Part 7

The prospect is still more dark for those who believe--as many do--that no epiphytal orchid under any circumstances can be induced to establish itself permanently in our greenhouses as it does at home. Doubtless, they say, it is possible to grow them and to flower them, by assiduous care, upon a scale which is seldom approached under the rough treatment of Nature. But they are dying from year to year, in spite of appearances. That it is so in a few cases can hardly be denied; but, seeing how many plants which have not changed hands since their establishment, twenty or thirty or forty years ago, have grown continually bigger and finer, it seems much more probable that our ignorance is to blame for the loss of those species which suddenly collapse. Sir Trevor Lawrence observed the other day: "With regard to the longevity of orchids, I have one which I know to have been in this country for more than fifty years, probably even twenty years longer than that--Renanthera coccinea." The finest specimens of Cattleya in Mr. Stevenson Clarke's houses have been "grown on" from small pieces imported twenty years ago. If there were more collections which could boast, say, half a century of uninterrupted attention, we should have material for forming a judgment; as a rule, the dates of purchase or establishment were not carefully preserved till late years.

But there is one species of Cattleya which must needs have seventy years of existence in Europe, since it had never been re-discovered till 1890. When we see a pot of C. labiata, the true, autumn-flowering variety, more than two years old, we know that the very plant itself must have been established about 1818, or at least its immediate parent--for no seedling has been raised to public knowledge.

In avowing a certain indifference to Cattleyas, I referred to the bulk, of course. The most gorgeous, the stateliest, the most imperial of all flowers on this earth, is C. Dowiana--unless it be C. aurea, a "geographical variety" of the same. They dwell a thousand miles apart at least, the one in Colombia, the other in Costa Rica; and neither occurs, so far as is known, in the great intervening region. Not even a connecting link has been discovered; but the Atlantic coast of Central America is hardly explored, much less examined. In my time it was held, from Cape Camarin to Chagres, by independent tribes of savages--not independent in fact alone, but in name also. The Mosquito Indians are recognized by Europe as free; the Guatusos kept a space of many hundred miles from which no white man had returned; when I was in those parts, the Talamancas, though not so unfriendly, were only known by the report of adventurous pedlars. I made an attempt--comparatively spirited--to organize an exploring party for the benefit of the Guatusos, but no single volunteer answered our advertisements in San Jose de Costa Rica; I have lived to congratulate myself on that disappointment. Since my day a road has been cut through their wilds to Limon, certain luckless Britons having found the money for a railway; but an engineer who visited the coast but two years ago informs me that no one ever wandered into "the bush." Collectors have not been there, assuredly. So there may be connecting links between C. Dowiana and C. aurea in that vast wilderness, but it is quite possible there are none.

Words could not picture the glory of these marvels. In each the scheme of colour is yellow and crimson, but there are important modifications. Yellow is the ground all through in Cattleya aurea--sepals, petals, and lip; unbroken in the two former, in the latter superbly streaked with crimson. But Cattleya Dowiana shows crimson pencillings on its sepals, while the ground colour of the lip is crimson, broadly lined and reticulated with gold. Imagine four of these noble flowers on one stalk, each half a foot across! But it lies beyond the power of imagination.

C. Dowiana was discovered by Warscewicz about 1850, and he sent home accounts too enthusiastic for belief. Steady-going Britons utterly refused to credit such a marvel--his few plants died, and there was an end of it for the time. I may mention an instance of more recent date, where the eye-witness of a collector was flatly rejected at home. Monsieur St. Leger, residing at Asuncion, the capital of Paraguay, wrote a warm description of an orchid in those parts to scientific friends. The account reached England, and was treated with derision. Monsieur St. Leger, nettled, sent some dried flowers for a testimony; but the mind of the Orchidaceous public was made up. In 1883 he brought a quantity of plants and put them up at auction; nobody in particular would buy. So those reckless or simple or trusting persons who invested a few shillings in a bundle had all the fun to themselves a few months afterwards, when the beautiful Oncidium Jonesianum appeared, to confound the unbelieving. It must be added, however, that orchid-growers may well become an incredulous generation. When their judgment leads them wrong we hear of it, the tale is published, and outsiders mock. But these gentlemen receive startling reports continually, honest enough for the most part. Much experience and some loss have made them rather cynical when a new wonder is announced. The particular case of Monsieur St. Leger was complicated by the extreme resemblance which the foliage of Onc. Jonesianum bears to that of Onc. cibolletum, a species almost worthless. Unfortunately the beautiful thing declines to live with us--as yet.

Cattleya Dowiana was rediscovered by Mr. Arce, when collecting birds: it must have been a grand moment for Warscewicz when the horticultural world was convulsed by its appearance in bloom. Cattleya aurea had no adventures of this sort. Mr. Wallis found it in 1868 in the province of Antioquia, and again on the west bank of the Magdalena; but it is very rare. This species is persecuted in its native home by a beetle, which accompanies it to Europe not infrequently--in the form of eggs, no doubt. A more troublesome alien is the fly which haunts Cattleya Mendellii, and for a long time prejudiced growers against that fine species, until, in fact, they had made a practical and rather costly study of its habits. An experienced grower detects the presence of this enemy at a glance. It pierces an "eye"--a back one in general, happily--and deposits an egg in the very centre. Presently this growth begins to swell in a manner that delights the ingenuous horticulturist, until he remarks that its length does not keep pace with its breadth. But one remedy has yet been discovered--cutting off any suspected growth. We understand now that C. Mendellii is as safe to import as any other species, unless it be gathered at the wrong time.

Among the most glorious, rarest, and most valuable of Cattleyas is C. Hardyana, doubtless a natural hybrid of C. aurea with C. gigas Sanderiana. Few of us have seen it--two-hundred-guinea plants are not common spectacles. It has an immense flower, rose-purple; the lip purple-magenta, veined with gold. Cattleya Sanderiana offers an interesting story. Mr. Mau, one of Mr. Sander's collectors, was despatched to Bogota in search of Odontoglossum crispum. While tramping through the woods, he came across a very large Cattleya at rest, and gathered such pieces as fell in his way--attaching so little importance to them, however, that he did not name the matter in his reports. Four cases Mr. Mau brought home with his stock of Odontoglossums, which were opened in due course of business. We can quite believe that it was one of the stirring moments of Mr. Sander's life. The plants bore many dry specimens of last year's inflorescence, displaying such extraordinary size as proved the variety to be new; and there is no large Cattleya of indifferent colouring. To receive a plant of that character unannounced, undescribed, is an experience without parallel for half a century. Mr. Mau was sent back by next mail to secure every fragment he could find. Meantime, those in hand were established, and Mr. Brymer, M.P., bought one--Mr. Brymer is immortalized by the Dendrobe which bears his name. The new Cattleya proved kindly, and just before Mr. Mau returned with some thousands of its like Mr. Brymer's purchase broke into bloom. That must have been another glorious moment for Mr. Sander, when the great bud unfolded, displaying sepals and petals of the rosiest, freshest, softest pink, eleven inches across; and a crimson labellum exquisitely shown up by a broad patch of white on either side of the throat. Mr. Brymer was good enough to lend his specimen for the purpose of advertisement, and Messrs. Stevens enthusiastically fixed a green baize partition across their rooms as a background for the wondrous novelty. What excitement reigned there on the great day is not to be described. I have heard that over 2000l. was taken in the room.

Most of the Cattleyas with which the public is familiar--Mossiae, Trianae, Mendellii, and so forth--have white varieties; but an example absolutely pure is so uncommon that it fetches a long price. Loveliest of these is C. Skinneri alba. For generations, if not for ages, the people of Costa Rica have been gathering every morsel they can find, and planting it upon the roofs of their mud-built churches. Roezl and the early collectors had a "good time," buying these semi-sacred flowers from the priests, bribing the parishioners to steal them, or, when occasion served, playing the thief themselves. But the game is nearly up. Seldom now can a piece of Cat. Skinneri alba be obtained by honest means, and when a collector arrives guards are set upon the churches that still keep their decoration. No plant has ever been found in the forest, we understand.

It is just the same case with Loelia anceps alba. The genus Loelia is distinguished from Cattleya by a peculiarity to be remarked only in dissection; its pollen masses are eight as against four. To my taste, however, the species are more charming on the whole. There is L. purpurata. Casual observers always find it hard to grasp the fact that orchids are weeds in their native homes, just like foxgloves and dandelions with us. In this instance, as I have noted, they flatly refuse to believe, and certainly "upon the face of it" their incredulity is reasonable.

Loelia purpurata falls under the head of hot orchids. L. anceps, however, is not so exacting; many people grow it in the cool house when they can expose it there to the full blaze of sunshine. In its commonest form it is divinely beautiful. I have seen a plant in Mr. Eastey's collection with twenty-three spikes, the flowers all open at once. Such a spectacle is not to be described in prose. But when the enthusiast has rashly said that earth contains no more ethereal loveliness, let him behold L. a. alba, the white variety. The dullest man I ever knew, who had a commonplace for all occasions, found no word in presence of that marvel. Even the half-castes of Mexico who have no soul, apparently, for things above horseflesh and cockfights, and love-making, reverence this saintly bloom. The Indians adore it. Like their brethren to the south, who have tenderly removed every plant of Cattleya Skinneri alba for generations unknown, to set upon their churches, they collect this supreme effort of Nature and replant it round their huts. So thoroughly has the work been done in either case that no single specimen was ever seen in the forest. Every one has been bought from the Indians, and the supply is exhausted; that is to say, a good many more are known to exist, but very rarely now can the owner be persuaded to part with one. The first example reached England nearly half a century ago, sent probably by a native trader to his correspondent in this country; but, as was usual at that time, the circumstances are doubtful. It found its way, somehow, to Mr. Dawson, of Meadowbank, a famous collector, and by him it was divided. Search was made for the treasure in its home, but vainly; travellers did not look in the Indian gardens. No more arrived for many years. Mr. Sander once conceived a fine idea. He sent one of his collectors to gather Loelia a. alba at the season when it is in bud, with an intention of startling the universe by displaying a mass of them in full bloom; they were still more uncommon then than now, when a dozen flowering plants is still a show of which kings may be proud. Mr. Bartholomeus punctually fulfilled his instructions, collected some forty plants with their spikes well developed; attached them to strips of wood which he nailed across shallow boxes, and shipped them to San Francisco. Thence they travelled by fast train to New York, and proceeded without a moment's delay to Liverpool on board the Umbria; it was one of her first trips. All went well. Confidently did Mr. Sander anticipate the sensation when a score of those glorious plants were set out in full bloom upon the tables. But on opening the boxes he found every spike withered. The experiment is so tempting that it has been essayed once more, with a like result. The buds of Loelia anceps will not stand sea air.

Catasetums do not rank as a genus among our beauties; in fact, saving C. pileatum, commonly called C. Bungerothi, and C. barbatum, I think of none, at this moment, which are worthy of attraction on that ground. C. fimbriatum, indeed, would be lovely if it could be persuaded to show itself. I have seen one plant which condescended to open its spotted blooms, but only one. No orchids, however, give more material for study; on this account Catasetum was a favourite with Mr. Darwin. It is approved also by unlearned persons who find relief from the monotony of admiration as they stroll round in observing its acrobatic performances. The "column" bears two horns; if these be touched, the pollen-masses fly as if discharged from a catapult. C. pileatum, however, is very handsome, four inches across, ivory white, with a round well in the centre of its broad lip, which makes a theme for endless speculation. The daring eccentricities of colour in this class of plant have no stronger example than C. callosum, a novelty from Caraccas, with inky brown sepals and petals, brightest orange column, labellum of verdigris-green tipped with orange to match.

Schomburgkias are not often seen. Having a boundless choice of fine things which grow and flower without reluctance, the practical gardener gets irritated in these days when he finds a plant beyond his skill. It is a pity, for the Schomburgkias are glorious things--in especial Sch. tibicinis. No description has done it justice, and few are privileged to speak as eye-witnesses. The clustering flowers hang down, sepals and petals of dusky mauve, most gracefully frilled and twisted, encircling a great hollow labellum which ends in a golden drop. That part of the cavity which is visible between the handsome incurved wings has bold stripes of dark crimson. The species is interesting, too. It comes from Honduras, where the children use its great hollow pseudo-bulbs as trumpets--whence the name. At their base is a hole--a touch-hole, as we may say, the utility of which defies our botanists. Had Mr. Belt travelled in those parts, he might have discovered the secret, as in the similar case of the Bullthorn, one of the Gummiferae. The great thorns of that bush have just such a hole, and Mr. Belt proved by lengthy observations that it is designed, to speak roughly, for the ingress of an ant peculiar to that acacia, whose duty it is to defend the young shoots--vide Belt's "Naturalist in Nicaragua," page 218. Importers are too well aware that Schomburgkia tibicinis also is inhabited by an ant of singular ferocity, for it survives the voyage, and rushes forth to battle when the case is opened. We may suppose that it performs a like service.

Dendrobiums are "warm" mostly; of the hot species, which are many, and the cool, which are few, I have not to speak here. But a remark made at the beginning of this chapter especially applies to Dendrobes. If they be started early, so that the young growths are well advanced by June 1; if the situation be warm, and a part of the house sunny--if they be placed in that part without any shade till July, and freely syringed--with a little extra attention many of them will do well enough. That is to say, they will make such a show of blossom as is mighty satisfactory in the winter time. We must not look for "specimens," but there should be bloom enough to repay handsomely the very little trouble they give. Among those that may be treated so are D. Wardianum, Falconeri, crassinode, Pierardii, crystallinum, Devonianum--sometimes--and nobile, of course. Probably there are more, but these I have tried myself.

Dendrobium Wardianum, at the present day, comes almost exclusively from Burmah--the neighbourhood of the Ruby Mines is its favourite habitat. But it was first brought to England from Assam in 1858, when botanists regarded it as a form of D. Falconeri. This error was not so strange as its seems, for the Assamese variety has pseudo-bulbs much less sturdy than those we are used to see, and they are quite pendulous. It was rather a lively business collecting orchids in Burmah before the annexation. The Roman Catholic missionaries established there made it a source of income, and they did not greet an intruding stranger with warmth--not genial warmth, at least. He was forbidden to quit the town of Bhamo, an edict which compelled him to employ native collectors--in fact, coolies--himself waiting helplessly within the walls; but his reverend rivals, having greater freedom and an acquaintance with the language, organized a corps of skirmishers to prowl round and intercept the natives returning with their loads. Doubtless somebody received the value when they made a haul, but who, is uncertain perhaps--and the stranger was disappointed, anyhow. It may be believed that unedifying scenes arose--especially on two or three occasions when an agent had almost reached one of the four gates before he was intercepted. For the hapless collector--having nothing in the world to do--haunted those portals all day long, flying from one to the other in hope to see "somebody coming." Very droll, but Burmah is a warm country for jests of the kind. Thus it happened occasionally that he beheld his own discomfiture, and rows ensued at the Mission-house. At length Mr. Sander addressed a formal petition to the Austrian Archbishop, to whom the missionaries owed allegiance. He received a sympathetic answer, and some assistance.

From the Ruby Mines also comes a Dendrobium so excessively rare that I name it only to call the attention of employes in the new company. This is D. rhodopterygium. Sir Trevor Lawrence has or had a plant, I believe; there are two or three at St. Albans; but the lists of other dealers will be searched in vain. Sir Trevor Lawrence had also a scarlet species from Burmah; but it died even before the christening, and no second has yet been found. Sumatra furnishes a scarlet Dendrobe, D. Forstermanni, but it again is of the utmost rarity. Baron Schroeder boasts three specimens--which have not yet flowered, however. From Burmah comes D. Brymerianum, of which the story is brief, but very thrilling if we ponder it a moment. For the missionaries sent this plant to Europe without a description--they had not seen the bloom, doubtless--and it sold cheap enough. We may fancy Mr. Brymer's emotion, therefore, when the striking flower opened. Its form is unique, though some other varieties display a long fringe--as that extraordinary object, Nanodes Medusae, and also Brassavola Digbyana, which is exquisitely lovely sometimes. In the case of D. Brymerianum the bright yellow lip is split all round, for two-thirds of its expanse, into twisted filaments. We may well ask what on earth is Nature's purpose in this eccentricity; but it is a question that arises every hour to the most thoughtless being who grows orchids.

Everybody knows Dendrobium nobile so well that it is not to be discussed in prose; something might be done in poetry, perhaps, by young gentlemen who sing of buttercups and daisies, but the rhyme would be difficult. D. nobile nobilius, however, is by no means so common--would it were! This glorified form turned up among an importation made by Messrs. Rollisson. They propagated it, and sold four small pieces, which are still in cultivation. But the troubles of that renowned firm, to which we owe so great a debt, had already begun. The mother-plant was neglected. It had fallen into such a desperate condition when Messrs. Rollisson's plants were sold, under a decree in bankruptcy, that the great dealers refused to bid for what should have been a little gold-mine. A casual market-gardener hazarded thirty shillings, brought it round so far that he could establish a number of young plants, and sold the parent for forty pounds at last. There are, however, several fine varieties of D. nobile more valuable than nobilius. D. n. Sanderianum resembles that form, but it is smaller and darker. Albinos have been found; Baron Schroeder has a beautiful example. One appeared at Stevens' Rooms, announced as the single instance in cultivation--which is not quite the fact, but near enough for the auction-room, perhaps. It also was imported originally by Mr. Sander, with D. n. Sanderianum. Biddings reached forty-three pounds, but the owner would not deal at the price. Albinos are rare among the Dendrobes.

D. nobile Cooksoni was the fons et origo of an unpleasant misunderstanding. It turned up in the collection of Mr. Lange, distinguished by a reversal of the ordinary scheme of colour. There is actually no end to the delightful vagaries of these plants. If people only knew what interest and pleasing excitement attends the inflorescence of an imported orchid--one, that is, which has not bloomed before in Europe--they would crowd the auction-rooms in which every strange face is marked now. There are books enough to inform them, certainly; but who reads an Orchid Book? Even the enthusiast only consults it.

Dendrobium nobile Cooksoni, then, has white tips to petal and sepal; the crimson spot keeps its place; and the inside of the flower is deep red--an inversion of the usual colouring. Mr. Lange could scarcely fail to observe this peculiarity, but he seems to have thought little of it. Mr. Cookson, paying him a visit, was struck, however--as well he might be--and expressed a wish to have the plant. So the two distinguished amateurs made an exchange. Mr. Cookson sent a flower at once to Professor Reichenbach, who, delighted and enthusiastic, registered it upon the spot under the name of the gentleman from whom he received it. Mr. Lange protested warmly, demanding that his discovery should be called, after his residence, Heathfieldsayeanum. But Professor Reichenbach drily refused to consider personal questions; and really, seeing how short is life, and how long Dendrobium nobile Heathfield, &c., true philanthropists will hold him justified.

We may expect wondrous Dendrobes from New Guinea. Some fine species have already arrived, and others have been sent in the dried inflorescence. Of D. phaloenopsis Schroederi I have spoken elsewhere. There is D. Goldiei; a variety of D. superbiens--but much larger. There is D. Albertesii, snow-white; D. Broomfieldianum, curiously like Loelia anceps alba in its flower--which is to say that it must be the loveliest of all Dendrobes. But this species has a further charm, almost incredible. The lip in some varieties is washed with lavender blue, in some with crimson! Another is nearly related to D. bigibbum, but much larger, with sepals more acute. Its hue is a glorious rosy-purple, deepening on the lip, the side lobes of which curl over and meet, forming a cylindrical tube, while the middle lobe, prolonged, stands out at right angles, veined with very dark purple; this has just been named D. Statterianum. It has upon the disc an elevated, hairy crest, like D. bigibbum, but instead of being white as always, more or less, in that instance, the crest of the new species is dark purple. I have been particular in describing this noble flower, because very, very few have beheld it. Those who live will see marvels when the Dutch and German portions of New Guinea are explored.

Recently I have been privileged to see another, the most impressive to my taste, of all the lovely genus. It is called D. atro-violaceum. The stately flowers hang down their heads, reflexed like a "Turban Lily," ten or a dozen on a spike. The colour is ivory-white, with a faintest tinge of green, and green spots are dotted all over. The lobes of the lip curl in, making half the circumference of a funnel, the outside of which is dark violet-blue; with that fine colour the lip itself is boldly striped. They tell me that the public is not expected to "catch on" to this marvel. It hangs its head too low, and the contrast of hues is too startling. If that be so, we multiply schools of art and County Council lectures perambulate the realm, in vain. The artistic sense is denied us.

Madagascar also will furnish some astonishing novelties; it has already begun, in fact--with a vengeance. Imagine a scarlet Cymbidium! That such a wonder existed has been known for some years, and three collectors have gone in search of it; two died, and the third has been terribly ill since his return to Europe--but he won the treasure, which we shall behold in good time. Those parts of Madagascar which especially attract botanists must be death-traps indeed! M. Leon Humblot tells how he dined at Tamatave with his brother and six compatriots, exploring the country with various scientific aims. Within twelve months he was the only survivor. One of these unfortunates, travelling on behalf of Mr. Cutler, the celebrated naturalist of Bloomsbury Street, to find butterflies and birds, shot at a native idol, as the report goes. The priests soaked him with paraffin, and burnt him on a table--perhaps their altar. M. Humblot himself has had awful experiences. He was attached to the geographical survey directed by the French Government, and ten years ago he found Phajus Humblotii and Phajus tuberculosus in the deadliest swamps of the interior. A few of the bulbs gathered lived through the passage home, and caused much excitement when offered for sale at Stevens' Auction Rooms. M. Humblot risked his life again, and secured a great quantity for Mr. Sander, but at a dreadful cost. He spent twelve months in the hospital at Mayotte, and on arrival at Marseilles with his plants the doctors gave him no hope of recovery. P. Humblotii is a marvel of beauty--rose-pink, with a great crimson labellum exquisitely frilled, and a bright green column.

Everybody who knows his "Darwin" is aware that Madagascar is the chosen home of the Angraecums. All, indeed, are natives of Africa, so far as I know, excepting the delightful A. falcatum, which comes, strangely enough, from Japan. One cannot but suspect, under the circumstances, that this species was brought from Africa ages ago, when the Japanese were enterprising seamen, and has been acclimatized by those skilful horticulturists. It is certainly odd that the only "cool" Aerides--the only one found, I believe, outside of India and the Eastern Tropics--also belongs to Japan, and a cool Dendrobe, A. arcuatum, is found in the Transvaal; and I have reason to hope that another or more will turn up when South Africa is thoroughly searched. A pink Angraecum, very rarely seen, dwells somewhere on the West Coast; the only species, so far as I know, which is not white. It bears the name of M. Du Chaillu, who found it--he has forgotten where, unhappily. I took that famous traveller to St. Albans in the hope of quickening his recollection, and I fear I bored him afterwards with categorical inquiries. But all was vain. M. Du Chaillu can only recall that once on a time, when just starting for Europe, it occurred to him to run into the bush and strip the trees indiscriminately. Mr. Sander was prepared to send a man expressly for this Angraecum. The exquisite A. Sanderianum is a native of the Comorro Islands. No flower could be prettier than this, nor more deliciously scented--when scented it is! It grows in a climate which travellers describe as Paradise, and, in truth, it becomes such a scene. Those who behold young plants with graceful garlands of snowy bloom twelve to twenty inches long are prone to fall into raptures; but imagine it as a long-established specimen appears just now at St Albans, with racemes drooping two and a half feet from each new growth, clothed on either side with flowers like a double train of white long-tailed butterflies hovering! A. Scottianum comes from Zanzibar, discovered, I believe, by Sir John Kirk; A. caudatum, from Sierra Leone. This latter species is the nearest rival of A. sesquipedale, showing "tails" ten inches long. Next in order for this characteristic detail rank A. Leonis and Kotschyi--the latter rarely grown--with seven-inch "tails;" Scottianum and Ellisii with six-inch; that is to say, they ought to show such dimensions respectively. Whether they fulfil their promise depends upon the grower.

With the exceptions named, this family belongs to Madagascar. It has a charming distinction, shared by no other genus which I recall, save, in less degree, Cattleya--every member is attractive. But I must concentrate myself on the most striking--that which fascinated Darwin. In the first place it should be pointed out that savants call this plant AEranthus sesquipedalis, not Angraecum--a fact useful to know, but unimportant to ordinary mortals. It was discovered by the Rev. Mr. Ellis, and sent home alive, nearly thirty years ago; but civilized mankind has not yet done wondering at it. The stately growth, the magnificent green-white flowers, command admiration at a glance, but the "tail," or spur, offers a problem of which the thoughtful never tire. It is commonly ten inches long, sometimes fourteen inches, and at home, I have been told, even longer; about the thickness of a goose-quill, hollow, of course, the last inch and a half filled with nectar. Studying this appendage by the light of the principles he had laid down, Darwin ventured on a prophecy which roused special mirth among the unbelievers. Not only the abnormal length of the nectary had to be considered; there was, besides, the fact that all its honey lay at the base, a foot or more from the orifice. Accepting it as a postulate that every detail of the apparatus must be equally essential for the purpose it had to serve, he made a series of experiments which demonstrated that some insect of Madagascar--doubtless a moth--must be equipped with a proboscis long enough to reach the nectar, and at the same time thick enough at the base to withdraw the pollinia--thus fertilizing the bloom. For, if the nectar had lain so close to the orifice that moths with a proboscis of reasonable length and thickness could get at it, they would drain the cup without touching the pollinia. Darwin never proved his special genius more admirably than in this case. He created an insect beyond belief, as one may say, by the force of logic; and such absolute confidence had he in his own syllogism that he declared, "If such great moths were to become extinct in Madagascar, assuredly this Angraecum would become extinct." I am not aware that Darwin's fine argument has yet been clinched by the discovery of that insect. But cavil has ceased. Long before his death a sphinx moth arrived from South Brazil which shows a proboscis between ten and eleven inches long--very nearly equal, therefore, to the task of probing the nectary of Angraecum sesquipidale. And we know enough of orchids at this time to be absolutely certain that the Madagascar species must exist.

FOOTNOTES:

HOT ORCHIDS.

In former chapters I have done my best to show that orchid culture is no mystery. The laws which govern it are strict and simple, easy to define in books, easily understood, and subject to few exceptions. It is not with Odontoglossums and Dendrobes as with roses--an intelligent man or woman needs no long apprenticeship to master their treatment. Stove orchids are not so readily dealt with; but then, persons who own a stove usually keep a gardener. Coming from the hot lowlands of either hemisphere, they show much greater variety than those of the temperate and sub-tropic zones; there are more genera, though not so many species, and more exceptions to every rule. These, therefore, are not to be recommended to all householders. Not everyone indeed is anxious to grow plants which need a minimum night heat of 60 deg. in winter, 70 deg. in summer, and cannot dispense with fire the whole year round.

The hottest of all orchids probably is Peristeria elata, the famous "Spirito Santo," flower of the Holy Ghost. The dullest soul who observes that white dove rising with wings half spread, as in the very act of taking flight, can understand the frenzy of the Spaniards when they came upon it. Rumours of Peruvian magnificence had just reached them at Panama--on the same day, perhaps--when this miraculous sign from heaven encouraged them to advance. The empire of the Incas did not fall a prey to that particular band of ruffians, nevertheless. Peristeria elata is so well known that I would not dwell upon it, but an odd little tale rises to my mind. The great collector Roezl was travelling homeward, in 1868, by Panama. The railway fare to Colon was sixty dollars at that time, and he grudged the money. Setting his wits to work, Roezl discovered that the company issued tickets from station to station at a very low price for the convenience of its employes. Taking advantage of this system, he crossed the isthmus for five dollars--such an advantage it is in travelling to be an old campaigner! At one of the intermediate stations he had to wait for his train, and rushed into the jungle of course. Peristeria abounded in that steaming swamp, but the collector was on holiday. To his amazement, however, he found, side by side with it, a Masdevallia--that genus most impatient of sunshine among all orchids, flourishing here in the hottest blaze! Snatching up half a dozen of the tender plants with a practised hand, he brought them safe to England. On the day they were put up to auction news of Livingstone's death arrived, and in a flash of inspiration Roezl christened his novelty M. Livingstoniana. Few, indeed, even among authorities, know where that rarest of Masdevallias has its home; none have reached Europe since. A pretty flower it is--white, rosy tipped, with yellow "tails." And it dwells by the station of Culebras, on the Panama railway.

Of genera, however, doubtless the Vandas are hottest; and among these, V. Sanderiana stands first. It was found in Mindanao, the most southerly of the Philippines, by Mr. Roebelin when he went thither in search of the red Phaloenopsis, as will be told presently. Vanda Sanderiana is a plant to be described as majestic rather than lovely, if we may distinguish among these glorious things. Its blooms are five inches across, pale lilac in their ground colour, suffused with brownish yellow, and covered with a network of crimson brown. Twelve or more of such striking flowers to a spike, and four or five spikes upon a plant make a wonder indeed. But, to view matters prosaically, Vanda Sanderiana is "bad business." It is not common, and it grows on the very top of the highest trees, which must be felled to secure the treasure; and of those gathered but a small proportion survive. In the first place, the agent must employ natives, who are paid so much per plant, no matter what the size--a bad system, but they will allow no change. It is evidently their interest to divide any "specimen" that will bear cutting up; if the fragments bleed to death, they have got their money meantime. Then, the Manilla steamers call at Mindanao only once a month. Three months are needed to get together plants enough to yield a fair profit. At the end of that time a large proportion of those first gathered will certainly be doomed--Vandas have no pseudo-bulbs to sustain their strength. Steamers run from Manilla to Singapore every fortnight. If the collector be fortunate he may light upon a captain willing to receive his packages; in that case he builds structures of bamboo on deck, and spends the next fortnight in watering, shading, and ventilating his precious trouvailles, alternately. But captains willing to receive such freight must be waited for too often. At Singapore it is necessary to make a final overhauling of the plants--to their woeful diminution. This done, troubles recommence. Seldom will the captain of a mail steamer accept that miscellaneous cargo. Happily, the time of year is, or ought to be, that season when tea-ships arrive at Singapore. The collector may reasonably hope to secure a passage in one of these, which will carry him to England in thirty-five days or so. If this state of things be pondered, even without allowance for accident, it will not seem surprising that V. Sanderiana is a costly species. The largest piece yet secured was bought by Sir Trevor Lawrence at auction for ninety guineas. It had eight stems, the tallest four feet high. No consignment has yet returned a profit, however.