"Unknown to her the rigid rule, The dull restraint, the chiding frown, The weary torture of the school; The taming of wild nature down. Her only lore, the legends told Around the soldiers' fire; at night Stars rose and set, and seasons rolled; Flowers bloomed, and snowflakes fell, Unquestioned, in her sight!" Her career was full of adventure and intrepid daring, and she served the disloyal cause she espoused faithfully and to the bitter end; and then, like other wandering stars of the troubled sky, sank into oblivion. From the time of Miss Boyd's visit until the seventh of May, Willard Glazier continued to lead the same dull life at Libby Prison. The monotony of the hours was unbroken by any circumstance more exciting than a visit from the celebrated partisan chief, Mosby, who is described by Glazier as a _preux chevalier_, at that time about twenty-eight years of age, in figure slight, with straight fair hair and closely shaven face, except that "a faded German moustache overshadowed his upper lip." It does not appear that he was received as a welcome visitor, although he jocularly remarked to some of the prisoners who had been captured by his own troopers that he was "glad to see them there." Time! what wonders dost thou work. But a few years have passed, and Mosby, who was erst so malignant a rebel, that even the poor, but loyal, prisoners, presented him the cold shoulder, is now a confidential friend of the late Commander in chief of the Union Army! Longstreet, the rebel General, again swears by the Star-Spangled Banner; and Beauregard, hero of Sumter and Bull Run, is now an advocate of perfect equality between the black and white races in his Southern State of Louisiana! The visit of Colonel Mosby was the last memorable incident of our hero's sojourn in "Libby." Upon the seventh of May following, the prisoners were removed thence to Danville, Virginia. Several, in the course of this transit, effected their escape, but the great majority were safely conveyed to their new place of imprisonment. The change made no improvement in their unhappy condition. True, the rations furnished at Danville were of somewhat better quality, and more liberal in quantity, but the discipline was equally Draconian, and the penalty of its slightest infraction--death! The chief source of misery among the captives was want of room, the men being compelled to sleep "spoon-fashion," and in detachments, many being compelled to stand up awake while their comrades slept as best they could.