It was a simple jewel, embellished only by a few Greek characters, but it was the emblem of one of those college societies, in which secrecy and mystery add a charm to the ties of brotherhood. And it was this fraternal tie, stronger than that of Free-Masonry, because more exclusive, that made Hugh's a pleasant imprisonment, and made him happy in the love of one faithful among the faithless, loyal among many traitors. For of course the reader has surmised--for poetic justice demands it--that Hugh fell desperately in love with Annie, and Annie _ditto_ Hugh. How he told the tender tale, and how she answered him,--whether with the conventional quantity of blushes and sighs, or not,--is none of your business, reader, or mine; so don't ask me any questions. It was the evening of the day before Hugh's departure. They, Annie and Hugh, sat in the little porch, silent and sad, watching the shadows slowly creeping up the mountain side towards its sun-kissed summit, like a sombre pall of sorrow shrouding a bright hope. 'And to-morrow you are free.' 'No, Annie, not free. My sword will be free, but my heart will still linger here, a prisoner. But when the war is over, and the old flag restored--' 'Then,' and here her eyes were filled with the glorious light of prophetic hope, '_I_ will be _your_ prisoner.' And still Hugh is fighting for the dear old flag; and still Annie is praying for it, and waiting for the sweet imprisonment. There has been many as sweet a romance as this, reader, acted ere this, during the war. Would that all captivity were as pleasant! * * * * * 'I would not live alway,' says the hymn, and the sentiment has, like every great truth, been set forth in a thousand forms. One of the most truly beautiful which we have ever met is that of THE CITY OF THE LIVING. In a long-vanished age, whose varied story No record has to-day, So long ago expired its grief and glory-- There flourished, far away, In a broad realm, whose beauty passed all measure A city fair and wide, Wherein the dwellers lived in peace and pleasure And never any died. Disease and pain and death, those stern marauders, Which mar our world's fair face, Never encroached upon the pleasant borders Of that bright dwelling-place. No fear of parting and no dread of dying Could ever enter there-- No mourning for the lost, no anguished crying Made any face less fair. Without the city's walls, death reigned as ever, And graves rose side by side-- Within, the dwellers laughed at his endeavor, And never any died. O, happiest of all earth's favored places! O, bliss, to dwell therein-- To live in the sweet light of loving faces And fear no grave between!