70 DYERS HOLLOW. 



One of my favorite jaunts was to climb 

 this hill, or plateau, the "Hill of Storms" 

 (I am still ignorant whether the storms in 

 question were political, ecclesiastical, or at- 

 mospheric, but I approve the name), and 

 go down on the other side into a narrow 

 valley whose meanderings led me to the 

 ocean beach. This valley, or, to speak in 

 the local dialect, this hollow, like the paral- 

 lel one in which I lived, the valley of the 

 Pamet, runs quite across the Cape, from 

 ocean to bay, a distance of two miles and a 

 half, more or less. 



At my very first sight of Dyer's Hollow 

 I fell in love with it, and now that I have 

 left it behind me, perhaps forever, I foresee 

 that my memories of it are likely to be even 

 fairer and brighter than was the place itself. 

 I call it Dyer's Hollow upon the authority 

 of the town historian, who told me, if I un- 

 derstood him correctly, that this was its 

 name among sailors, to whom it is a land- 

 mark. By the residents of the town I com- 

 monly heard it spoken of as Longnook or 

 Pike's Hollow, but for reasons of my own I 

 choose to remember it by its nautical desig- 

 nation, though myself as far as possible from 

 being a nautical man. 



