“I almost forgot my own sorrow when I saw how poor Jerry felt when he knew what had happened. Of course he did not know what I did. He _never_ knew why Zilpha was sent away, but he knew she was sold, and that there was little reason to hope he should ever see her again. He went about his work as usual, but there was a look in his eye which made one tremble. “Before many days he was missing, and though his master searched the country, and took every possible means to find him, he could discover no trace of the fugitive. I felt satisfied he had followed the North Star, but I said nothing, and was glad the poor fellow had gone from what would constantly remind him of Zilpha. “During the following winter, Mrs. Lee had a dangerous illness. I watched over her night and day, and when she recovered, my master was so grateful for what I had done, that he gave me my freedom, and money enough to bring me to the North. “Of Zilpha’s fate I have been able to learn nothing. I can only leave her with God, who though his vengeance is long delayed, hears and treasures up every sigh and tear of his poor slave-children. “I saw, a few days since, a man who knows Jerry. He is living not many miles from me, and I shall try to see him before I die. But I shall never tell him the whole extent of the wrongs he suffered in slavery.” Annie Parker. STORY TELLING. BY ANNIE PARKER. The winter wind blew cold, and the snow was falling fast, But within the cheerful parlor none listened to the blast; The fire was blazing brightly, and soft lamps their radiance shed On rare and costly pictures, and many a fair young head. The father in the easy chair, to his youngest nestling dove, Whispered a wondrous fairy tale, such as all children love; Brothers and sisters gathered round, and the eye might clearly trace A happiness too deep for words, on the mother’s lovely face. And when the fairy tale was done, the blue-eyed Ella said, “Mama, please tell a story, too, before we go to bed, And let it be a funny one, such as I like to hear, ‘Red Riding Hood,’ or ‘The Three Bears,’ or ‘Chicken Little-dear.’” A smile beamed on the mother’s face, as the little prattler spoke, And kissing her soft, rosy cheek, she thus the silence broke, “I will tell you, my own darlings, a story that is true, Of a little Southern maiden, with a skin of sable hue. “Xariffe, her mother called her, a child of beauty rare, With soft gazelle-like eyes, and curls of dark and shining hair, A fairy form of perfect grace, and such artless winning ways That none who saw her, e’er could fail her loveliness to praise. “She sported mid the orange-groves in gleeful, careless play, And her mother, as she gazed on her, in agony would pray, ‘My Father, God! be merciful! my cherished darling save From the curse whose sum of bitterness is to be a female slave.’”