The Woodlands orchids, described and illustrated

THE COOL HOUSE

contains about three thousand plants, mostly Odontoglossums. It is a ‘lean-to,’ of course. Not all the most successful growers use this form of building. Baron Schröder’s world-famous Odontoglots dwell in an oblong structure which receives an equal quantity of light from every side. Even the hardiest of epiphytal orchids are conscious of influences which we cannot grasp, and those who understand them are unwilling to lay down fixed rules. But experience shows that under ordinary conditions cool species thrive in a ‘lean-to’ better than in a house of full span. It may be because the back wall retains moisture and gives it out all day steadily, whilst the air is saturated and dried by turns if fully exposed to a hot sun. Or it may be because the full light of a span-roof is too strong in most situations. A collector once told me that he often found Odontoglossum Pescatorei so buried in Lycopodium as to be invisible until the flower-spike appeared. Evidently such a plant does not need strong light. Both causes operate, perhaps. At least the broad fact is so well established that one might almost fancy Baron Schröder’s Odontoglots would do better, if that were possible, in a ‘lean-to.’

There are three glass partitions, but from either door the full length of the house is seen; a pleasing vista even when there are no flowers—all smoothly green on one hand, rocky bank upon the other, studded with ferns and creepers and an orchid here and there. Why these plants dislike to stand in a long house open from end to end is a question none the less puzzling because every gardener is ready to explain it. Loving fresh air so well they cannot object to the brisker circulation. But their whims must be respected, and after building a house ninety feet long we must divide it into compartments.

I name a few among the rarities here. Of Odontoglots:—

Wilckeanum.—Upon internal evidence Reichenbach pronounced this a natural hybrid of Od. crispum × Od. luteo-purpureum. It was one among innumerable instances of his sagacity. A few years ago M. Leroy, gardener of Baron Edmond de Rothschild at Armainvilliers, crossed those two species and the flower appeared in 1890. It was Od. Wilckeanum; but for the sake of convenience this garden hybrid is called Leroyanum.

Wilckeanum pallens.—A form still rarer of this rare variety; yellow-ivory in colour, heavily splashed with brown; lip white, with a brown bar across the centre.

Wilckeanum albens.—Very large, white instead of yellowish; spotted and blotched with brown.

Ruckerianum.—Sepals and petals white in the centre, edged with violet, yellow lip; all spotted with reddish-brown.

Ruckerianum splendens.—Larger and more finely coloured in all respects than the normal form. The violet margin is broader.

Vuylstekeanum.—Those who saw the original plant of this noble species at the Temple Show some years since have not forgotten the spectacle assuredly. Petals and dorsal sepal pale yellow; lip and side sepals brightest deepest orange.

Mulus.—A natural hybrid of Od. luteo-purpureum with Od. gloriosum no doubt. It bears a strong spike, branched, with many large flowers, bright yellow blotched with pale brown. But the colouring varies greatly.

Josephinae.—Named after Miss Josephine Measures. White, with a rosy flush; sepals and petals spotted with chocolate at the base.

Hunnewellianum.—Small, but very pretty. Sepals and petals pale yellow, profusely dotted with brown; lip white, with a single brown spot.

Elegans.—Assumed to be a natural hybrid of Od. cirrhosum and Od. Hallii. The ground colour, faintly yellow, is almost concealed by chocolate spots and patches; lip white, with a large blotch in the centre.

Crispum virginale.—Very large and pure white, saving the yellow crest.

Crispum Measuresiae.—Sepals and petals broad, white, spotted and blotted with reddish brown. Lip unusually large, with a single great brown blotch.

Edithae.—Rosy white of sepal and petal, bordered with yellow and barred with chestnut; lip pale yellow, much deeper at the base, with chestnut spots in the centre.

Crispum Our Empress.—A remarkable variety. Very large, rose colour, heavily blotched with reddish purple; lip paler, covered with brown spots.

Crispum Woodlandsense.—A superb example of the ‘round-flowering’ type. Sepals and petals very broad, densely spotted with cinnamon-brown; lip short, broad, similarly spotted.

Crispum magnificum.—Sepals pale rose; petals and lip very faintly flushed; the whole covered with brown spots.

Bictoniense album.—The ordinary Bictoniense is pretty enough when the lower blooms on the densely clothed spike can be persuaded to last until those above them open. This uncommon sport is much more effective, with sepals and petals of a lively brown, and broad lip of purest white.

Facetum.—A good example of this catches the eye at once. Ground colour pale yellow, almost hidden by great brown bars upon the sepals. The petals are sharply freckled with brown, and up the middle runs a series of dark red dots. Lip similarly freckled above, with a large splash of brown in front; the lip handsomely fringed.

Cristatellum.—Rather small and not impressive, but valuable for its scarcity. The yellow ground colour shows itself only in a few narrow streaks upon sepal and petal, and in the base of the lip. Elsewhere it is hidden beneath layers of chestnut.

Hallii magnificum.—A variety finer in all respects than the common type. Sepals brown, save the yellow tips, and a few yellow lines; petals yellow, with two large brown blots. The fringed lip also is yellow, with two brown blots.

Madrense.—Named after its place of birth, the Sierra Madre, in Mexico. The plant is not uncommon, but it does not flower willingly, as a rule. Sepals and petals are white, with a double purple blotch at the base; lip small, bright orange.

Polyxanthum magnificum.—The grandest variety of a species always treasured. In colour deepest ‘old gold,’ with four or five great blots of chestnut on the sepals, and as many spots at the base of the petals. The lip has a shallow fringe and a broad splash in the centre.

Wallisii.—Small. Sepals and petals dusky yellow, with a long straight bar of chocolate down the middle. Lip white at the base, with small rosy streaks; the disc rosy, edged with white.

Hallii leucoglossum.—One of the largest Odontoglots. Buff or greenish yellow, lip white, fringed; all heavily blotched and spotted with dark brown.

Mirandum.—Among so many charming species this must be reckoned curious rather than pretty. Narrow and rather small, dull greenish yellow, with a longitudinal bar and spots of red-brown.

Wilckeanum Rothschildianum.—-Perhaps the handsomest form of this rare variety. Large, very broad of sepal and petal, pale yellow, blotched and spotted with brown.

Pescatorei Germinyanum.—Named after the Comte de Germiny, an enthusiastic lover of orchids, as indeed of all other flowers. This ranks among the prettiest forms of Pescatorei. Petals white, sepals flushed; both marked with a spot of dark rose. Lip white, with similar dots.

Sceptrum.—A superb variety of the common luteo-purpureum. Sepals deep reddish brown, with yellow edges; petals yellow, blotched with reddish-brown. Lip yellow, with a single blotch in front.

Coronarium.—One of the Odontoglots which may be termed climbing par excellence, for the pseudo-bulbs thrust out a long shaft before taking form. It makes a very large plant, and probably the example here is the largest existing—at least there are few as big. By successive enlargements, the basket in which it stands has reached the dimensions of three feet by two. Coronarium is reckoned among the species slow to flower, but here we find no difficulty at all. Last season our plant made nine growths and threw up eight spikes—a record! Noble spikes they are too, bearing twenty to thirty blooms; petals of the brightest red-copper, marbled with yellow at the base; petals somewhat browner, both edged with gold. Lip small, narrow, light red, broadening towards the tip, which is pale primrose. I should describe coronarium as the most majestic of Odontoglots.

Crispum Arthurianum.—A notable variety—very large, blush-white, with one enormous chocolate blot and two or three small spots on sepal and petal. Spotted lip.

Crispo-Harryanum.—This is one of the very few hybrid Odontoglots. It was commonly assumed until a few years ago that the genus would not bear fruitful seed in Europe. This notion proves to be ill-founded happily, but to obtain good seed is still very difficult, and to rear the young plants more difficult still. Crispo-Harryanum was raised by M. Chas. Vuylsteke near Ghent. The flowers show the influence of either parent in colour and shape; the petals, which in Harryanum refuse to expand, are almost as flat as in crispum.

Humeanum.—We may confidently assume that this is a natural hybrid of Od. Rossii and Od. cordatum. The former parent is so handsome that he has begotten a very pretty progeny, though the mother is so plain—sepals primrose, closely spotted with brown, petals and lip white, the former similarly spotted at the base.

Tripudians oculatum.—A rare and beautiful variety of an interesting species. Very much larger than the common form; sepals of a lively brown, with yellow tips, petals yellow, mottled with brown; lip white, with violet spots above, a large blot below.

Platycheilum.—One of the oddest and rarest Odontoglots. Sepals and petals white, with a few brown dots at the base; lip large and widespread, pink, spotted with crimson.

Baphicanthum.—A valuable hybrid of Od. crispum and Od. odoratum or Od. gloriosum, as internal evidence suggests. All primrose of ground colour, but the sepals and petals are thickly dotted with red-brown.

Schillerianum.—Exceedingly rare. Pale yellow; sepals and petals spotted with chestnut. The lip has one large chestnut splash in the centre.

Murrellianum.—Probably a natural hybrid of Od. Pescatorei and Od. naevium. White tinged with violet, sepals and petals spotted with purple.

Lindeni.—A superb species, but uncommonly reluctant to display its charms, as a rule. In my own poor little house it has been growing bigger for years and years. The pseudo-bulbs are five inches high now, and more than two thick, but I look for flowers in vain. When they condescend to appear they are all sulphur-yellow, crumpled, or, as the phrase goes, undulated, in a fashion quite unlike any other Odontoglot.

Grande magnificum.—The common form of grande ranks among the showiest of flowers, much too big, indeed, and too strong in colour, to be approved by a dainty taste. But this is even bigger, its yellow more brilliant, its red-brown markings more distinctly red. There is record of sixteen flowers on one spike, each seven inches across!—I scarcely expect to be believed, but ‘chapter and verse’ are forthcoming on demand.

Crispum aureum.—Almost as yellow as polyxanthum, ‘the very golden’—a most remarkable variety. The spots are few and small.

Crispum Cooksoni, on the other hand, is white, superbly spotted, or rather blotched, with crimson brown. Perhaps the best of its class.

Crispum Reginae.—Immense. White. The handsome spots, of purplish brown, are more regularly disposed than usual.

Crispum Chestertoni.—Peculiar for a yellow lip, while sepals and petals are white; the former of these heavily splashed, and the latter sprinkled, with red-brown. The lip has a brown blot on the disc.

Rossii aspersum is a natural hybrid of Od. Rossii and Od. maculatum, as is supposed. Sepals and petals faintly yellow, spotted with brown at the base; lip creamy white.

Pescatorei album.—Large. All pure white.

Pescatorei superbum.—A round flower, of great ‘substance’—which means, in effect, that it will last an unusual time. Notable for the deep tone of its purplish markings.

Pescatorei grandiflorum.—Immense. The lip has a yellow dash at base.

Pescatorei splendens.—Sepals and petals white; lip handsomely spotted with purple.

Pescatorei violaceum.—The whole flower is tinted with violet.

Crispum purpureum shows a similar peculiarity, but the tint is purple.

Crispum Dayanum.—The sepals have a large irregular patch of darkest mauve in the centre, the petals a spot or two of the same colour and a streak at the base. The lip is white.

Old-fashioned people have not yet learned to call Odontoglossum vexillarium a Miltonia. To avoid confusion I will give it no generic name at all. It should be observed, however, that in our collection these plants are ‘grown cool’ all the year round. Among the most important are:—

Vexillaria Cobbiana.—Pale rose with white lip.

Vexillaria Measuresiana.—All white save the golden ‘beard.’ Perhaps the handsomest of its rare class.

Vexillaria rubella.—Deep rose. Valuable for its habit of flowering in autumn.

STORY OF ODONTOGLOSSUM HARRYANUM

Men supremely great in science have a quality beyond reason, such as we term instinct, enabling them to leap over the slow processes of demonstration, and announce a law or a result unsuspected, which they cannot yet prove. The great Collector Benedict Roezl had this gift. Returning from the memorable expedition in which he discovered the Miltonia commonly called Odontoglossum vexillarium, he assured Mr. Sander that in those parts would be found a true Odontoglossum of unusual colouring. When asked the grounds for his opinion he could only say he ‘smelt it.’ Mr. Sander was not unused to this expression, and he knew by experience that Roezl’s scientific nose might be trusted. It was something in the air, in the ‘lie’ of the country, in the type of vegetation, which guided him, no doubt. Other collectors born and bred have a like sense. Roezl showed his supremacy by the confident prediction that this new species would be darker than any known, and striking in the combination of its tints.

This was in 1875. Ten years later Professor Reichenbach wrote to Mr. Sander of an astounding Odontoglossum he had seen—it may be necessary to tell the unlearned that Professor Reichenbach was the very genius of orchidology. Nothing in the least resembling it had been even rumoured hitherto. And then Reichenbach described Odontoglossum Harryanum. The raptures of that enthusiast were wont to divert admiring friends, expressed with quaint vehemence, but always suggesting that he mocked himself the while. Never had he such a theme as this. Speaking with due thought and sufficient knowledge, I declare that Odontoglossum Harryanum is the most finished result of Nature’s efforts to produce a flower which should startle and impress by its colours alone, without eccentricity of shape or giant size, or peculiarities of structure. Remembering that not all the world has seen this flower, I should give just a hint of the means employed. Fancy, then, eight or ten great blooms, dark chestnut in tone, barred with yellow, striped with mauve; the lip white, broadly edged with a network of bluish purple and intersected by a deep stain of that tint, beyond which is spread a sheet of snow; touch with gold here and there, and you have the ‘scheme of colour.’ Those who knew the great savant can imagine how he raved after giving, with luminous precision, his scientific report of the new orchid.

Reichenbach persuaded himself, by study of the flower, that it must be a native of Mexico. He was wrong for once, but people were so used to regard him as infallible that Mr. Sander did not think of doubting the assertion. Presently, however, it became known that Messrs. Veitch had bought the plants, a dozen or so, from Messrs. Horsman. And then Mr. Sander learned by accident that the latter firm received a small case of orchids from Barranquilla, twelve months before. While pondering this news, Roezl’s unforgotten prophecy flashed into his mind. Barranquilla, in the United States of Columbia, is the port of that district where Odontoglossum vexillarium is found! He had a collector not far away. Within an hour this gentleman, Mr. Kerbach, received a telegram short and imperative: ‘Go Amalfi.’ Not waiting an explanation Kerbach replied ‘Gone!’—reached Amalfi in due course, and found another telegram containing a hint that sufficed, ‘New Odontoglossum.’

Kerbach began to inquire the same day. It was hardly credible that an orchid of importance could have been overlooked in the neighbourhood of Amalfi, where collectors—French, Belgian, and English—had been busy for years. A hunt there would be very unpromising. Kerbach wandered about, asking questions. Thus at Medellin he made acquaintance with a Bank clerk. It may be noted, by the way, that the inhabitants of that busy and thriving town, the bulk of them, are descendants of Maranos—that is, Jews converted by the processes of the Inquisition. Doubtless there are records which explain why and how many thousands of those people assembled in a remote district of New Granada, but they themselves appear to have lost the tradition; they have lost their ancestral faith also, for there are no more devout Catholics. The religious instincts of the race assert themselves, however, for New Granadans in general are not more fervent than other creoles of South America, while the town of Medellin is an oasis of piety.

The Bank clerk was questioned as usual, though not a likely person to take note of plants. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘there was a customer of ours at the Bank yesterday, swearing like a wild Indian at orchids and everybody connected with them. I should advise you to keep out of his way.’

‘What have the orchids done to him?’ asked Kerbach.

‘I wasn’t listening, but I’ll inquire.’ And presently he brought the explanation. A young French collector had been in those parts some years before. He stayed a while at the planter’s house, and there discovered an orchid which stirred him to enthusiasm. After gathering a quantity he made arrangements with his host for a shipment to follow next season, promising a sum which astonished the native. But this young man was drowned in the Couca. After a while Don Filipe resolved to despatch a few of the weeds on his own account to Europe, and he consigned them to a friend at Barranquilla. But the friend never returned him a farthing. He had handed the case to some one else for shipment, and this some one, he said, could not get his money from England. It is pleasant to hear, however, that Don Filipe had implicit trust in British honesty. He proclaimed his friend a swindler, and doubtless he was right.

All the cash that this good man was out of pocket could not well have exceeded ten dollars, and his time did not count. Perhaps he would have been less furious had the loss been greater. Anyhow he nursed his wrath with Indian stubbornness—for Don Filipe was an Indian, though distinguishable from a white only in character, as are myriads at this day.

Kerbach did not doubt that he had found his Odontoglossum, and gaily started for the hacienda. Some little diplomacy might be needed, and rather more cash than usual; but of course a sane man would come to terms at last. Don Filipe was absent when he arrived—a fortunate chance, perhaps. Meantime Kerbach entertained the ladies, played with the children, and made himself agreeable. The haciendero found him seated at the piano, and applauded with the rest.

But his face changed when they got to business. Kerbach opened with flattering remarks upon the wealth of the country and its prospects. Don Filipe purred with satisfaction. Gradually he worked round to orchids. Don Filipe ceased to purr, and he hastily begged leave to visit the cacao plantation. As they rode through the sheltering woods Kerbach looked about him sharply. It was too late for flowers, but the growth of Odontoglossum Harryanum is very distinct. He espied one plant and recognised it as a new species.

The trouble must be faced, and after dinner Kerbach explained his object, as gently as he could. The planter flamed out at once, dropped his Castilian manners, and vowed he would shoot any man found gathering orchids on his estate. Kerbach withdrew. Next day he visited two other hacienderos of the district. But Don Filipe had preceded him. Less rudely but with equal firmness the landowners forbade him to collect on their property.

A brief explanation is needed. In those parts of South America, where the value of orchids is known to every child, a regular system has been introduced long since. As a rule almost invariable, the woods belong to some one, however far from a settlement. With this personage the collector must negotiate a lease, as it is called, a formal document, stamped and registered, which gives him authority to cut down trees—for the peons will not climb. At the beginning, doubtless, they shrewdly perceived that to fell a stout trunk would pay them infinitely better—since they receive a daily wage—than to strip it, besides the annoyance from insects and the risk from snakes which they elude. At the present time this usage has become fixed.[2]

Without the assistance of peons, Kerbach could not possibly get plants sufficient to ship. To cut down trees without authority would be a penal offence, certainly detected. He explored the country at a distance and found nothing. It was necessary to come to terms with Don Filipe at any cost or abandon the enterprise. Meantime letters reached Amalfi describing the new Odontoglossum, with a picture showing the foliage. It was that he had found. The treasure hung within reach, and a pig-headed Indian forbade him to grasp it.

In such a difficulty one applies to the Cura. Kerbach paid this gentleman a visit. A tall, stout, good-natured ecclesiastic was he, willing to help a stranger, perhaps, even though unprovided with the dollars which Kerbach offered ‘for the poor,’ if his mediation proved successful. The Cura made the attempt and failed signally. It was useless to try again. The good man begged ten dollars, or five, or one, upon the ground that he had done his best. But Kerbach in despair was not inclined for charity. The Cura sighed, hesitated, tossed off a glass of aguardiente and proposed another way.

‘This is a wicked country, sir,’ he said. ‘Ah! very wicked. And the wickedest people in it have a proverb which I shudder to repeat. But your case is hard. Well, sir, they say (heaven forgive them and me!), “If the saints won’t hear you, take your prayer to the devil.” Horrible, isn’t it?’

‘Horrible!’ said Kerbach. ‘But I don’t know where to find the devil.’

‘Yours is a pious country I have heard, though not Christian. In this wicked land even children could tell you where to seek him. Now, you will give me a trifle for my poor?’ And he held out his hand.

‘But I’m not acquainted with any children. Your reverence must really be more explicit.’

‘Bother!’ exclaimed his reverence, or some Spanish equivalent. ‘Well, you will pay me the fifty dollars promised?’

‘Twenty! When Don Filipe signs the lease.’

‘And all incidental expenses? Then my sacristan will call on you to-morrow. Never talk to me again of your impious projects, sir.’

The sacristan was very business-like. He demanded a dollar to begin with for the Indian who would work the charm, and another dollar for himself to pay for the masses which would expiate his sin. Kerbach asked details, which were given quite frankly. The wizard was a respectable person—attended church, and so forth. The sacristan had talked matters over with him and neither doubted of success. Kerbach must write a letter to Don Filipe’s wife begging her to intercede. The wizard having charmed that document before presenting it, she would be compelled to grant its request. If the planter should still refuse, a curse would be launched against him. And he could not dare resist that.

The man was so serious, he explained himself in such a matter-of-fact tone, that Kerbach, laughing, risked two dollars on the chance. With the letter in his pocket the sacristan departed. Two days later he returned. Don Filipe was willing to negotiate the lease. Kerbach was so delighted that he never thought of asking whether the lady’s gentle influence or the terrors of the curse had persuaded him. Thus Odontoglossum Harryanum was found, to the eternal glory of Roezl.

MASDEVALLIAS

Among Masdevallias we have scarce varieties of Harryana, as Bull’s Blood, Mr. Bull’s punning name for the darkest of all crimsons, and Denisoniana, which keen eyes distinguish from it by a shade of magenta; splendens, pure magenta; versicolor, which has patches of deep crimson on a magenta ground, and a bright yellow ‘eye’; Armeniaca, large, apricot in colour, also with a yellow ‘eye’; Sander’s Scarlet, which speaks for itself.

Bonplandii.—Greenish yellow, with a few purple marks. Tails short and stiff.

Caudata.—Upper sepal light yellow dotted with red; lower purplish rose, marbled with white. A dwarf species, but the yellow tails are two to three inches long.

Abbreviata.—Small, white speckled with purple.

Ignea splendens.—Much larger than the normal form. Fiery red.

Amabilis.—Small, carmine, conspicuous by reason of its ‘tail,’ an inch and a half long.

Chelsoni.—A hybrid of the last-named with Veitchii, orange-yellow, with mauve spots and two ‘tails.’

Veitchii grandiflora, a variety even larger than the common type, seven inches across sometimes; orange-red, suffused with purple.

Polysticta.—One of the lovely little ‘curiosities’ which abound in this genus—palest lilac freckled with purple, and tailed.

Coccinea.—Rosy pink above, glowing scarlet below.

Macrura.—One of the few Masdevallias which do not please my eye, but very rare. Immense, as much as twelve inches long, counting the yellow tails, rough of surface, vaguely brown in colour, with darker spots.

Peristeria.—Greenish yellow, freely speckled with purple; yellow-tailed.

Melanopus.—Small, white, dotted with purple and yellow-tailed.

Wallisii stupenda.—-Pale lemon colour splashed with chocolate. There is a curious white excrescence on each side the column, dotted with scarlet.

ONCIDIUMS

Of Oncidiums in this house I note:—

Lamelligerum.—A very grand and noble flower, too rarely seen. It belongs to the stately section of which Oncidium macranthum is the common type. The great dorsal sepal swells out roundly from a stalk half an inch long; the two lower resemble in shape those long-bladed paddles, with scalloped edge, which are used by chiefs in the South Seas; in colour rich brown, with a clear golden margin. The yellow petals also have a stalk, but to give a notion of the large, beautiful, and complex development which they carry at the ends is a hopeless endeavour. I have seen ladies’ work-baskets which faintly resemble it when wide open; made of the softest straw, without end-pieces, only to be closed by tying a ribbon in the centre. But really the case is desperate. I pass on.

Tetracopis.—Another of the same group, even more rare, but not so striking. Large, as they all are. Sepals a lively brown, gold edged; petals bright yellow splashed with brown; lip yellow.

Undulatum.—A third member of this handsome family. Sepals brown, petals white, marbled with yellow and mauve at the base, spotted with purple above, and streaked with yellow. Lip very small, as in all the other cases, but conspicuous by reason of its bright purple tint.

Ornithorhynchum album.—This is one of our oldest and commonest species, discovered by Bonpland, who accompanied Humboldt to Mexico; brought to Europe no long time afterwards. But the pure white variety turned up to astonish the world very few years ago, and the names of those happy mortals who possess a sample would make only a brief if distinguished list.

Loxense seems to have been not uncommon in our fathers’ time, but no plants have arrived from Peru—Loxa is the district—for many years. It makes a long spike with branches, bearing a great number of large flowers; sepals greenish ochre, crossed with blurs of chocolate; petals deep brown, edged and tipped with yellow. Lip large and flowing, as it were, orange-yellow, speckled with red in the throat.

Weltoni.—-Classed of late among Miltonias. A singular and fascinating species, difficult to grow and still more difficult to flower. The sepals and petals are very narrow, with edges like a saw, greenish brown, widening out suddenly at the tip, which is yellow. The lip is extraordinary in all respects. It shows a fine broad disc of dusky purple, with a darker bar across the middle; and below this, sharply divided as if by a stroke of the brush, two smaller discs pure white. Upon the whole to be wondered at rather than admired, but more interesting on that account.

STORY OF ONCIDIUM SPLENDIDUM

We all know that to make a thing conspicuous above measure is the most effective way of baffling those who seek it. Wendell Holmes has expounded the natural law of this phenomenon, and Edgar Poe exemplified it in a famous story. I am about to give an instance from the life, as striking as his fiction.

Oncidium splendidum is one of the stateliest orchids we have, and one of the showiest. Its leaves are very large, fleshy and rigid, and the tall flower spike bears a number of pale yellow blooms striped with brown, each three inches across. There is no exaggeration in saving that they would catch the most careless eye as far off as one could see them.

At an uncertain date in the fifties a merchant captain—whose name and that of his ship have never been recovered—brought half a dozen specimens to St. Lazare and gave them to his owner, M. Herman. This gentleman sold the lot to MM. Thibaud and Ketteler, orchid-dealers of Sceaux. They were tempted to divide plants so striking and so new; thus a number of small and weakly pieces were distributed about Europe at a prodigious price. We have the record of the sale of one at Stevens’ Auction Rooms in 1870; it could show but a single leaf, yet somebody paid thirty guineas for the morsel. So ruthlessly were the plants cut up. Even orchids, tenacious of life as they are, will not stand this treatment. In very few years more Oncidium splendidum had vanished.

No one knew where it came from—with a strange carelessness MM. Thibaud and Ketteler had not inquired. M. Herman was dead, and he left no record of the circumstances. The captain could not be traced. Had the name of his ship been preserved, it might have furnished a hint, since the port of sailing would be registered in the Custom House. More than one enterprising dealer made inquiries, but it was too late to recover the trail. Oncidium splendidum took its place for a while among the lost orchids.

But Mr. Sander of St. Albans would not admit defeat. When, after great pains, he had satisfied himself that nothing could be discovered at St. Lazare or at Sceaux, he examined the internal evidence. In the first place, an Oncidium must needs be American, since the genus is not found in the Old World. This species also must dwell in a hot climate; leaves so rigid and fleshy are designed to bear a scorching sun. But the possibilities seemed almost boundless, even thus limited. Patiently and thoughtfully Mr. Sander worked out a process of exhaustion. Mexico might be neglected, for a time at least; those hunting-grounds had been so often explored that some one must surely have come across a flower so conspicuous. So it was with New Grenada. Brazilian Cattleyas have thick, hard leaves, though not to compare with this Oncidium; but they form a single genus which shows the peculiarity among hundreds which do not. Brazil, therefore, might be excluded for the present. The astonishing wealth of Peru in varieties of orchid was not suspected then. After such careful thought as a man of business allows himself when tempted by a speculation which may cost thousands of pounds, Mr. Sander determined that, upon the whole, Central America was the most likely spot; and again, after more balancing of the chances, that Costa Rica was the most likely part of Central America.

After coming to a decision he acted promptly. In 1878 Mr. Oversluys, one of our trustiest and most experienced collectors, was despatched to Costa Rica. More than three years he travelled up and down, and treasures new or old he sent in abundance—Epidendron ciliare, Cattleya Bowringiana, Oncidium cheirophorum, are names that occur at the moment. But as for Oncidium splendidum he had not so much as heard of it. Not a peon could be found in the woods to recognise the sketch which Mr. Sander had given him. Oversluys had never seen the plant himself, I think.

He was driven at length to conclude that if the thing did really exist in those parts—poor Oversluys applied a variety of epithets to ‘the thing’ now, none expressive of tenderness—it must be on the Atlantic slope or the steaming lowlands beyond. He had felt himself justified in neglecting those districts hitherto because there is no port where a large vessel can lie, and absolutely no trade, save a trifling export of bananas. What could tempt a French captain to the Atlantic shore of Costa Rica? And the expedition was as uninviting as well could be. There were no towns nor even villages—but it must be borne in mind that I speak of twenty years ago. At that time all the white and coloured population was settled on the tableland, excepting a few individuals or families who yearly wandered downwards to squat along the slope. Upon the other hand there were Indian tribes—Talamancas to the southward, who admitted some vague allegiance to the Republic on condition that white men did not enter their territory; and Guatusos or Pranzos to the northward, utter savages. It was their country, however, to which the wandering folks mentioned betook themselves, and thither Oversluys must go; for the track they had cut through the forest was the only one connecting the tableland with the Atlantic coast.

I have travelled that ‘road’ myself in the days when peril and discomfort were welcome for the promise of adventure; but had we known what lay before us when bidding a joyous adieu to the capital, we should have meekly returned to the Pacific harbour by coach. Oversluys was a man of business, and to men of business adventure commonly means embarrassment and loss of time, if no worse. Varied experiences, all unpleasant, told him that to seek orchids in a country like that must be a thankless enterprise, attended by annoyance, privation, and even danger. But he had undertaken the work. It must be done.

As cheerfully then as such untoward circumstances permitted, Oversluys set forth from San José, and in due time reached the Disengagno. This is a blockhouse raised by some charitable person on the edge of the tableland; a very few yards beyond, the path dips suddenly on its course to the Serebpiqui river, 6000 feet below. The spot is bitterly cold at night, as I can testify, or seems so, and for this reason the hut was built, as a shelter for travellers. But they, too lazy to seek wood in the forest at arm’s length, promptly demolished the walls and burned them. Only the roof remained in a few months, with the posts that upheld it.

A group of ill-looking peons occupied this shed when Oversluys arrived. They began to pick a quarrel forthwith; in short, he heartily wished himself elsewhere. It was not yet dusk. Drawing the guide apart Oversluys questioned him, and learned that there was one single habitation within reach. The report of it was not promising, but he did not hesitate. As the little party filed off, one of the peons shouted, ‘A good night, macho! We’ll wait for you at La Vergen!’—the first halting-place on the descent. A pleasant beginning!

The shelter they sought lay some miles back. There is plenty of game on these unpeopled uplands, if a man knows how to find it, and a hunter had built himself this cabin in the woods. They reached it as darkness was setting in—a hut as rough as could be, standing on the edge of a small savannah. At the same moment the owner returned, with a deer tied on the back of a small but very pretty ox. He might well be surprised, but hospitality is a thing of course in those parts. Kindness to animals is not, however—much the contrary—and Oversluys observed with pleasure how carefully the little ox was treated. Children came running from the hut, and, after staring in dumb amaze for a while at the strangers, took the animal and actually groomed it in a rough way.

After supper—of venison steaks—Oversluys alluded to this extraordinary proceeding. The guide said, ‘Our friend Pablo may well take care of his ox. There’s not such another for hunting on the countryside.’ And Pablo grunted acquiescence.

‘For hunting?’ asked Oversluys.

‘Yes. You should see him when he catches sight of deer. Tell the gentleman, Pablo.’

Upon this theme the hunter was talkative, and he reported such instances of sagacity that Oversluys—remembering those ruffians who awaited him at La Vergen—asked whether there was any chance to see the ox at work? Pablo meant to have another stalk at dawn, with the hope of carrying two deer to market, and willingly he agreed to take his guest. So they started before daylight.

It was no long journey to the hunting-ground. These high lands are mostly savannah, with belts of dense forest between. Oversluys had heard deer belling incessantly all night. After carefully studying the wind Pablo chose the direction of the hunt. He had cut tracks to each point of the compass, and he took that which would bring him to the edge of the first clearing with the wind in his face.

It was just light enough when they arrived to see half a dozen dark forms above the misty grass. Forthwith Pablo crept out from the trees, walking backwards, his left arm round the ox’s neck, and his stooped body behind its shoulder. Thus he could see nothing. It was unnecessary. The ox marched on, its broadside towards the deer, very softly, but always zigzagging closer. As the light strengthened, Oversluys watched with growing pleasure. Very soon the deer noticed this intrusion and ceased feeding; then the ox dropped its head and grazed. Again and again this occurred. So long as one deer remained upon the watch it kept its head down, but when the last recovered confidence, instantly it advanced. Pablo’s old gun could not be trusted beyond fifty yards or so. The deer became more restless. They drew together—Oversluys saw they would bound off in a moment. Just then the ox wheeled actively—they flew. But one rolled over, shot through the chest.

Oversluys was so pleasantly excited that he ran to pat the clever creature. Then he assisted Pablo to load up the game. It was broad daylight now. In lifting the body he noticed some large yellow flowers which it had crushed in falling. They were pretty and curious in shape. He glanced at the leaves—they were large, polished, and very stiff. A wild fancy struck him. He compared the drawing. There was no doubt! Scores of Oncidium splendidum starred the tall grass all around!

I do not try to paint his raptures. A few weeks later many thousand plants were on their way to Europe. But the point of the story is that Mr. Oversluys had seen and even admired this flower many a time on the upland savannahs in riding past. He was looking for orchids, however, and who could have expected to find an Oncidium buried among herbage in the open ground?

The ox demands a word. Such trained animals are not uncommon in Central America. The process of education is very cruel. By constant tapping, their horns are loosened when young, so that the tortured beast obeys the slightest pressure. Its movements in walking are thus directed, and when the horns grow firm again it continues to recognise a touch. But the degrees of intelligence in brutes are strikingly displayed here. Some forget the lesson in a twelvemonth. Most are uncertain. A very few, like Pablo’s, understand so well what is required of them that direction is needless. In that case the hunter can walk backwards, keeping his body quite concealed. He is almost sure to kill, unless the fault be his own.

LAELIA JONGHEANA

The back wall carries a broad sloping ledge of tufa, where little chips of Odontoglossum and the rest are planted out to grow until they become large enough to be potted—no long time, for they gather strength fast in niches of the porous stone. Along the top, however, are ranged flowering plants of Odontoglossum grande which make a blaze in their season—three to six blooms upon a spike, the smallest of them four inches across. Overhead is a long row of Laelia Jongheana—some three hundred of them here and elsewhere. It is a species with a history, and I venture to transcribe the account which I published in the Pall Mall Gazette, July 18, 1899.

‘A Sensation for the Elect.—The general public will hear without emotion that Laelia Jongheana has been rediscovered. The name is vaguely suggestive of orchids—things delightful in a show, or indeed elsewhere, when in bloom, but not exhilarating to read about. Therefore I call the news a sensation for the elect. At the present moment, I believe, only one plant of L. Jongheana is established in this country, among Baron Schröder’s wonders. Though its history is lost this must be a lonely survivor of those which reached Europe in 1855—a generation and a half ago. It is not to be alleged that no civilised mortal has beheld the precious weed in its native forests since that date; but no one has mentioned the spectacle, and assuredly no one has troubled to gather plants. Registered long since among the “Lost Orchids,” which should bring a little fortune to the discoverer, native botanists and dealers in all parts of South America have been looking out. And the collectors! For forty years past not one of the multitude has left the shores of Europe or the United States, bound for the Cattleya realm, without special instructions to watch and pray for L. Jongheana. More and more pressing grew the exhortations as years went by and prices mounted higher, until of late they subsided in despair. Yet the flower is almost conspicuous enough to be a landmark, and it does not hide in the tree-tops either, like so many.

‘Every one who takes interest in orchids will be prepared already to hear that Messrs. Sander are the men of fate. How many of such spells have they broken! Without book I recall Oncidium splendidum, of which not a plant remained in Europe, nor a hint of the country where it grew; the “scarlet Phalaenopsis” of native legend, never beheld of white man, which, in fact, proved to be brick-red; Cattleya labiata, the Lost Orchid par excellence, vainly sought from 1818 to 1889. The recovery of Dendrobium Schröderium was chronicled by every daily paper in London, or almost, with a leader, when a skull was shown in Protheroe’s Rooms with a specimen clinging to it, and a select group of idols accompanying the shipment. Less important, but not less interesting, was the reappearance of Cypripedium Marstersianum at a later date. Verily, we orchidists owe a debt to the St. Albans firm.

‘In these cases success was merited by hard thought, patient inquiry, and long effort. Working out the problem in his study, Mr. Sander fixed upon a certain country where the prize would be found, and sent his collector to the spot. Oversluys searched for Oncidium splendidum during three years, until he wrote home that it might be in —— or ——, but it certainly was not in Costa Rica; yet he found it at last. In this present case, however, the discovery is due to pure luck; but one may say that a slice of luck also was well deserved after those laborious triumphs. One of the St. Albans collectors, M. Forget, was roaming about Brazil lately. The Government invited him to join a scientific mission setting out to study the products and resources of Minas Gaeras. It is comparatively little known. M. Forget was unable to accept the invitation, but he heard enough about this secluded province to rouse his interest, especially when the savants reported that no collector had been there. Accordingly, he made an expedition as soon as possible, and at the very outset discovered an orchid—not in flower—resembling Laelia pumila in every detail but size. It was at least twice as big as that small, familiar species, but the points of similarity were so striking that M. Forget pronounced it a grand local form of L. pumila. And when the consignment reached St. Albans, even the wary and thoughtful authorities there endorsed his view! Not without hesitation. I believe that the name of L. Jongheana was whispered. But despair had grown to the pitch that no one ventured to speak out. Yet by drawings and descriptions, anxiously studied for years, all knew perfectly well that in growth the lost species must be like L. pumila, enlarged. It is, indeed, strong evidence of the absorbing interest of the search that when at length it ended, neither M. Forget nor his employers dared to believe their own eyes.

‘So in November last year some hundreds or thousands of a remarkable orchid were offered at Protheroe’s under the title “L. pumila (?).” Nearly all the leading amateurs and growers bought, I think, but at a very cheap rate. Half a crown apiece would be a liberal average for plants over which millionaires would have battled had they known. But, after all, the luck of the purchasers was not unqualified. Many who read this will feel a dreary satisfaction in learning that if their plants have perished or dwindled, plenty of others are in like case. Further experience shows that they were gathered at the wrong time; of course they reached Europe at the wrong time. And nearly every one put them into heat, which was a final error. L. Jongheana is quite a cool species. Through these accumulated misfortunes only two out of the multitude have flowered up to this, so far as I can hear. The dullest of mortals can feel something of the delicious anxiety of those gentlemen who watched the great bloom swelling from day to day when it began to show its tints, and they proved to be quite unlike those of L. pumila. At length it opened, and L. Jongheana was recovered.

‘What sort of a thing is it, after all? For an unlearned description, I should say that the flowers—two, three, or even five in number—are from four to five inches across—sepals, petals, and curl of lip bright amethyst, yellow throat, white centre; the crisped and frilled margin all round suffused with purple. It was discovered in 1855 by Libon, who died soon after, carrying his secret with him. He was sent out by M. de Jonghe, of Brussels—hence the name.’

Up to the present time only one of the plants here has flowered—and it opened pure white, saving a yellow stain on the lip. This was not altogether a surprise, for a close examination of the faded blooms convinced M. Forget that some of them must have been white, whatever the species might be. And he marked them accordingly. That a collector of such experience should prove to be right was not astonishing, as I say, but remarkably pleasant.

At the end of the house is a pretty verdant nook where Cypripedium insigne is planted out upon banks of tufa among Adiantums and overshadowing palms.

STORY OF BULBOPHYLLUM BARBIGERUM

This species is so rare in Europe that I must give a word of description. The genus contains the largest and perhaps the smallest of orchids—B. Beccarii, whose stem is six inches in diameter, carrying leaves two feet long, and B. pygmaeum of New Zealand. They are all fly-catchers, I think, equipped with apparatus to trap their prey, as droll commonly in the working as ingenious in the design. Barbigerum has pseudo-bulbs less than an inch high, and its flowers are proportionate. But charm and size are no way akin. Fascination dwells in the lip, which, hanging upon the slenderest possible connection, lengthens out to the semblance of a brush. Thus exquisitely poised it rocks without ceasing, and its long, silky, purple-brown hairs wave softly but steadily all day long, as if on the back of a moving insect. Pretty though it be, all declare it uncanny.

The species was introduced from Sierra Leone by Messrs. Loddiges, so long ago as 1835. I have not come upon any reference to a public sensation. Assuredly, however, the orchidists of the day were struck, and it is probable that Messrs. Loddiges sold the wonder at a high price if in bloom. Some people in Sierra Leone forwarded consignments. But an orchid so small and delicate needs careful handling. None of them reached Europe alive, I dare say.

It appears, however, that Bulbophyllum barbigerum is common throughout those regions. The example at Kew, which diverts so many good folks year by year, came from Lagos, near a thousand miles east and south of Sierra Leone. And the story I have to tell places it at Whydah, between the two.

A young man named Boville went thither as clerk in the English factory, soon after 1835. We have not to ask what was his line of commerce. I have no information, but it must be feared, though perhaps we do him wrong, that one branch of it at least was the slave trade. Boville had heard of Messrs. Loddiges’ success. Residents at Whydah do not commonly explore the bush, but he was young and enterprising. On his first stroll he discovered the Bulbophyllum, and to his innocence it seemed the promise of a fortune. Real good things must be kept quiet. The treasure was plentiful enough to cause ‘a glut’ forthwith if many speculators engaged. Luckily he had a Kroo boy in attendance, not a native. To him Boville assumed an air of mystery, said he was going to make fetich, and ‘something happen’ to any one who spoke of his proceedings—‘make fetich’ and ‘something happen’ are among the first local expressions which a man learns in West Africa. The Kroo boy grinned, because that is his way of acknowledging any communication whatsoever, and snapped his fingers in sign of willing obedience. So Boville gathered a dozen plants, and hoped to have a stock before ‘the ship’ arrived. There were no steamers then, and at Whydah, a very unimportant station for lawful trade, English vessels only called once in three months. Slavers did not ship orchids.

It was Boville’s employment henceforth to collect the Bulbophyllum whenever he had a few hours to spare. He hung his spoils on the lattice work which surrounds a bedroom in those parts, between roof and wall, designed for ventilation—hiding them with clothes and things. It is proper to add that the ‘English Fort’ was already deserted, and the ‘Factory’ a mere name. The agent, his superior officer, was not at all likely to visit a clerk’s quarters. This good man belonged to a class very frequent then upon ‘the coast.’ He had not returned to England, nor wished to do so, since coming out. At a glance he recognised that this was his real native land, and without difficulty he made himself a fellow-countryman of the negroes, living like a caboceer, amidst an undeterminate number of wives, slaves, and children. Very shocking; but it may be pointed out that such men as this established our colonies or seats of trade in Africa. They had virtues, perhaps, but their vices were more useful. The moral system of the present day would not have answered then. An agent secured his position by marrying a daughter of every chief who might be troublesome. He had no Maxim guns.

Mr. Blank knew every feeling and superstition of the negroes,—that is the point of my reference to his character. And one evening he entered the room just as Boville was hanging up his latest acquisitions, some of which were in flower. Whatever Mr. Blank’s business, it fled from his mind on beholding the orchids.

‘Good God!’ he cried. ‘What—what—you are no better than a dead man! I won’t protect you—I can’t! Good God! What possessed you?’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Boville.

‘No, you don’t understand! They send me out the most infernal idiots’—and then Mr. Blank fell to swearing.

Boville saw the case was grave somehow. ‘Are they poisonous?’ he asked.

‘Poisonous be—etc. etc. That’s the Endua—the holiest of plants! You’ll wish they were poisonous before long! What a lot! You didn’t get ’em all to-day?’

‘I can destroy them. Only Georgius Rex the Krooman has been into the bush with me.’

‘You fool! D’you think you can hide this from the fetich? Put—put ’em in a sack, and tumble ’em into the river after dark! Oh Lord, here’s an awful business!’

Moving about the room restlessly as he talked, whilst Boville thrust the orchids into a bag, the agent opened a door which gave upon a platform called the verandah—in fact, the roof of the store. It overlooked the street. In an instant he ran back.

‘It’s all up’ he cried. ‘Oh Lord! Here’s the Vokhimen!’

Boville had heard this name, which belongs to an official of the Vo-dun, the fetich priesthood, whose duty it is to summon offenders. He went to see. The street was in an uproar. Two men clothed in black and white, with faces chalked, were beating Vo-drums furiously—but such din is too usual for notice. They stood at the door of a house—habitations in Whydah are not properly described as huts. All the neighbours surged round vociferous. Presently emerged a grotesque figure, rather clothed than adorned with strings of human teeth and bones, and little wooden idols painted red. His black and white cap had lappets with red snakes sewn thereon; the breast of his tunic bore a large red cross, the sacred symbol of Dahomey. He came forth with a leap, and danced along with ridiculous gestures to the next house, flourishing the iron bar which marks his office. The bones and images rattled like castanets. The drummers followed. Through the next doorway the Vokhimen sprang, and disappeared.

‘He isn’t after me, thank God!’ cried Boville.

‘He is, you fool! It’s their way to hunt about like that when they well know where to find the victim. No, it’s too late to hide the cursed things now. God help you, Boville! I can do nothing.’ And Mr. Blank hurried out.