OCTOBER. 
THE VINE—THE FAMILY. 
‘ They led the vine 
To wed her elm; she spoused, about him twines 
Her marriageable arms, and with her brings 
Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn 
His barren leaves.’— Milton. 
HAD not seen Winthrop for years; but we 
were old college friends, and I had gladly 
accepted an invitation to renew our ancient 
intimacy, by passing the Hew Year’s season in 
his family. I found him still the same hale, 
kindly, cheery fellow, as in days of old, though 
time had taken the same liberty with his hand¬ 
some head that Jack Frost had with the cedars 
and spruces out-of-doors, in giving to it a grace¬ 
ful and becoming sprinkle of silver. 
‘ Here you are, my dear fellow! ’ said he, 
shaking me by both hands. ‘ Just in season for the ham 
and chickens—coffee all smoking. My dear,’ he added, to a motherly- 
looking woman who now entered, ‘ here’s John! I beg pardon, Mr. 
Stuart.’ As he spoke, two bold, handsome boys broke into the room, 
accompanied by a huge Newfoundland dog, all as full of hilarity and 
abundant animation as an afternoon of glorious skating could have 
generated. 
‘ Ha, Tom and Ned! You rogues ; you don’t want any supper to¬ 
night, I suppose,’ said the father, gaily. ‘ Come up here and be introduced 
to my old friend. Here they come,’ said he, as one by one the opening 
doors admitted the various children to the summons of the evening 
meal. ‘ Here,’ presenting a tall young girl, ‘ is our eldest, beginning 
to think herself a young lady on the strength of being fifteen, and 
wearing her hair tucked up. And here is Eliza,’ said he, giving a pull 
to a blooming, roguish girl of ten, with large, saucy, black eyes. ‘ And 
here is Willie,’ a bashful, blushing little fellow, in a checked apron. 
‘And now, where’s the little queen? where’s her majesty? where’s 
Ally?’ 
A golden head of curls was, at this instant, thrust timidly in at 
