Chapter V: Part 5

Of Oncidiums there are many that demand stove treatment. The story of _Onc. splendidum_ is curious. It first turned up in France some thirty years ago. A ship's captain sailing from St. Lazare brought half a dozen pieces, which he gave to his "owner," M. Herman. The latter handed them to MM. Thibaut and Ketteler, of Sceaux, who split them up and distributed them. Two of the original plants found their way to England, and they also appear to have been cut up. A legend of the King Street Auction Room recalls how perfervid competitors ran up a bit of _Onc. splendidum_, that had only one leaf, to thirty guineas. The whole stock vanished presently, which is not surprising if it had all been divided in the same ruthless manner. From that day the species was lost until Mr. Sander turned his attention to it. There was no record of its habitat. The name of the vessel, or even of the captain, might have furnished a clue had it been recorded, for the shipping intelligence of the day would have shown what ports he was frequenting about that time. I could tell of mysterious orchids traced home upon indications less distinct. But there was absolutely nothing. Mr. Sander, however, had scrutinized the plant carefully, while specimens were still extant, and from the structure of the leaf he formed a strong conclusion that it must belong to the Central American flora; furthermore, that it must inhabit a very warm locality. In 1882 he directed one of his collectors, Mr. Oversluys, to look for the precious thing in Costa Rica. Year after year the search proceeded, until Mr. Oversluys declared with some warmth that _Onc. splendidum_ might grow in heaven or in the other place, but it was not to be found in Costa Rica. But theorists are stubborn, and year after year he was sent back. At length, in 1882, riding through a district often explored, the collector found himself in a grassy plain, dotted with pale yellow flowers. He had beheld the same many times, but his business was orchids. On this occasion, however, he chanced to approach one of the masses, and recognized the object of his quest. It was the familiar case of a man who overlooks the thing he has to find, because it is too near and too conspicuous. But Mr. Oversluys had excuse enough. Who could have expected to see an Oncidium buried in long grass, exposed to the full power of a tropic sun?

_Oncidium Lanceanum_ is, perhaps, the hottest of its genus. Those happy mortals who can grow it declare they have no trouble, but unless perfectly strong and healthy it gets "the spot," and promptly goes to wreck. In the houses of the "New Plant and Bulb Company," at Colchester--now extinct--_Onc. Lanceanum_ flourished with a vigour almost embarrassing, putting forth such enormous leaves, as it hung close to the glass, as made blinds quite superfluous at midsummer. But this was an extraordinary case. Certainly it is a glorious spectacle in flower--yellow, barred with brown; the lip violet. The spikes last a month in full beauty--sometimes two.

An Oncidium which always commands attention from the public and grateful regard from the devotee is _Onc. papilio_. Its strange form fascinated the Duke of Devonshire, grandfather to the present, who was almost the first of our lordly amateurs, and tempted him to undertake the explorations which introduced so many fine plants to Europe.

The "Butterfly orchid" is so familiar that I do not pause to describe it. But imagine that most interesting flower all blue, instead of gold and brown! I have never been able to learn what was the foundation of the old belief in such a marvel. But the great Lindley went to his grave in unshaken confidence that a blue _papilio_ exists. Once he thought he had a specimen; but it flowered, and his triumph had to be postponed. I myself heard of it two years back, and tried to cherish a belief that the news was true. A friend from Natal assured me that he had seen one on the table of the Director of the Gardens at Durban; but it proved to be one of those terrestrial orchids, so lovely and so tantalizing to us, with which South Africa abounds. Very slowly do we lengthen the catalogue of them in our houses. There are gardeners, such as Mr. Cook at Loughborough, who grow _Disa grandiflora_ like a weed. Mr. Watson of Kew demonstrated that _Disa racemosa_ will flourish under conditions easily secured. I had the good fortune to do as much for _Disa Cooperi_, though not by my own skill. One supreme little triumph is mine, however. In very early days, when animated with the courage of utter ignorance, I bought eight bulbs of _Disa discolor_, and flowered them, every one! No mortal in Europe had done it before, nor has any tried since, I charitably hope, for a more rubbishing bloom does not exist. But there it was--_Ego feci_! And the specimen in the Herbarium at Kew bears my name.

But legends should not be disregarded when it is certain that they reach us from a native source. Some of the most striking finds had been announced long since by observant savages. I have told the story of _Phaloenopsis Sanderiana_. It was a Zulu who put the discoverer of the new yellow Calla on the track. The blue Utricularia had been heard of and discredited long before it was found--Utricularias are not orchids indeed, but only botanists regard the distinction. The natives of Assam persistently assert that a bright yellow Cymbidium grows there, of supremest beauty, and we expect it to turn up one day; the Malagasy describe a scarlet one. But I am digressing.

Epidendrums mostly will bear as much heat as can be given them while growing; all demand more sunshine than they can get in our climate. Amateurs do not seem to be so well acquainted with the grand things of this genus as they should be. They distrust all imported Epidendrums. Many worthless species, indeed, bear a perplexing resemblance to the finest; so much so, that the most observant of authorities would not think of buying at the auction-room unless he had confidence enough in the seller's honesty to accept his description of a "lot." Gloriously beautiful, however, are some of those rarely met with; easy to cultivate also, in a sunny place, and not dear. _Epid. rhizophorum_ has been lately rechristened _Epid. radicans_--a name which might be confined to the Mexican variety. For the plant recurs in Brazil, practically the same, but with a certain difference. The former grows on shrubs, a true epiphyte; the latter has its bottom roots in the soil, at foot of the tallest trees, and runs up to the very summit, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet. The flowers also show a distinction, but in effect they are brilliant orange-red, the lip yellow, edged with scarlet. Forty or fifty of them hanging in a cluster from the top of the raceme make a show to remember. Mr. Watson "saw a plant a few years ago, that bore eighty-six heads of flowers!" They last for three months. _Epid. prismatocarpum_, also, is a lovely thing, with narrow dagger-like sepals and petals, creamy-yellow, spotted black, lip mauve or violet, edged with pale yellow.

Of the many hot Dendrobiums, Australia supplies a good proportion. There is _D. bigibbum_, of course, too well known for description; it dwells on the small islands in Torres Straits. This species flowered at Kew so early as 1824, but the plant died. Messrs. Loddiges, of Hackney, re-introduced it thirty years later. _D. Johannis_, from Queensland, brown and yellow, streaked with orange, the flowers curiously twisted. _D. superbiens_, from Torres Straits, rosy purple, edged with white, lip crimson. Handsomest of all by far is _D. phaloenopsis_. It throws out a long, slender spike from the tip of the pseudo-bulb, bearing six or more flowers, three inches across. The sepals are lance-shaped, and the petals, twice as broad, rosy-lilac, with veins of darker tint; the lip, arched over by its side lobes, crimson-lake in the throat, paler and striped at the mouth. It was first sent home by Mr. Forbes, of Kew Gardens, from Timor Laüt, in 1880. But Mr. Fitzgerald had made drawings of a species substantially the same, some years before, from a plant he discovered on the property of Captain Bloomfield, Balmain, in Queensland, nearly a thousand miles south of Timor. Mr. Sander caused search to be made, and he has introduced Mr. Fitzgerald's variety under the name of _D. ph. Statterianum_. It is smaller than the type, and crimson instead of lilac.

Bulbophyllums rank among the marvels of nature. It is a point comparatively trivial that this genus includes the largest of orchids and, perhaps, the smallest.

_B. Beccarii_ has leaves two feet long, eighteen inches broad. It encircles the biggest tree in one clasp of its rhizomes, which travellers mistake for the coil of a boa constrictor. Furthermore, this species emits the vilest stench known to scientific persons, which is a great saying. But these points are insignificant. The charm of Bulbophyllums lies in their machinery for trapping insects. Those who attended the Temple show last year saw something of it, if they could penetrate the crush around _B. barbigerum_ on Sir Trevor Lawrence's stand. This tiny but amazing plant comes from Sierra Leone. The long yellow lip is attached to the column by the slenderest possible joint, so that it rocks without an instant's pause. At the tip is set a brush of silky hairs, which wave backwards and forwards with the precision of machinery. No wonder that the natives believe it a living thing. The purpose of these arrangements is to catch flies, which other species effect with equal ingenuity if less elaboration. Very pretty too are some of them, as _B. Lobbii_. Its clear, clean, orange-creamy hue is delightful to behold. The lip, so delicately balanced, quivers at every breath. If the slender stem be bent back, as by a fly alighting on the column, that quivering cap turns and hangs imminent; another tiny shake, as though the fly approached the nectary, and it falls plump, head over heels, like a shot, imprisoning the insect. Thus the flower is impregnated. If we wished to excite a thoughtful child's interest in botany--not regardless of the sense of beauty either--we should make an investment in _Bulbophyllum Lobbii_. _Bulbophyllum Dearei_ also is pretty--golden ochre spotted red, with a wide dorsal sepal, very narrow petals flying behind, lower sepals broadly striped with red, and a yellow lip, upon a hinge, of course; but the gymnastic performances of this species are not so impressive as in most of its kin.

A new Bulbophyllum, _B. Godseffianum_, has lately been brought from the Philippines, contrived on the same principle, but even more charming. The flowers, two inches broad, have the colour of "old gold," with stripes of crimson on the petals, and the dorsal sepal shows membranes almost transparent, which have the effect of silver embroidery.

Until _B. Beccarii_ was introduced, from Borneo, in 1867, the Grammatophyllums were regarded as monsters incomparable. Mr. Arthur Keyser, Resident Magistrate at Selangor, in the Straits Settlement, tells of one which he gathered on a Durian tree, seven feet two inches high, thirteen feet six inches across, bearing seven spikes of flower, the longest eight feet six inches--a weight which fifteen men could only just carry. Mr. F.W. Burbidge heard a tree fall in the jungle one night when he was four miles away, and on visiting the spot, he found, "right in the collar of the trunk, a Grammatophyllum big enough to fill a Pickford's van, just opening its golden-brown spotted flowers, on stout spikes two yards long." It is not to be hoped that we shall ever see monsters like these in Europe. The genus, indeed, is unruly. _G. speciosum_ has been grown to six feet high, I believe, which is big enough to satisfy the modest amateur, especially when it develops leaves two feet long. The flowers are--that is, they ought to be--six inches in diameter, rich yellow, blotched with reddish purple. They have some giants at Kew now, of which fine things are expected. _G. Measureseanum_, named after Mr. Measures, a leading amateur, is pale buff, speckled with chocolate, the ends of the sepals and petals charmingly tipped with the same hue. Within the last few months Mr. Sander has obtained _G. multiflorum_ from the Philippines, which seems to be not only the most beautiful, but the easiest to cultivate of those yet introduced. Its flowers droop in a garland of pale green and yellow, splashed with brown, not loosely set, as is the rule, but scarcely half an inch apart. The effect is said to be lovely beyond description. We may hope to judge for ourselves in no long time, for Mr. Sander has presented a wondrous specimen to the Royal Gardens, Kew. This is assuredly the biggest orchid ever brought to Europe. Its snakey pseudo-bulbs measure nine feet, and the old flower spikes stood eighteen feet high. It will be found in the Victoria Regia house, growing strongly.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: _Vanda Lowii_ is properly called _Renanthera Lowii_.]

[Footnote 7: _Vide_ page 100.]

THE LOST ORCHID.

Not a few orchids are "lost"--have been described that is, and named, even linger in some great collection, but, bearing no history, cannot now be found. Such, for instance, are _Cattleya Jongheana_, _Cymbidium Hookerianum_, _Cypripedium Fairianum_. But there is one to which the definite article might have been applied a very few days ago. This is _Cattleya labiata vera_. It was the first to bear the name of Cattleya, though not absolutely the first of that genus discovered. _C. Loddigesii_ preceded it by a few years, but was called an Epidendrum. Curious it is to note how science has returned in this latter day to the views of a pre-scientific era. Professor Reichenbach was only restrained from abolishing the genus Cattleya, and merging all its species into Epidendrum, by regard for the weakness of human nature. _Cattleya labiata vera_ was sent from Brazil to Dr. Lindley by Mr. W. Swainson, and reached Liverpool in 1818. So much is certain, for Lindley makes the statement in his _Collectanea Botanica_. But legends and myths encircle that great event. It is commonly told in books that Sir W. Jackson Hooker, Regius Professor of Botany at Glasgow, begged Mr. Swainson--who was collecting specimens in natural history--to send him some lichens. He did so, and with the cases arrived a quantity of orchids which had been used to pack them. Less suitable material for "dunnage" could not be found, unless we suppose that it was thrust between the boxes to keep them steady. Paxton is the authority for this detail, which has its importance. The orchid arriving in such humble fashion proved to be _Cattleya labiata_; Lindley gave it that name--there was no need to add _vera_ then. He established a new genus for it, and thus preserved for all time the memory of Mr. Cattley, a great horticulturist dwelling at Barnet. There was no ground in supposing the species rare. A few years afterwards, in fact, Mr. Gardner, travelling in pursuit of butterflies and birds, sent home quantities of a Cattleya which he found on the precipitous sides of the Pedro Bonita range, and also on the Gavea, which our sailors call "Topsail" Mountain, or "Lord Hood's Nose." These orchids passed as _C. labiata_ for a while. Paxton congratulated himself and the world in his _Flower Garden_ that the stock was so greatly increased. Those were the coaching days, when botanists had not much opportunity for comparison. It is to be observed, also, that Gardner's Cattleya was the nearest relative of Swainson's;--it is known at present as _C. labiata Warneri_. The true species, however, has points unmistakable. Some of its kinsfolk show a double flower-sheath;--very, very rarely, under exceptional circumstances. But _Cattleya labiata vera_ never fails, and an interesting question it is to resolve why this alone should be so carefully protected. One may cautiously surmise that its habitat is even damper than others'. In the next place, some plants have their leaves red underneath, others green, and the flower-sheath always corresponds; this peculiarity is shared by _C. l. Warneri_ alone. Thirdly--and there is the grand distinction, the one which gives such extreme value to the species--it flowers in the late autumn, and thus fills a gap. Those who possess a plant may have Cattleyas in bloom the whole year round--and they alone. Accordingly, it makes a section by itself in the classification of _Reichenbachia_, as the single species that flowers from the current year's growth, after resting. Section II. contains the species that flower from the current year's growth before resting. Section III., those that flower from last year's growth after resting. All these are many, but _C. l. vera_ stands alone.

We have no need to dwell upon the contest that arose at the introduction of _Cattleya Mossiæ_ in 1840, which grew more and more bitter as others of the class came in, and has not yet ceased. It is enough to say that Lindley declined to recognize _C. Mossiæ_ as a species, though he stood almost solitary against "the trade," backed by a host of enthusiastic amateurs. The great botanist declared that he could see nothing in the beautiful new Cattleya to distinguish it as a species from the one already named, _C. labiata_, except that most variable of characteristics, colour. Modes of growth and times of flowering do not concern science. The structure of the plants is identical, and to admit _C. Mossiæ_ as a sub-species of the same was the utmost concession Lindley would make. This was in 1840. Fifteen years later came _C. Warscewiczi_, now called _gigas_; then, next year, _C. Trianæ_; _C. Dowiana_ in 1866; _C. Mendellii_ in 1870--all _labiatas_, strictly speaking. At each arrival the controversy was renewed; it is not over yet. But Sir Joseph Hooker succeeded Lindley and Reichenbach succeeded Hooker as the supreme authority, and each of them stood firm. There are, of course, many Cattleyas recognized as species, but Lindley's rule has been maintained. We may return to the lost orchid.

As time went on, and the merits of _C. labiata vera_ were understood, the few specimens extant--proceeding from Mr. Swainson's importation--fetched larger and larger prices. Those merits, indeed, were conspicuous. Besides the season of flowering, this proved to be the strongest and most easily grown of Cattleyas. Its normal type was at least as charming as any, and it showed an extraordinary readiness to vary. Few, as has been said, were the plants in cultivation, but they gave three distinct varieties. Van Houtte shows us two in his admirable _Flore des Serres; C. l. candida_, from Syon House, pure white excepting the ochrous throat--which is invariable--and _C. l. picta_, deep red, from the collection of J.J. Blandy, Esq., Reading. The third was _C. l. Pescatorei_, white, with a deep red blotch upon the lip, formerly owned by Messrs. Rouget-Chauvier, of Paris, now by the Duc de Massa.

Under such circumstances the dealers began to stir in earnest. From the first, indeed, the more enterprising had made efforts to import a plant which, as they supposed, must be a common weed at Rio, since men used it to "pack" boxes. But that this was an error they soon perceived. Taking the town as a centre, collectors pushed out on all sides. Probably there is not one of the large dealers, in England or the Continent, dead or living, who has not spent money--a large sum, too--in searching for _C. l. vera_. Probably, also, not one has lost by the speculation, though never a sign nor a hint, scarcely a rumour, of the thing sought rewarded them. For all secured new orchids, new bulbs--Eucharis in especial--Dipladenias, Bromeliaceæ, Calladiums, Marantas, Aristolochias, and what not. In this manner the lost orchid has done immense service to botany and to mankind. One may say that the hunt lasted seventy years, and led collectors to strike a path through almost every province of Brazil--almost, for there are still vast regions unexplored. A man might start, for example, at Para, and travel to Bogota, two thousand miles or so, with a stretch of six hundred miles on either hand which is untouched. It may well be asked what Mr. Swainson was doing, if alive, while his discovery thus agitated the world. Alive he was, in New Zealand, until the year 1855, but he offered no assistance. It is scarcely to be doubted that he had none to give. The orchids fell in his way by accident--possibly collected in distant parts by some poor fellow who died at Rio. Swainson picked them up, and used them to stow his lichens.

Not least extraordinary, however, in this extraordinary tale is the fact that various bits of _C. l. vera_ turned up during this time. Lord Home has a noble specimen at Bothwell Castle, which did not come from Swainson's consignment. His gardener told the story five years ago. "I am quite sure," he wrote, "that my nephew told me the small bit I had from him"--forty years before--"was off a newly-imported plant, and I understood it had been brought by one of Messrs. Horsfall's ships." Lord Fitzwilliam seems to have got one in the same way, from another ship. But the most astonishing case is recent. About seven years ago two plants made their appearance in the Zoological Gardens at Regent's Park--in the conservatory behind Mr. Bartlett's house. How they got there is an eternal mystery. Mr. Bartlett sold them for a large sum; but an equal sum offered him for any scrap of information showing how they came into his hands he was sorrowfully obliged to refuse--or, rather, found himself unable to earn. They certainly arrived in company with some monkeys; but when, from what district of South America, the closest search of his papers failed to show. In 1885, Dr. Regel, Director of the Imperial Gardens at St. Petersburg, received a few plants. It may be worth while to name those gentlemen who recently possessed examples of _C. l. vera_, so far as our knowledge goes. They were Sir Trevor Lawrence, Lord Rothschild, Duke of Marlborough, Lord Home, Messrs. J. Chamberlain, T. Statten, J.J. Blandy, and G. Hardy, in England; in America, Mr. F.L. Ames, two, and Mr. H.H. Hunnewell; in France, Comte de Germiny, Duc de Massa, Baron Alphonse and Baron Adolf de Rothschild, M. Treyeran of Bordeaux. There were two, as is believed, in Italy.

And now the horticultural papers inform us that the lost orchid is found, by Mr. Sander of St. Albans. Assuredly he deserves his luck--if the result of twenty years' labour should be so described. It was about 1870, we believe, that Mr. Sander sent out Arnold, who passed five years in exploring Venezuela. He had made up his mind that the treasure must not be looked for in Brazil. Turning next to Colombia, in successive years, Chesterton, Bartholomeus, Kerbach, and the brothers Klaboch overran that country. Returning to Brazil, his collectors, Oversluys, Smith, Bestwood, went over every foot of the ground which Swainson seems, by his books, to have traversed. At the same time Clarke followed Gardner's track through the Pedro Bonita and Topsail Mountains. Then Osmers traced the whole coast-line of the Brazils from north to south, employing five years in the work. Finally, Digance undertook the search, and died this year. To these men we owe grand discoveries beyond counting. To name but the grandest, Arnold found _Cattleya Percevaliana_; from Colombia were brought _Odont. vex. rubellum_, _Bollea coelestis_, _Pescatorea Klabochorum_; Smith sent _Cattleya O'Brieniana_; Clarke the dwarf Cattleyas, _pumila_ and _præstans_; Lawrenceson _Cattleya Schroederæ_; Chesterton _Cattleya Sanderiana_; Digance _Cattleya Diganceana_, which received a Botanical certificate from the Royal Horticultural Society on September 8th, 1890. But they heard not a whisper of the lost orchid.

In 1889 a collector employed by M. Moreau, of Paris, to explore Central and North Brazil in search of insects, sent home fifty plants--for M. Moreau is an enthusiast in orchidology also. He had no object in keeping the secret of its habitat, and when Mr. Sander, chancing to call, recognized the treasure so long lost, he gave every assistance. Meanwhile, the International Horticultural Society of Brussels had secured a quantity, but they regarded it as new, and gave it the name of _Catt. Warocqueana_; in which error they persisted until Messrs. Sander flooded the market.

AN ORCHID FARM.

My articles brought upon me a flood of questions almost as embarrassing as flattering to a busy journalist. The burden of them was curiously like. Three ladies or gentlemen in four wrote thus: "I love orchids. I had not the least suspicion that they may be cultivated so easily and so cheaply. I am going to begin. Will you please inform me"--here diversity set in with a vengeance! From temperature to flower-pots, from the selection of species to the selection of peat, from the architecture of a greenhouse to the capabilities of window-gardening, with excursions between, my advice was solicited. I replied as best I could. It must be feared, however, that the most careful questioning and the most elaborate replies by post will not furnish that ground-work of knowledge, the ABC of the science, which is needed by a person utterly unskilled; nor will he find it readily in the hand-books. Written by men familiar with the alphabet of orchidology from their youth up, though they seem to begin at the beginning, ignorant enthusiasts who study them find woeful gaps. It is little I can do in this matter; yet, believing that the culture of these plants will be as general shortly as the culture of pelargoniums under glass--and firmly convinced that he who hastens that day is a real benefactor to his kind--I am most anxious to do what lies in my power. Considering the means by which this end may be won, it appears necessary above all to avoid boring the student. He should be led to feel how charming is the business in hand even while engaged with prosaic details; and it seems to me, after some thought, that the sketch of a grand orchid nursery will best serve our purpose for the moment. There I can show at once processes and results, passing at a step as it were from the granary into the harvest-field, from the workshop to the finished and glorious production.

"An orchid farm" is no extravagant description of the establishment at St. Albans. There alone in Europe, so far as I know, three acres of ground are occupied by orchids exclusively. It is possible that larger houses might be found--everything is possible; but such are devoted more or less to a variety of plants, and the departments are not all gathered beneath one roof. I confess, for my own part, a hatred of references. They interrupt the writer, and they distract the reader. At the place I have chosen to illustrate our theme, one has but to cross a corridor from any of the working quarters to reach the showroom. We may start upon our critical survey from the very dwelling-house. Pundits of agricultural science explore the sheds, I believe, the barns, stables, machine-rooms, and so forth, before inspecting the crops. We may follow the same course, but our road offers an unusual distraction.

It passes from the farmer's hall beneath a high glazed arch. Some thirty feet beyond, the path is stopped by a wall of tufa and stalactite which rises to the lofty roof, and compels the traveller to turn right or left. Water pours down it and falls trickling into a narrow pool beneath. Its rough front is studded with orchids from crest to base. Coelogenes have lost those pendant wreaths of bloom which lately tipped the rock as with snow. But there are Cymbidiums arching long sprays of green and chocolate; thickets of Dendrobe set with flowers beyond counting--ivory and rose and purple and orange; scarlet Anthuriums: huge clumps of Phajus and evergreen Calanthe, with a score of spikes rising from their broad leaves; Cypripediums of quaint form and striking half-tones of colour; Oncidiums which droop their slender garlands a yard long, golden yellow and spotted, purple and white--a hundred tints. The crown of the rock bristles all along with Cattleyas, a dark-green glossy little wood against the sky. The _Trianæs_ are almost over, but here and there a belated beauty pushes through, white or rosy, with a lip of crimson velvet. _Mossiæs_ have replaced them generally, and from beds three feet in diameter their great blooms start by the score, in every shade of pink and crimson and rosy purple. There is _Loelia elegans_, exterminated in its native home, of such bulk and such luxuriance of growth that the islanders left forlorn might almost find consolation in regarding it here. Over all, climbing up the spandrils of the roof in full blaze of sunshine, is _Vanda teres_, round as a pencil both leaves and stalk, which will drape those bare iron rods presently with crimson and pink and gold.[8] The way to our farmyard is not like others. It traverses a corner of fairyland.

We find a door masked by such a rock as that faintly and vaguely pictured, which opens on a broad corridor. Through all its length, four hundred feet, it is ceilinged with baskets of Mexican orchid, as close as they will fit. Upon the left hand lie a series of glass structures; upon the right, below the level of the corridor, the workshops; at the end--why, to be frank, the end is blocked by a ponderous screen of matting just now. But this dingy barrier is significant of a work in hand which will not be the least curious nor the least charming of the strange sights here. The farmer has already a "siding" of course, for the removal of his produce; he finds it necessary to have a station of his own also for the convenience of clients. Beyond the screen at present lies an area of mud and ruin, traversed by broken walls and rows of hot-water piping swathed in felt to exclude the chill air. A few weeks since, this little wilderness was covered with glass, but the ends of the long "houses" have been cut off to make room for a structure into which visitors will step direct from the train. The platform is already finished, neat and trim; so are the vast boilers and furnaces, newly rebuilt, which would drive a cotton factory.

A busy scene that is which we survey, looking down through openings in the wall of the corridor. Here is the composing-room, where that magnificent record of orchidology in three languages, the "Reichenbachia," slowly advances from year to year. There is the printing-room, with no steam presses or labour-saving machinery, but the most skilful craftsmen to be found, the finest paper, the most deliberate and costly processes, to rival the great works of the past in illustrating modern science. These departments, however, we need not visit, nor the chambers, lower still, where mechanical offices are performed.

The "Importing Room" first demands notice. Here cases are received by fifties and hundreds, week by week, from every quarter of the orchid world, unpacked, and their contents stored until space is made for them up above. It is a long apartment, broad and low, with tables against the wall and down the middle, heaped with things which to the uninitiated seem, for the most part, dry sticks and dead bulbs. Orchids everywhere! They hang in dense bunches from the roof. They lie a foot thick upon every board, and two feet thick below. They are suspended on the walls. Men pass incessantly along the gangways, carrying a load that would fill a barrow. And all the while fresh stores are accumulating under the hands of that little group in the middle, bent and busy at cases just arrived. They belong to a lot of eighty that came in from Burmah last night--and while we look on, a boy brings a telegram announcing fifty more from Mexico, that will reach Waterloo at 2.30 p.m. Great is the wrath and great the anxiety at this news, for some one has blundered; the warning should have been despatched three hours before. Orchids must not arrive at unknown stations unless there be somebody of discretion and experience to meet them, and the next train does not leave St. Albans until 2.44 p.m. Dreadful is the sense of responsibility, alarming the suggestions of disaster, that arise from this incident.

The Burmese cases in hand just now are filled with Dendrobiums, _crassinode_ and _Wardianum_, stowed in layers as close as possible, with _D. Falconerii_ for packing material. A royal way of doing things indeed to substitute an orchid of value for shavings or moss, but mighty convenient and profitable. For that packing will be sent to the auction-rooms presently, and will be sold for no small proportion of the sum which its more delicate charge attains. We remark that the experienced persons who remove these precious sticks, layer by layer, perform their office gingerly. There is not much danger or unpleasantness in unpacking Dendrobes, compared with other genera, but ship-rats spring out occasionally and give an ugly bite; scorpions and centipedes have been known to harbour in the close roots of _D. Falconerii_; stinging ants are by no means improbable, nor huge spiders; while cockroaches of giant size, which should be killed, may be looked for with certainty. But men learn a habit of caution by experience of cargoes much more perilous. In those masses of _Arundina bambusæfolia_ beneath the table yonder doubtless there are centipedes lurking, perhaps even scorpions, which have escaped the first inspection. Happily, these pests are dull, half-stupefied with the cold, when discovered, and no man here has been stung, circumspect as they are; but ants arrive as alert and as vicious as in their native realm. Distinctly they are no joke. To handle a consignment of _Epidendrum bicornutum_ demands some nerve. A very ugly species loves its hollow bulbs, which, when disturbed, shoots out with lightning swiftness and nips the arm or hand so quickly that it can seldom be avoided. But the most awkward cases to deal with are those which contain _Schomburghkia tibicinis_. This superb orchid is so difficult to bloom that very few will attempt it; I have seen its flower but twice. Packers strongly approve the reluctance of the public to buy, since it restricts importation. The foreman has been laid up again and again. But they find pleasing curiosities also, tropic beetles, and insects, and cocoons. Dendrobiums in especial are favoured by moths; _D. Wardianum_ is loaded with their webs, empty as a rule. Hitherto the men have preserved no chrysalids, but at this moment they have a few, of unknown species.

The farmer gets strange bits of advice sometimes, and strange offers of assistance. Talking of insects reminds him of a letter received last week. Here it is:--

SIRS,--I have heard that you are large growers of orchids;
am I right in supposing that in their growth or production you are
much troubled with some insect or caterpillar which retards or
hinders their arrival at maturity, and that these insects or
caterpillars can be destroyed by small snakes? I have tracts of
land under my occupation, and if these small snakes can be of use
in your culture of orchids you might write, as I could get you some
on knowing what these might be worth to you.

Yours truly
----

Thence we mount to the potting-rooms, where a dozen skilled workmen try to keep pace with the growth of the imported plants; taking up, day by day, those which thrust out roots so fast that postponement is injurious. The broad middle tables are heaped with peat and moss and leaf-mould and white sand. At counters on either side unskilled labourers are sifting and mixing, while boys come and go, laden with pots and baskets of teak-wood and crocks and charcoal. These things are piled in heaps against the walls; they are stacked on frames overhead; they fill the semi-subterranean chambers of which we get a glimpse in passing. Our farm resembles a factory in this department.

Ascending to the upper earth again, and crossing the corridor, we may visit number one of those glass-houses opposite. I cannot imagine, much more describe, how that spectacle would strike one to whom it was wholly unfamiliar. These buildings--there are twelve of them, side by side--measure one hundred and eighty feet in length, and the narrowest has thirty-two feet breadth. This which we enter is devoted to _Odontoglossum crispum_, with a few _Masdevallias_. There were twenty-two thousand pots in it the other day; several thousand have been sold, several thousand have been brought in, and the number at this moment cannot be computed. Our farmer has no time for speculative arithmetic; he deals in produce wholesale. Telegraph an order for a thousand _crispums_ and you cause no stir in the establishment. You take it for granted that a large dealer only could propose such a transaction. But it does not follow at all. Nobody would credit, unless he had talked with one of the great farmers, on what enormous scale orchids are cultivated up and down by private persons. Our friend has a client who keeps his stock of _O. crispum_ alone at ten thousand; but others, less methodical, may have more.

Opposite the door is a high staging, mounted by steps, with a gangway down the middle and shelves descending on either hand. Those shelves are crowded with fine plants of the glorious _O. crispum_, each bearing one or two spikes of flower, which trail down, interlace, arch upward. Not all are in bloom; that amazing sight may be witnessed for a month to come--for two months, with such small traces of decay as the casual visitor would not notice. So long and dense are the wreaths, so broad the flowers, that the structure seems to be festooned from top to bottom with snowy garlands. But there is more. Overhead hang rows of baskets, lessening in perspective, with pendent sprays of bloom. And broad tables which edge the walls beneath that staging display some thousands still, smaller but not less beautiful. A sight which words could not portray. I yield in despair.

The tillage of the farm is our business, and there are many points here which the amateur should note. Observe the bricks beneath your feet. They have a hollow pattern which retains the water, though your boots keep dry. Each side of the pathway lie shallow troughs, always full. Beneath that staging mentioned is a bed of leaves, interrupted by a tank here, by a group of ferns there, vividly green. Slender iron pipes run through the house from end to end, so perforated that on turning a tap they soak these beds, fill the little troughs and hollow bricks, play in all directions down below, but never touch a plant. Under such constant drenching the leaf-beds decay, throwing up those gases and vapours in which the orchid delights at home. Thus the amateur should arrange his greenhouse, so far as he may. But I would not have it understood that these elaborate contrivances are essential. If you would beat Nature, as here, making invariably such bulbs and flowers as she produces only under rare conditions, you must follow this system. But orchids are not exacting.

The house opens, at its further end, in a magnificent structure designed especially to exhibit plants of warm species in bloom. It is three hundred feet long, twenty-six wide, eighteen high--the piping laid end to end, would measure as nearly as possible one mile: we see a practical illustration of the resources of the establishment, when it is expected to furnish such a show. Here are stored the huge specimens of _Cymbidium Lowianum_, nine of which astounded the good people of Berlin with a display of one hundred and fifty flower spikes, all open at once. We observe at least a score as well furnished, and hundreds which a royal gardener would survey with pride. They rise one above another in a great bank, crowned and brightened by garlands of pale green and chocolate. Other Cymbidiums are here, but not the beautiful _C. eburneum_. Its large white flowers, erect on a short spike, not drooping like these, will be found in a cool house--smelt with delight before they are found.

Further on we have a bank of Dendrobiums, so densely clothed in bloom that the leaves are unnoticed. Lovely beyond all to my taste, if, indeed, one may make a comparison, is _D. luteolum_, with flowers of palest, tenderest primrose, rarely seen unhappily, for it will not reconcile itself to our treatment. Then again a bank of Cattleyas, of Vandas, of miscellaneous genera. The pathway is hedged on one side with _Begonia coralina_, an unimproved species too straggling of growth and too small of flower to be worth its room under ordinary conditions; but a glorious thing here, climbing to the roof, festooned at every season of the year with countless rosy sprays.

Beyond this show-house lie the small structures devoted to "hybridization," but I deal with them in another chapter. Here also are the Phaloenopsis, the very hot Vandas, Bolleas, Pescatoreas, Anæctochili, and such dainty but capricious beauties.

We enter the second of the range of greenhouses, also devoted to Odontoglossums, Masdevallias, and "cool" genera, as crowded as the last; pass down it to the corridor, and return through number three, which is occupied by Cattleyas and such. There is a lofty mass of rock in front, with a pool below, and a pleasant sound of splashing water. Many orchids of the largest size are planted out here--Cypripedium, Cattleya, Sobralia, Phajus, Loelia, Zygopetalum, and a hundred more, "specimens," as the phrase runs--that is to say, they have ten, twenty, fifty, flower spikes. I attempt no more descriptions; to one who knows, the plain statement of fact is enough, one who does not is unable to conceive that sight by the aid of words. But the Sobralias demand attention. They stand here in clumps two feet thick, bearing a wilderness of loveliest bloom--like Irises magnified and glorified by heavenly enchantment. Nature designed a practical joke perhaps when she granted these noble flowers but one day's existence each, while dingy Epidendrums last six months, or nine. I imagine that for stateliness and delicacy combined there are no plants that excel the Sobralia. At any single point they may be surpassed--among orchids, be it understood, by nothing else in Nature's realm--but their magnificence and grace together cannot be outshone.

I must not dwell upon the marvels here, in front, on either side, and above--a hint is enough. There are baskets of _Loelia anceps_ three feet across, lifted bodily from the tree in their native forest where they had grown perhaps for centuries. One of them--the white variety, too, which æsthetic infidels might adore, though they believed in nothing--opened a hundred spikes at Christmas time; we do not concern ourselves with minute reckonings here. But an enthusiastic novice counted the flowers blooming one day on that huge mass of _Loelia albida_ yonder, and they numbered two hundred and eleven--unless, as some say, this was the quantity of "spikes," in which case one must have to multiply by two or three. Such incidents maybe taken for granted at the farm.

But we must not pass a new orchid, quite distinct and supremely beautiful, for which Professor Reichenbach has not yet found a name sufficiently appreciative. Only eight pieces were discovered, whence we must suspect that it is very rare at home; I do not know where the home is, and I should not tell if I did. Such information is more valuable than the surest tip for the Derby, or most secrets of State. This new orchid is a Cyrrhopetalun, of very small size, but, like so many others, its flower is bigger than itself. The spike inclines almost at a right angle, and the pendent half is hung with golden bells, nearly two inches in length. Beneath it stands the very rare scarlet Utricularia, growing in the axils of its native Vriesia, as in a cup always full; but as yet the flower has been seen in Europe only by the eyes of faith. It may be news to some that Utricularias do not belong to the orchid family--have, in fact, not the slightest kinship, though associated with it by growers to the degree that Mr. Sander admits them to his farm. A little story hangs to the exquisite _U. Campbelli_. All importers are haunted by the spectral image of _Cattleya labiata_, which, in its true form, had been brought to Europe only once, seventy years ago, when this book was written. Some time since, Mr. Sander was looking through the drawings of Sir Robert Schomburgk, in the British Museum, among which is a most eccentric Cattleya named--for reasons beyond comprehension--a variety of _C. Mossiæ_. He jumped at the conclusion that this must be the long-lost _C. labiata_. So strong indeed was his confidence that he despatched a man post-haste over the Atlantic to explore the Roraima mountain; and, further, gave him strict injunctions to collect nothing but this precious species. For eight months the traveller wandered up and down among the Indians, searching forest and glade, the wooded banks of streams, the rocks and clefts, but he found neither _C. labiata_ nor that curious plant which Sir Robert Schomburgk described. Upon the other hand, he came across the lovely _Utricularia Campbelli_, and in defiance of instructions brought it down. But very few reached England alive. For six weeks they travelled on men's backs, from their mountain home to the River Essequibo; thence, six weeks in canoe to Georgetown, with twenty portages; and, so aboard ship. The single chance of success lies in bringing them down, undisturbed, in the great clumps of moss which are their habitat, as is the Vriesia of other species.

I will allow myself a very short digression here. It may seem unaccountable that a plant of large growth, distinct flower, and characteristic appearance, should elude the eye of persons trained to such pursuits, and encouraged to spend money on the slightest prospect of success, for half a century and more. But if we recall the circumstances it ceases to astonish. I myself spent many months in the forests of Borneo, Central America, and the West African coast. After that experience I scarcely understand how such a quest, for a given object, can ever be successful unless by mere fortune. To look for a needle in a bottle of hay is a promising enterprise compared with the search for an orchid clinging to some branch high up in that green world of leaves. As a matter of fact, collectors seldom discover what they are specially charged to seek, if the district be untravelled--the natives, therefore, untrained to grasp and assist their purpose. This remark does not apply to orchids alone; not by any means. Few besides the scientific, probably, are aware that the common _Eucharis amasonica_ has been found only once; that is to say, but one consignment has ever been received in Europe, from which all our millions in cultivation have descended. Where it exists in the native state is unknown, but assuredly this ignorance is nobody's fault. For a generation at least skilled explorers have been hunting. Mr. Sander has had his turn, and has enjoyed the satisfaction of discovering species closely allied, as _Eucharis Mastersii_ and _Eucharis Sanderiana_; but the old-fashioned bulb is still to seek.

In this third greenhouse is a large importation of _Cattleya Trianæ_, which arrived so late last year that their sheaths have opened contemporaneously with _C. Mossiæ_. I should fear to hazard a guess how many thousand flowers of each are blooming now. As the Odontoglossums cover their stage with snow wreaths, so this is decked with upright plumes of _Cattleya Trianæ_, white and rose and purple in endless variety of tint, with many a streak of other hue between.

Suddenly our guide becomes excited, staring at a basket overhead beyond reach. It contains a smooth-looking object, very green and fat, which must surely be good to eat--but this observation is alike irrelevant and disrespectful. Why, yes! Beyond all possibility of doubt that is a spike issuing from the axil of its fleshy leaf! Three inches long it is already, thick as a pencil, with a big knob of bud at the tip. Such pleasing surprises befall the orchidacean! This plant came from Borneo so many years ago that the record is lost; but the oldest servant of the farm remembers it, as a poor cripple, hanging between life and death, season after season. Cheerful as interesting is the discussion that arises. More like a Vanda than anything else, the authorities resolve, but not a Vanda! Commending it to the special care of those responsible, we pass on.

Here is the largest mass of Catasetum ever found, or even rumoured, lying in ponderous bulk upon the stage, much as it lay in a Guatemalan forest. It is engaged in the process of "plumping up." Orchids shrivel in their long journey, and it is the importer's first care to renew that smooth and wholesome rotundity which indicates a conscience untroubled, a good digestion, and an assurance of capacity to fulfil any reasonable demand. Beneath the staging you may see myriads of withered sticks, clumps of shrunken and furrowed bulbs by the thousand, hung above those leaf-beds mentioned; they are "plumping" in the damp shade. The larger pile of Catasetum--there are two--may be four feet long, three wide, and eighteen inches thick; how many hundreds of flowers it will bear passes computation. I remarked that when broken up into handsome pots it would fill a greenhouse of respectable dimensions; but it appears that there is not the least intention of dividing it. The farmer has several clients who will snap at this natural curiosity, when, in due time, it is put on the market.

At the far end of the house stands another piece of rockwork, another little cascade, and more marvels than I can touch upon. In fact, there are several which would demand all the space at my disposition, but, happily, one reigns supreme. This is a _Cattleya Mossiæ_, the pendant of the Catasetum, by very far the largest orchid of any kind that was ever brought to Europe. For some years Mr. Sander, so to speak, hovered round it, employing his shrewdest and most diplomatic agents. For this was not a forest specimen. It grew upon a high tree beside an Indian's hut, near Caraccas, and belonged to him as absolutely as the fruit in his compound. His great-grandfather, indeed, had "planted" it, so he declared, but this is highly improbable. The giant has embraced two stems of the tree, and covers them both so thickly that the bare ends of wood at top alone betray its secret; for it was sawn off, of course, above and below. I took the dimensions as accurately as may be, with an object so irregular and prickly. It measures--the solid bulk of it, leaves not counted--as nearly as possible five feet in height and four thick--one plant, observe, pulsating through its thousand limbs from one heart; at least, I mark no spot where the circulation has been checked by accident or disease, and the pseudo-bulbs beyond have been obliged to start an independent existence.

In speaking of _Loelia elegans_, I said that those Brazilian islanders who have lost it might find solace could they see its happiness in exile. The gentle reader thought this an extravagant figure of speech, no doubt, but it is not wholly fanciful. Indians of Tropical America cherish a fine orchid to the degree that in many cases no sum, and no offer of valuables, will tempt them to part with it. Ownership is distinctly recognized when the specimen grows near a village. The root of this feeling, whether superstition or taste, sense of beauty, rivalry in magnificence of church displays, I have not been able to trace. It runs very strong in Costa Rica, where the influence of the aborigines is scarcely perceptible, and there, at least, the latter motive is sufficient explanation. Glorious beyond all our fancy can conceive, must be the show in those lonely forest churches, which no European visits save the "collector," on a feast day. Mr. Roezl, whose name is so familiar to botanists, left a description of the scene that time he first beheld the Flor de Majo. The church was hung with garlands of it, he says, and such emotions seized him at the view that he choked. The statement is quite credible. Those who see that wonder now, prepared for its transcendent glory, find no words to express their feeling: imagine an enthusiast beholding it for the first time, unwarned, unsuspecting that earth can show such a sample of the flowers that bloomed in Eden! And not a single branch, but garlands of it! Mr. Roezl proceeds to speak of bouquets of _Masdevallia Harryana_ three feet across, and so forth. The natives showed him "gardens" devoted to this species, for the ornament of their church; it was not cultivated, of course, but evidently planted. They were acres in extent.