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.
STORY TELLING.
BY ANNIE PARKER.
The winter wind blew cold, and the snow was falling fast,
But within the cheerful parlour 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;