of Cumberland were notably hospitable and generous, especially to the stranger and the wayfarer, who were freely piloted by the hunters many miles on their way by devious bridle paths and trails.

When Browning, who was born in Frederick County in 1781, took his young wife to live in the Bear Creek glades only narrow paths led from one settlement to another, and their household goods were transported on pack-horses. Their new home was but the wreck of an old cabin that the hunters had stripped to the joists for firewood. The new tenant raised it to its former height and covered it with clapboards, but even then it had neither floor, nor chimney, nor door; by a hole in the wall they got in and out, and a rattlesnake had welcomed them to their bed-chamber. But the glade was "the most beautiful country they had ever seen." Their cattle

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and horses were pastured on sweet grass to their knees; birds of all feathers strove with each other in a riot of song, and everywhere wild turkeys roamed in the dalliance of a paradise, leading their young. But there were wolves in the thickets near by, "and in every soft piece of ground were footprints of all kinds," telling where the bear had passed, and the deer, and the rabbit. And when they dined that day it was on a table made of a sheet of maple bark "tied down to two laths to keep it from curling up at the sides." This was laid on a sort of scaffold, "made by driving four small forks into our clay floor, on which little cross-poles were placed to support the bark."

"Our dinner was made cheerful by lively chat and happy expectations, for we had all things in common. We had but to say, 'Rise, Meshach! Stay and eat!""

and important transformations have been worked in the architectural outlines of the city while its life has undergone rapid and fundamental changes.

Fifty years ago one of the old colonial hotels was still in operation as it had been in the days when General Washington was guest in it and where, on the night before he resigned his military commission, December 23, 1781, in No. 9 he slept. It was only a few years ago that the bed in which he rested was taken from the hotel. Within the present year the office where the tickets of the coach that ran between

Hotel. Within the twelfth month the broad lot that stood in front of the inn, and whose great trees furnished shade for sages and statesmen, has been desecrated with new and modern buildings, and the face of the old hostelry is being gradually shut out from the sight of the native and the stranger.

What notable men have been guests here and what mighty deeds have been consummated! On this spot the family of the famous and talented Dulanys lived, and, for generations, the hotel was the center of all political manœuvres that were consummated

in legislative enactment. This ancient hostelry was an ideal. It comprised a half dozen acres located in the center of the city, and, after providing ample grounds for promenade and stables, ice-house and carriage-way, markets and art buildings, there was left a great lot that was cultivated as a farm. Then the buildings were old and of quaint design, with magnificent shade in front and a grand porch to enjoy the sights of the main street of the city.

On this porch gathered the wits, legislators, judges and politicians of the day, and legion are the amusing anecdotes that have come down to the present generation from the habitues of this venerable hostelry. In the modern days, fifty years ago, there was a famous local democratic politician named Richard J. Crabb. His mind was largely on votes. One day the Colonel was sitting on the hotel porch and heard some gentlemen discussing "Hannibal."

The

listener's mind did not reach to the classic days when he studied history in old St. John's-it was fastened on the present. As the Colonel caught the subject of discussion, he repeated it in a far-off way: "Hannibal? Hannibal ?" as if he were questioning himself. Then, in answer to his own interrogatory, he replied: "He didn't vote here at the last election." For many decades the City Hotel owned

one of the famous relics of American history, and through a century it graced the counters of this colonial tavern on every festive and patriotic occasion. It was a bowl taken from the cabin of the Peggy Stewart, October 19, 1774, when every other article on the ship, the vessel and its cargo included, perished in the flames to satisfy the indignation of the people of Ann Arundel who were incensed at its owner paying taxes on seventeen chests of tea that the vessel had brought over. Around this bowl at the social board sages and heroes of the Revolution and the statesmen of later years have gathered and quaffed the brew of distinguished hosts. The bowl when last heard from was in Baltimore, and is guarded as a sacred link connecting the present with the heroic past. The bowl, which is 16 inches in diameter, 4 inches deep and 7 inches wide, has an interesting history. It was first used at a collation given by Lloyd Dulany, in his private residence, once part of the old City Hotel, a few evenings after the burning of the brig Peggy Stewart. Among Mr. Dulany's guest was Charles Carroll of Carrollton. Mr. Dulany explained to his company how he became possessed of this greatly admired bowl. He said that it had been sent to him by a friend in England, and the captain had assured him that in no way was it a part of

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the ship's cargo; that it was not on her manifest; that he had placed it in his cabin along with his private property, and that, after the brig had been fired, he recollected that he had promised to deliver the bowl in person. To this statement, Mr. Carroll smilingly replied: "We accept your explanation, provided, the bowl is used to draw always this same kind of tea."

The main building of the old Hotel-the place made sacred by the presence of the immortal Washington-has recently been purchased by Prof. Robert L. Werutz, late of the United States Navy. In the repairs he is making, discoveries of rare pieces of timber and of beautiful colonial carpentering are constantly being made.

The manner of the festivities and exhibitions of patriotism of the ancient Annapolitans has been often displayed in the historic hotel. In 1790, on Monday, February eleven, old style, the citizens of Annapolis, celebrated Washington's birthday. An elegant dinner was set at Mann's Hotel, at which and by which the governor,

citizens and strangers within the gates honored the illustrious hero. The Maryland Gazette, the local journal, warmed with the scene, and said: "It exhibited a striking picture of social and elevated joy. The name of Washington operated like a charm upon the minds and spirits of the whole company. Reverence, gratitude and love were depicted on every face, and the affections of the heart were disclosed by all the external expressions of ardent passions. The powers of beauty could only complete this joyful festival. And these were not wanting, for, at the evening assembly, the animating presence of the ladies gave fresh spur to the feelings of the day. Vive le President shone in the countenance, was inscribed in the dress and engraved on the heart of every fair attendant. In a word, such an occasion alone could excite a feeling so general and so sincere."

After the dinner a gentleman favored the company with an original song, depicting the birth of Washington at the command of Jove!

THE second and third class railroad car

riages give the foreigner an opportunity to study the life of the Japanese people. On entering the first thing one notices is that white lines are drawn across the glass windows, and upon inquiry the information is elicited that some of the people who travel in the cars are unused to glass, which perhaps they have never seen before, and that they are apt to put their heads through if there is nothing to indicate that a substance bars the way.

In cold weather all Japanese travelers carry rugs, for the cars are heated merely by long steel cylinders filled with hot water and laid on the floor. Since the passengers are always pulling open the windows, Japanese cars in midwinter are a menace to the health of every individual who has become used to an even temperature within doors.

The smallest incident of travel is enough to break the ice, and if a person has a wrong ticket or has lost anything it is a matter of interest and solicitude for everybody else. Many of the passengers are apt to behave with the same unrestrained freedom as in their own homes. If they are starting on a long journey they at once proceed to make themselves as comfortable as possible. A rug is spread out on the seat, for they are particular never to sit on anything that is not perfectly clean. Then they shake off their geta, or wooden clogs, and curl their feet up underneath. next thing is a smoke, in which both men and women indulge, sometimes lighting

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cigarette after cigarette, but more often. they use the tiny pipe, which never contains more tobacco than a wisp the size of a pea, and affords one, sometimes two, puffs to the smoker. The ash is then knocked out on the floor and another wisp stuffed in and lighted from the smoldering ash which has just been thrown away. This is kept up, off and on, for hours.

When not smoking, eating is going on. At every station there are venders of the little mandarin oranges. Every passenger buys a dozen or more, and eats them in a short time, throwing the skins about the floor. Boys pass by with tea in tiny earthen pots, a cup placed over the top, and this may be purchased for three sen (three cents and a half), and the teapot is left in the car. Besides leaning out of the car windows to buy these the passengers have little wooden boxes filled with lunch. In the upper part is closely packed rice, in the lower are all sorts of little pickles and bits of cake. Attached are two wooden chopsticks.

The Japanese throw all sorts of refuse about, and from the appearance of a car after the passengers have been in it a little while one would imagine that the people are very untidy in their way of living. Porters enter at some of the stations and brush up whole pans of refuse, and on some lines of the road a small boy in a spruce uniform comes to the car door at each stop with a clothes brush in his hand, makes a deep bow to the occupants and inquires if there is anything that they want.