter in that night of sorrow. In a desperate mood young Sherman had permitted himself to be thus overcome, and, when the effects of the stimulant had worn off, he strove by the most affectionate attentions to make amends for the pain he had occasioned his mother. He even went so far as to bend his proud spirit to offer something like an apology. "Mother," said he, as he placed his morning kiss upon her care worn face, before going to his office, "do not worry; I shall not again forget myself. It was foolish, I know, but I cared not at the time what became of me. Now don't worry. There is no danger of me." Mrs. Sherman sighed as the door closed on her darling. "So like his father," she murmured. Could she have seen him an hour later, the resemblance to his father might have struck her still more forcibly, for the social glass was again at his lips. Fortunately for the dear old lady, there were other claims upon her attention, and, from a sense of duty, she strove very hard to bury her anxiety for her son in the folds of silk and laces which were to constitute the wedding paraphernalia of her daughter. Lacking independence of thought, that young lady relied almost entirely upon the opinion of others, and the consequence was that not a ribbon, or a flower met her approval until she had first consulted half a dozen young friends, who, being apt to differ, kept her mind in a perpetual tumult. The mooted question on the morning before mentioned, was the exact length required for the bridal veil, Her confidents all differed in opinion, and, in despair, she appealed to her mother. "Mamma, Isabel thinks the veil is two inches too long, and Clara says it is only half an inch, and Caroline says it is just right. Now what do you think?" "Why, it seems to be entirely a matter of taste, my dear; perhaps you had better put it on and ask the doctor's advice." "O, mamma, the doctor knows nothing at all about the fashions, and if he did, he would not follow them I know," said she rather petishly. "He won't do anything anybody else does." "Why, Louise!" said her mother in surprise.