```While every crested hill and rocky height ```Each moment varies in the kindling light ```To some new form of beauty--changing through ```All shades and colors of the rainbow's hue, ```'The last still loveliest,' till the gorgeous day ```Melts in a flood of golden light away, ```And all is o'er." `````--Sarah Helen Whitman.= [Illustration: 9414] OWARD the decline of a brilliant afternoon, I left Annapolis for Washington City. The air was as balmy as spring; "December as pleasant as May." The west was glowing with radiant beauty at sun-setting when I crossed the long bridge over the South River, and quaffed a cup of cold water from a bubbling spring at the toll-house on the southern side. The low, sandy country was exchanged for a region more rolling and diversified; and my ride during the early evening, with a half moon and brilliant stars casting down their mild effulgence, would have been delightful, but for the provoking obstructions which a lack of public spirit and private enterprise had left in the way. The highway was the "county road," yet it passed, almost the whole distance from Annapolis to Washington, through plantations, like a private wagon-path, without inclosure. Wherever the division fences of fields crossed the road, private interest had erected a barred gate to keep out intrusive cattle, and these the traveler was obliged to open. Being my own footman, I was exercised in limbs and patience to my heart's content, for, during a drive of thirteen miles that evening, I _opened_ fifteen gates; who _closed_ them I have never ascertained. The miles seemed excessively long; the gates were provokingly frequent. I never paid tribute with greater reluctance, for it was the exaction of laziness and neglect. I crossed the Patuxent at seven o'clock, and halted at Queen Anne, a small, antiquated-looking village, some of the houses of which, I doubt not, were erected during the reign of its godmother. It is close to the Patuxent, and for many years was the principal depot in the state for the inspection and sale of tobacco. Flat-bottomed boats bore away from it, in former years, heavy cargoes of the nauseous stuff; now sand-bars fill the river channel, and the freight-boats stop eight miles below. The tobacco business has ceased; the railway from Annapolis to Washington has withdrawn the business incident to a post-route, and every thing indicates decay. There was no tavern in the plaee, but I procured a supper and comfortable lodgings at the post-office. We breakfasted by candle-light, and, before "sun up," as the Southerners say, I was on my way toward the Federal city, twenty-three miles distant.