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. c?logenes 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 trian?s are almost over, but here and there a belated beauty pushes through, white or rosy, with a lip of crimson velvet. mossi?s 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 l?lia 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 bambus?folia 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 phal?nopsis, the very hot vandas, bolleas, pescatoreas, an?ctochili, 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, l?lia, 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 l?lia 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 ?sthetic 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 l?lia 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. mossi?. 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 trian?, which arrived so late last year that their sheaths have opened contemporaneously with c. mossi?. 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 trian?, 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 mossi?, 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 l?lia 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.
the indian to whom this cattleya mossi? belonged refused to part with it at any price for years; he was overcome by a rifle of peculiar fascination, added to the previous offers. a magic-lantern has very great influence in such cases, and the collector provides himself with one or more nowadays as part of his outfit. under that charm, with 47l. in cash, mr. sander secured his first c. mossi? alba, but it has failed hitherto in another instance, though backed by 100l., in "trade" or dollars, at the indian's option.
thence we pass to a wide and lofty house which was designed for growing victoria regia and other tropic water-lilies. it fulfilled its purpose for a time, and i never beheld those plants under circumstances so well fitted to display their beauty. but they generate a small black fly in myriads beyond belief, and so the culture of nymph?a was dropped. a few remain, in manageable quantities, just enough to adorn the tank with blue and rosy stars; but it is arched over now with baskets as thick as they will hang—dendrobium, c?logene, oncidium, spathoglottis, and those species which love to dwell in the neighbourhood of steaming water. my vocabulary is used up by this time. the wonders here must go unchronicled.
we have viewed but four houses out of twelve, a most cursory glance at that! the next also is intermediate, filled with cattleyas, warm oncidiums, lycastes, cypripediums—the inventory of names alone would occupy all my space remaining. at every step i mark some object worth a note, something that recalls, or suggests, or demands a word. but we must get along. the sixth house is cool again—odontoglossums and such; the seventh is given to dendrobes. but facing us as we enter stands a lycaste skinneri, which illustrates in a manner almost startling the infinite variety of the orchid. i positively dislike this species, obtrusive, pretentious, vague in colour, and stiff in form. but what a royal glorification of it we have here!—what exquisite veining and edging of purple or rose; what a velvet lip of crimson darkening to claret! it is merely a sport of nature, but she allows herself such glorious freaks in no other realm of her domain. and here is a new brassia just named by the pontiff of orchidology, professor reichenbach. those who know the tribe of brassias will understand why i make no effort to describe it. this wonderful thing is yet more "all over the shop" than its kindred. its dorsal sepal measures three inches in length, its "tail," five inches, with an enormous lip between. they term it the squid flower, or octopus, in mexico; and a good name too. but in place of the rather weakly colouring habitual it has a grand decision of character, though the tones are like—pale yellow and greenish; its raised spots, red and deep green, are distinct as points of velvet upon muslin.
in the eighth house we return to odontoglossums and cool genera. here are a number of hybrids of the "natural class," upon which i should have a good deal to say if inexorable fate permitted; "natural hybrids" are plants which seem species, but, upon thoughtful examination and study, are suspected to be the offspring of kindred and neighbours. interesting questions arise in surveying fine specimens side by side, in flower, all attributed to a cross between odontoglossum lindleyanum and odontoglossum crispum alexandr?, and all quite different. but we must get on to the ninth house, from which the tenth branches.
here is the stove, and twilight reigns over that portion where a variety of super-tropic genera are "plumping up," making roots, and generally reconciling themselves to a new start in life. such dainty, delicate souls may well object to the apprenticeship. it must seem very degrading to find themselves laid out upon a bed of cinders and moss, hung up by the heels above it, and even planted therein; but if they have as much good sense as some believe, they may be aware that it is all for their good. at the end, in full sunshine, stands a little copse of vanda teres, set as closely as their stiff branches will allow. still we must get on. there are bits of wood hanging here so rotten that they scarcely hold together; faintest dots of green upon them assure the experienced that presently they will be draped with pendant leaves, and presently again, we hope, with blue and white and scarlet flowers of utricularia.
from the stove opens a very long, narrow house, where cool genera are "plumping," laid out on moss and potsherds; many of them have burst into strong growth. pleiones are flowering freely as they lie. this farmer's crops come to harvest faster than he can attend to them. things beautiful and rare and costly are measured here by the yard—so many feet of this piled up on the stage, so many of the other, from all quarters of the world, waiting the leisure of these busy agriculturists. nor can we spare them more than a glance. the next house is filled with odontoglossums, planted out like "bedding stuff" in a nursery, awaiting their turn to be potted. they make a carpet so close, so green, that flowers are not required to charm the eye as it surveys the long perspective. the rest are occupied just now with cargoes of imported plants.
my pages are filled—to what poor purpose, seeing how they might have been used for such a theme, no one could be so conscious as i.
