JUNE DAYS. 69 
no doubt, say “Our lot is cast in pleasant places: here 
will we abide.” 
No one who has seen a meadow full of the scarlet 
painted-cup (Castilleta coccinea, Spreng.) can forget 
the charm which such a scene casts over his sense of 
the beautiful. I know only one such meadow. Itisa 
Mecca toward which I turn my face annually, and not 
alone. My friends may share the pleasure with me 
without diminishing my own. These scarlet tufts, glow- 
ing in the green of the grass, are almost like flashes of 
fire, and suggest the scarlet tanager and the Baltimore 
oriole as fit occupants of the orchard and woodlands 
near. The name of Castillejo, a Spanish botanist, can- 
not be forgotten as long as it is associated with this 
favorite flower. Like Linnzus, he has gained a sort of 
ammortality. 
Close by the painted-cup I find the pink azalea 
(Rhododendron nudiflorum, Torr.), a member of a gréat 
family whose homes are chiefly in temperate North 
America and among the mountains of India. When 
seen in the wildwood, with the surroundings in which 
Nature has placed them, our native species seem in no 
way inferior to the most highly prized exotics; when 
transplanted to the garden they sometimes lose that 
attractiveness by comparisons for which they were 
evidently not intended. Fortunate are we if we can 
