A RARE OLD TOWN The drive from Baltimore to the sweet, slumbering city of Annapolis is over a good road, but through barren country.

Taken in the crisp days of autumn, by a northern visitor sufficiently misguided to have supposed that beyond Mason and Dixon's Line the winters are tropical it may prove an uncomfortable drive--unless he be able to borrow a fur overcoat.

It was on this drive that my disillusionment concerning the fall and winter climate of the South began, for, wearing two cloth overcoats, one over the other, I yet suffered agonies from cold.

The sun shone down upon the open automobile in which we tore along, but its rays were no competitors for the biting wind.

Through lap robes, cloth caps, and successive layers of clothing, and around the edges of goggles, fine little frozen fangs found their way, like the pliable beaks of a race of gigantic, fabulous mosquitoes from the Arctic regions.