When a fisherman in his wanderings through the forest discovers a pond or stream well stocked with sparkling trout, he keeps his information to himself, and frequently revisits his treasure.  So is it apt to be with the tourist and pleasure-seeker.  Here, season after season, have appeared the same men and the same families—­noticeably those who appreciate a table supplied with every delicacy of the season, served up in the most tempting manner.

Has the guest a desire to compete with the fishermen, he is furnished every convenience, and by a basket of fish “expressed” to some distant friend can demonstrate his piscatorial powers.  On the favoring beach, hard by the hotel, are bathhouses where one can prepare to sport in the refreshing billows.  The halls and rooms of the hotel were built before those days when those who resort to the seabeach were expected to be accommodated within the area of their Saratoga trunks.  Spacious, comfortably furnished, each opening on a view of the ocean, the rooms of the hotel are very attractive and pleasing.

The hotel is opened for the reception of the public early in June, and remains open into October, before the last guest departs.

The gentle poet, John Greenleaf Whittier, thus writes of Hampton Beach:—­

“I sit alone:  in foam and spray
Wave after wave
Breaks on the rocks.—­which, stern and gray,
Shoulder the broken tide away,—­
Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft and cave.

“What heed I of the dusty land
And noisy town? 
I see the mighty deep expand
From its white line of glimmering sand
To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts down.

“In listless quietude of mind
I yield to all
The change of cloud and wave and wind;
And passive, on the flood reclined,
I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall.

* * * * *

“So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell! 
I bear with me
No token stone nor glittering shell;
But long and oft shall memory tell
Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the sea.”