In the passage of troops between the Northern and Southern States, Baltimore was often the scene of activity and excitement; beyond this, it has but little military history connected with our subject. Its statesmen and soldiers did good service in the forum and in the field, and their names and deeds are conspicuously recorded in various portions of these volumes. We will make Annapolis, the old capital of Maryland, our point of view, in taking a survey of the general history of the state, for that city was the soul and center of action during the Revolution. [[December 4, 1848]] I left Baltimore for Annapolis, thirty miles southward, at a little after three o'clock, crossing the Patapsco River at sunset, upon a long, rickety draw-bridge, having a toll-gatherer at the southern end. The sky was clear, and the moon being sufficiently advanced in illumination to promise a fair degree of light, I resolved to push forward as far as the "half-way house," fifteen miles from Baltimore, before halting. Soon after leaving the bridge, the road penetrated a forest of oaks and chestnuts, filled with those beautiful evergreens, the laurel and the holly. Passing several cultivated openings where the country was rolling, I reached a level, sandy region, and at dark entered a forest of pines, its deep shadows relieved occasionally by small openings recently made by the woodman's ax. I had passed only two small houses in a journey of six miles, and without seeing the face of a living creature, when I met a negro man and woman, and inquired for the "halfway house." The woman assured me that it was two miles ahead; and, in the plenitude of her kind feelings, promised that I should find "plenty o' liquor dar." After driving at least four miles, I perceived that I had "run off the track," mistaking one of the numerous branches of the main road for the highway itself. After traversing the deep, sandy way, in the gloom, until almost eight o'clock, when traveler and horse were thoroughly wearied, I was cheered by the barking of a dog, and in a few moments crossed a stream, and came in sight of a spacious mansion, surrounded by many broad acres of cultivation. The merry voices of children, who were playing in the lane, were hushed as I halted at the gate and hailed. A servant swung it wide open for my entrance, and when I asked for entertainment for the night, the kindest hospitality was extended. The proprietor of the plantation was the widow of a Methodist clergyman, who was drowned in the Severn a few years ago. Her mother, residing with her, had been, in former years, a parishioner of my own pastor, the Reverend Stephen H. Tyng, D.D. This fact was a sympathetic link; and a home feeling, with its gentle influence, came over me as the evening passed away in pleasant conversation. I left the mansion of Mrs. Robinson, the next morning, with real regret. I had there a foretaste of that open hospitality which