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

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

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

The favoured home of Vandas is Java. They are noble plants even when at rest, if perfect—that is, clothed in their glossy, dark green leaves from base to crown. If there be any age or any height at which the lower leaves fall of necessity, I have not been able to identify it. In Mr. Sander's collection, for instance, there is a giant plant of Vanda suavis, eleven growths, a small thicket, established in 1847. The tallest stem measures fifteen feet, and every one of its leaves remain. They fall off easily under bad treatment, but the mischief is reparable at a certain sacrifice. The stem may be cut through and the crown replanted, with leaves perfect; but it will be so much shorter, of course. The finest specimen I ever heard of is the V. Lowii at Ferrières, seat of Baron Alphonse de Rothschild, near Paris. It fills the upper part of a large greenhouse, and year by year its twelve stems produce an indefinite number of spikes, eight to ten feet long, covered with thousands of yellow and brown blooms.[6] Vandas inhabit all the Malayan Archipelago; some are found even in India. The superb V. teres comes from Sylhet; from Burmah also. This might be called the floral cognizance of the house of Rothschild. At Frankfort, Vienna, Ferrières, and Gunnersbury little meadows of it are grown—that is, the plants flourish at their own sweet will, uncumbered with pots, in houses devoted to them. Rising from a carpet of palms and maidenhair, each crowned with its drooping garland of rose and crimson and cinnamon-brown, they make a glorious show indeed. A pretty little coincidence was remarked when the Queen paid a visit to Waddesdon the other day. V. teres first bloomed in Europe at Syon House, and a small spray was sent to the young Princess, unmarried then and uncrowned. The incident recurred to memory when Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild chose this same flower for the bouquet presented to Her Majesty; he adorned the luncheon table therewith besides. This story bears a moral. The plant of which one spray was a royal gift less than sixty years ago has become so far common that it may be used in masses to decorate a room. Thousands of unconsidered subjects of Her Majesty enjoy the pleasure which one great duke monopolized before her reign began. There is matter for an essay here. I hasten back to my theme.

V. teres is not such a common object that description would be superfluous. It belongs to the small class of climbing orchids, delighting to sun itself upon the rafters of the hottest stove. If this habit be duly regarded, it is not difficult to flower by any means, though gardeners who do not keep pace with their age still pronounce it a hopeless rebel. Sir Hugh Low tells me that he clothed all the trees round Government House at Pahang with Vanda teres, planting its near relative, V. Hookeri, more exquisite still, if that were possible, in a swampy hollow. His servants might gather a basket of these flowers daily in the season. So the memory of the first President for Pahang will be kept green. A plant rarely seen is V. limbata from the island of Timor—dusky yellow, the tip purple, outlined with white, formed like a shovel.

I may cite a personal reminiscence here, in the hope that some reader may be able to supply what is wanting. In years so far back that they seem to belong to a "previous existence," I travelled in Borneo, and paid a visit to the antimony-mines of Bidi. The manager, Mr. Bentley, showed me a grand tapong-tree at his door from which he had lately gathered a "blue orchid,"—we were desperately vague about names in the jungle at that day, or in England for that matter. In a note published on my return, I said, "As Mr. Bentley described it, the blossoms hung in an azure garland from the bough, more gracefully than art could design." This specimen is, I believe, the only one at present known, and both Malays and Dyaks are quite ignorant of such a flower! What was this? There is no question of the facts. Mr. Bentley sent the plant, a large mass to the chairman of the Company, and it reached home in fair condition. I saw the warm letter, enclosing cheque for 100l., in which Mr. Templar acknowledged receipt. But further record I have not been able to discover. One inclines to assume that a blue orchid which puts forth a "garland" of bloom must be a Vanda. The description might be applied to V. c?rulea, but that species is a native of the Khasya hills; more appropriately, as I recall Mr. Bentley's words, to V. c?rulescens, which, however, is Burmese. Furthermore, neither of these would be looked for on the branch of a great tree. Possibly someone who reads this may know what became of Mr. Templar's specimen.

Both the species of Renanthera need great heat. Among "facts not generally known" to orchid-growers, but decidedly interesting for them, is the commercial habitat, as one may say, of R. coccinea. The books state correctly that it is a native of Cochin China. Orchids coming from such a distance must needs be withered on arrival. Accordingly, the most experienced horticulturist who is not up to a little secret feels assured that all is well when he beholds at the auction-room or at one of the small dealer's a plant full of sap, with glossy leaves and unshrivelled roots. It must have been in cultivation for a year at the very least, and he buys with confidence. Too often, however, a disastrous change sets in from the very moment his purchase reaches home. Instead of growing it falls back and back, until in a very few weeks it has all the appearance of a newly-imported piece. The explanation is curious. At some time, not distant, a quantity of R. coccinea must have found its way to the neighbourhood of Rio. There it flourishes as a weed, with a vigour quite unparalleled in its native soil. Unscrupulous persons take advantage of this extraordinary accident. From a country so near and so readily accessible they can get plants home, pot them up, and sell them, before the withering process sets in. May this revelation confound such knavish tricks! The moral is old—buy your orchids from one of the great dealers, if you do not care to "establish" them yourself.

R. coccinea is another of the climbing species, and it demands, even more urgently than V. teres, to reach the top of the house, where sunshine is fiercest, before blooming. Under the best conditions, indeed, it is slow to produce its noble wreaths of flower—deep red, crimson, and orange. Upon the other hand, the plant itself is ornamental, and it grows very fast. The Duke of Devonshire has some at Chatsworth which never fail to make a gorgeous show in their season; but they stand twenty feet high, twisted round birch-trees, and they have occupied their present quarters for half a century or near it. There is but one more species in the genus, so far as the unlearned know, but this, generally recognized as Vanda Lowii, as has been already mentioned, ranks among the grand curiosities of botanic science. Like some of the Catasetums and Cycnoches, it bears two distinct types of flower on each spike, but the instance of R. Lowii is even more perplexing. In those other cases the differing forms represent male and female sex, but the microscope has not yet discovered any sort of reason for the like eccentricity of this Renanthera. Its proper inflorescence, as one may put it, is greenish yellow, blotched with brown, three inches in diameter, clothing a spike sometimes twelve feet long. The first two flowers to open, however—those at the base—present a strong contrast in all respects—smaller, of different shape, tawny yellow in colour, dotted with crimson. It would be a pleasing task for ingenious youth with a bent towards science to seek the utility of this arrangement.

Orchids are spreading fast over the world in these days, and we may expect to hear of other instances where a species has taken root in alien climes like R. coccinea in Brazil. I cannot cite a parallel at present. But Mr. Sander informs me that there is a growing demand for these plants in realms which have their own native orchids. We have an example in the letter which has been already quoted.[7] Among customers who write to him direct are magnates of China and Siam, an Indian and a Javanese rajah. Orders are received—not unimportant, nor infrequent—from merchants at Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Rio de Janeiro, and smaller places, of course. It is vastly droll to hear that some of these gentlemen import species at a great expense which an intelligent coolie could gather for them in any quantity within a few furlongs of their go-down! But for the most part they demand foreigners.

The plants thus distributed will be grown in the open air; naturally they will seed; at least, we may hope so. Even Angr?cum sesquipedale, of which I wrote in the preceding chapter, would find a moth able to impregnate it in South Brazil. Such species as recognize the conditions necessary for their existence will establish themselves. It is fairly safe to credit that in some future time, not distant, Cattleyas may flourish in the jungles of India, Dendrobiums on the Amazons, Phal?nopsis in the coast lands of Central America. Those who wish well to their kind would like to hasten that day.

Mr. Burbidge suggested at the Orchid Conference that gentlemen who have plantations in a country suitable should establish a "farm," or rather a market-garden, and grow the precious things for exportation. It is an excellent idea, and when tea, coffee, sugar-cane, all the regular crops of the East and West Indies, are so depreciated by competition, one would think that some planters might adopt it. Perhaps some have; it is too early yet for results. Upon inquiry I hear of a case, but it is not encouraging. One of Mr. Sander's collectors, marrying when on service in the United States of Colombia, resolved to follow Mr. Burbidge's advice. He set up his "farm" and began "hybridizing" freely. No man living is better qualified as a collector, for the hero of this little tale is Mr. Kerbach, a name familiar among those who take interest in such matters; but I am not aware that he had any experience in growing orchids. To start with hybridizing seems very ambitious—too much of a short cut to fortune. However, in less than eighteen months Mr. Kerbach found it did not answer, for reasons unexplained, and he begged to be reinstated in Mr. Sander's service. It is clear, indeed, that the orchid-farmer of the future, in whose success I firmly believe, will be wise to begin modestly, cultivating the species he finds in his neighbourhood. It is not in our greenhouses alone that these plants sometimes show likes and dislikes beyond explanation. For example, many gentlemen in Costa Rica—a wealthy land, and comparatively civilized—have tried to cultivate the glorious Cattleya Dowiana. For business purposes also the attempt has been made. But never with success. In those tropical lands a variation of climate or circumstances, small perhaps, but such as plants that subsist mostly upon air can recognize, will be found in a very narrow circuit. We say that Trichopilias have their home at Bogota. As a matter of fact, however, they will not live in the immediate vicinity of that town, though the woods, fifteen miles away, are stocked with them. The orchid-farmer will have to begin cautiously, propagating what he finds at hand, and he must not be hasty in sending his crop to market. It is a general rule of experience that plants brought from the forest and "established" before shipment do less well than those shipped direct in good condition, though the public, naturally, is slow to admit a conclusion opposed by à priori reasoning. The cause may be that they exhaust their strength in that first effort, and suffer more severely on the voyage.

I hear of one gentleman, however, who appears to be cultivating orchids with success. This is Mr. Rand, dwelling on the Rio Negro, in Brazil, where he has established a plantation of Hevia Brazilienses, a new caoutchouc of the highest quality, indigenous to those parts. Some years ago Mr. Rand wrote to Mr. Godseff, at St. Albans, begging plants of Vanda Sanderiana and other Oriental species, which were duly forwarded. In return he despatched some pieces of a new Epidendrum, named in his honour E. Randii, a noble flower, with brown sepals and petals, the lip crimson, betwixt two large white wings. This and others native to the Rio Negro Mr. Rand is propagating on a large scale in shreds of bamboo, especially a white Cattleya superba which he himself discovered. It is pleasing to add that by latest reports all the Oriental species were thriving to perfection on the other side of the Atlantic.

Vandas, indeed, should flourish where Cattleya superba is at home, or anything else that loves the atmosphere of a kitchen on washing-day at midsummer. Though all the Cattleyas, or very nearly all, will "do" in an intermediate house, several prefer the stove. Of two among them, C. Dowiana and C. aurea, I spoke in the preceding chapter with an enthusiasm that does not bear repetition. Cattleya guttata Leopoldi grows upon rocks in the little island of Sta. Catarina, Brazil, in company with L?lia elegans and L. purpurata. There the four dwelt in such numbers only twenty years ago that the supply was thought inexhaustible. It has come to an end already, and collectors no longer visit the spot. Cliffs and ravines which men still young can recollect ablaze with colour, are as bare now as a stone-quarry. Nature had done much to protect her treasures; they flourished mostly in places which the human foot cannot reach—L?lia elegans and Cattleya g. Leopoldi inextricably entwined, clinging to the face of lofty rocks. The blooms of the former are white and mauve, of the latter chocolate-brown, spotted with dark red, the lip purple. A wondrous sight that must have been in the time of flowering. It is lost now, probably for ever. Natives went down, suspended on a rope, and swept the whole circuit of the island, year by year. A few specimens remain in nooks absolutely inaccessible, but those happy mortals who possess a bit of L. elegans should treasure it, for more are very seldom forthcoming. L?lia elegans Statteriana is the finest variety perhaps; the crimson velvet tip of its labellum is as clearly and sharply-defined upon the snow-white surface as pencil could draw; it looks like painting by the steadiest of hands in angelic colour. C. g. Leopoldi has been found elsewhere. It is deliciously scented. I observed a plant at St. Albans lately with three spikes, each bearing over twenty flowers; many strong perfumes there were in the house, but that overpowered them all. The L?lia purpurata of Sta. Catarina, to which the finest varieties in cultivation belong, has shared the same fate. It occupied boulders jutting out above the swamps in the full glare of tropic sunshine. Many gardeners give it too much shade. This species grows also on the mainland, but of inferior quality in all respects; curiously enough it dwells upon trees there, even though rocks be at hand, while the island variety, I believe, was never found on timber.

Another hot Cattleya of the highest class is C. Acklandi? It belongs to the dwarf section of the genus, and inexperienced persons are vastly surprised to see such a little plant bearing two flowers on a spike, each larger than itself. They are four inches in diameter, petals and sepals chocolate-brown, barred with yellow, lip large, of colour varying from rose to purple. C. Acklandi? is found at Bahia, where it grows side by side with C. amethystoglossa, also a charming species, very tall, leafless to the tip of its pseudo-bulbs. Thus the dwarf beneath is seen in all its beauty. As they cling together in great masses the pair must make a flower-bed to themselves—above, the clustered spikes of C. amethystoglossa, dusky-lilac, purple-spotted, with a lip of amethyst; upon the ground the rich chocolate and rose of C. Acklandi?.

Cattleya superba, as has been said, dwells also on the Rio Negro in Brazil; it has a wide range, for specimens have been sent from the Rio Meta in Colombia. This species is not loved by gardeners, who find it difficult to cultivate and almost impossible to flower, probably becau............