Rest! Ah, what a delicious word to the sick and wearied man. Rest in
mind and body! How unsatisfactory appear the gaudy pictures of the
dreamer of Patmos compared with the simple words of the Master, "I
will give you rest." I can hardly say why I selected Hampton for rest.
I knew nobody here, and had never been here. But somehow I had taken
up the impression that it was one of those old East Virginia towns
that had been blown ashore by the tempest of civil war and lay stranded
on the beach of the briny ocean of life. And that was the sort of place
that quiet was to be found in. My first night was a happy confirmation
of my choice. Standing on the wharf at which lay a little steamer, the
scene was beautiful. The new moon hung in the west and cast its
glittering line over the water for miles and miles away. Thick in the
little harbor lay the slender masts of vessels with steady lights
glowing in their rigging. Across the narrow bay stood the Normal School
with its three stories brightly lighted, and further away was the
gigantic Soldiers' Home with a thousand lights burning. To the east
was the long bridge across Hampton creek, with every few minutes a
lighted omnibus or a pair of carnage lamps going leisurely across.
Further yet was a railroad train lighted and flying across the trestle
bridge. At the opening of the little bay were fisher boats, coming in
with all sail spread, the loud laughter and chaffing of the men easily
heard at this distance. Turning inland, you see a broad street, with
shade trees on each side casting dark shadows. The lights twinkle its
whole length and at one point there is a bright spot--a pretty, white
hotel with a treble deck of verandahs. That is my home for many days
to come and there I am to be at rest. The call of the bugle sounds on
the night air; it is the "taps" at the Soldiers' Home; the salt water
is beating with lazy monotone against the shore; the fisherman have