with the silver ribbon of the creek and stream; beyond are
glimpses of restful rustic scenes, improved by near approach; spires
pointing heavenward from all the peaceful villages, and, further away,
Agamenticus and the granite hills of New England; to the south, the
beach runs on toward Salisbury and Newburyport. But the great view from
Boar's Head is from the ocean apex of the promontory. Here, beneath the
grateful shade of an awning, with the waves breaking rythmically at the
foot of the cliff far beneath, one can sit and ponder on the immensity
of the ocean and dream of the lands beyond the horizon. From here the
whole seaboard, from Thatcher's Island to York and Wells, is in view;
the Isles of Shoals loom up on the horizon, while the offing is dotted
with coasters and yachts of every rig and construction. Calm, indeed,
must it be when no wind is felt on Boar's Head; and during those
exceptional days of the summer, when the land-breeze prevails, the broad
verandas around three sides of the hotel afford the most grateful shade.
The broad acres between the house and the bluff is a lawn for the use of
the guests, where croquet and tennis may be highly enjoyed in the
invigorating ocean air.

During the evening, when the atmosphere is clear, there are visible from
the Head thirteen lighthouses. When the shades of night and the dew have
driven the guests to seek shelter within doors, the great parlor affords
to the young people ample room for the cotillion or German, while the
reception-room, office, and reading-room lure the seniors to whist or
magazines. Of a Sunday, the dining-room answers for a chapel; and in
years past, the voice of many an eloquent preacher has echoed through
the room, and reached, through the open windows, hardy but devout
fishermen on the outside.

These same fishermen bring great codfish from the outlying shoals,
delicious clams from the flats, canvas-back duck, and teal, and
yellow-leg plovers from the marshes, to tempt the delicate appetite of
the valetudinarian.

Boar's Head is on the seacoast of the old town of Hampton, in the State
of New Hampshire. Taking a team from Mr. Dumas' well-stocked stable, one
will find the most delightful drives, extending in all directions
through the ancient borough. The roads follow curves, like the drives in
Central Park, and two centuries and a half of wear have rendered them as
solid and firm as if macadamized. Three short miles from the hotel is
the stati