Then the Citadel, the very name of which revives reminiscences of Quebec, and suggests something out of the every-day order of summer jaunts. As we ascend the hill to the fortress, the first thing attracting our attention is amusing. The "squatty" looking clock tower, which appears as if part of a church spire, had been carried away by a high wind and dropped down on this embankment. Octavius says, "What a jolly place for coasting, if it were not for the liability of being plunged into the harbor at the foot!" as we mount the hill. At the gate we are consigned to the care of a tall soldier, whose round fatigue cap must be _glued_ to his head, or it certainly would fall off, so extreme is the angle at which it inclines over his ear. A company of soldiers are drilling within the enclosure, their scarlet coats quite dazzling in the bright sunlight and in contrast with the cold gray granite; while others, at opposite angles of the walls, are practicing signals with flags, the maneuvers of the latter being quite entertaining as they wave the banners, now slowly, now rapidly, diagonally, vertically, horizontally, or frantically overhead, as if suddenly distraught. Probably this exercise could be seen in any of our forts; but as we are now beyond the borders of the United States, every detail interests us, and we have become astonishingly observant. The gloomy and massive bomb proof walls of the soldiers' quarters appear quite prison-like, with their narrow windows; and our guide, speaking of the monotony of garrison life, rejoices that in a few months his term of service will expire, and then he "will go to the States". "The States" seem to be a Land of Promise to many people of this region; and, though this is gratifying to our national pride, we cannot but see that many make a mistake in going to "America"; as, for instance, the young girls of Annapolis, who, leaving comfortable homes, the away to Boston, where, if they can get positions in an already crowded field, they wear themselves out in factories; or, having a false pride which prevents them from acknowledging failure and returning home, they remain until, broken down by discouragement and disappointment, compelled to accept charity. On this account the service at Annapolis is not what might be desired; and Octavius humorously wonders, when the "green hand" persistently offers him viands from the wrong side, "how he is expected to reach the plate unless he puts his arm around her." "But we digress." As our party, with other sight seers who have joined the procession, promenade about the fort, a culprit in the guardroom catches sight of the visitors as they pass, and, evidently for their hearing, sings mischievously,-- "Farewell, my own! Light of my life, farewell! For crime unknown I go to a dungeon cell"