ong sleep.

On the grounds east of the college buildings stands the Tulip Tree
which sheltered the first settlers of Annapolis in 1649, and may have
hidden away in the memory-cells of its stanch old heart reminiscences
of a time when a bluff old Latin sailor, with more ambition in his
soul than geography in his head, unwittingly blundered onto a New
World. Whatever may be its recollections, it has sturdily weathered
the storms of centuries, surviving the tempests hurled against it by
Nature and the poetry launched upon it by Man. It has been known by
the name of the "Treaty Tree," from a tradition that in the shade of
its branches the treaty with the Susquehannoghs was signed in 1652. In
1825 General La Fayette was entertained under its spreading boughs,
and it has since extended hospitable arms over many a patriotic
celebration.

In "the antiente citie" Francis Scott Key found many things which
appealed to his patriotic soul. On the State House hill was the old
cannon brought to Maryland by Lord Baltimore's colony and rescued from
a protracted bath in St. Mary's River to take its place among the many
relics of history which make Annapolis the repository of old stories
tinged by time and fancy with a mystic coloring of superstition. He
lived in the old "Carvel House," erected by Dr. Upton Scott on
Shipwright Street. Not far away was the "Peggy Stewart" dwelling,
overlooking the harbor where the owner of the unfortunate _Peggy
Stewart_, named for the mistress of the mansion, was forced by the
revolutionary citizens of Annapolis, perhaps incited by an
over-zealous enthusiasm but with good intentions, to burn his ship in
penalty for having paid the tax on its cargo of tea.

If Francis Key had a taste for the supernatural, there was ample
opportunity for its gratification in this haven of tradition. He may
have seen the headless man who was accustomed to walk down Green
Street to Market Space, with what intention was never divulged. Every
old house had its ghost, handed down through the generations, as
necessary a piece of furniture as the tester-bed or the sideboard.
Perhaps not all of these mysterious visitants were as quiet as the
shadowy lady of the Brice house, who would glide softly in at the hour
of gloaming and, with her head on her hand, lean against the mantel,
look sadly into the faces of the occupants of the room, and vanish
without a sound--of course, it is undeniable that Annapolis would have
only well-bre