DYERS HOLLOW. 83 



urally struck the valley when I approached 

 it by way of the Hill of Storms. Here I 

 happened upon my only Cape Cod cowbird, 

 a full-grown youngster, who was being min- 

 istered unto in the most devoted manner by 

 a red-eyed vireo, such a sight as always 

 fills me with mingled amusement, astonish- 

 ment, admiration, and disgust. That any 

 bird should be so befooled and imposed 

 upon! Here, too, I saw at different times 

 an adult male blue yellow-backed warbler, 

 and a bird of the same species in immature 

 plumage. It seemed highly probable, to say 

 the least, that the young fellow had been 

 reared not far off, the more so as the neigh- 

 boring Wellfleet woods were spectral with 

 hanging lichens, of the sort which this ex- 

 quisite especially affects. At first I won- 

 dered why this particular little grove, by no 

 means peculiarly inviting in appearance, 

 should be the favorite resort of so many 

 birds, robins, orioles, wood pewees, king- 

 birds, chippers, golden warblers, black-and- 

 white creepers, prairie warblers, red-eyed 

 vireos, and blue yellow-backs; but I pres- 

 ently concluded that a fine spring of water 

 just across the road must be the attraction. 



