In the same districts with Cattleya superba grows Galleandra Devoniana under circumstances rather unusual. It clings to the very tip of a slender palm, in swamps which the Indians themselves regard with dread as the chosen home of fever and mosquitoes. It was discovered by Sir Robert Schomburgk, who compared the flower to a foxglove, referring especially, perhaps, to the graceful bend of its long pseudo-bulbs, which is almost lost under cultivation. The tube-like flowers are purple, contrasting exquisitely with a snow-white lip, striped with lilac in the throat.
Phalœnopsis, of course, are hot. This is one of our oldest genera which still rank in the first class. It was drawn and described so early as 1750, and a plant reached Messrs. Rollisson in 1838; they sold it to the Duke of Devonshire for a hundred guineas. Many persons regard Phalœnopsis as the loveliest of all, and there is no question of their supreme beauty, though not everyone may rank them first. They come mostly from the Philippines, but Java, Borneo, Cochin China, Burmah, even Assam contribute some species. Colonel Berkeley found Ph. tetraspis, snow-white, and Ph. speciosa, purple, in the Andamans, when he was Governor of that settlement, clinging to low bushes along the mangrove creeks. So far as I know, all the species dwell within breath of the sea, as it may be put, where the atmosphere is laden with salt; this gives a hint to the thoughtful. Mr. Partington, of Cheshunt, who was the most renowned cultivator of the genus in his time, used to lay down salt upon the paths and beneath the stages of his Phalœnopsis house. Lady Howard de Walden stands first, perhaps, at the present day, and her gardener follows the same system. These plants, indeed, are affected, for good or ill, by influences too subtle for our perception as yet. Experiment alone will decide whether a certain house, or a certain neighbourhood even, is agreeable to their taste. It is a waste of money in general to make alterations; if they do not like the place they won't live there, and that's flat! It is probable that Maidstone, where Lady Howard de Walden resides, may be specially suited to their needs, but her ladyship's gardener knows how to turn a lucky chance to the best account. Some of his plants have ten leaves!—the uninitiated may think that fact grotesquely undeserving of a note of exclamation, but to explain would be too technical. It may be observed that the famous Swan orchid, Cycnoches chlorochilon, flourishes at Maidstone as nowhere else perhaps in England.
Phalœnopsis were first introduced by Messrs. Rollisson, of Tooting, a firm that vanished years ago, but will live in the annals of horticulture as the earliest of the great importers. In 1836 they got home a living specimen of Ph. amabilis, which had been described, and even figured, eighty years before. A few months later the Duke of Devonshire secured Ph. Schilleriana. The late Mr. B.S. Williams told me a very curious incident relating to this species. It comes from the Philippines, and exacts a very hot, close atmosphere of course. Once upon a time, however, a little piece was left in the cool house at Holloway, and remained there some months unnoticed by the authorities. When at length the oversight was remarked, to their amaze this stranger from the tropics, abandoned in the temperate zone, proved to be thriving more vigorously than any of his fellows who enjoyed their proper climate!—so he was left in peace and cherished as a "phenomenon." Four seasons had passed when I beheld the marvel, and it was a picture of health and strength, flowering freely; but the reader is not advised to introduce a few Phalœnopsis to his Odontoglossums—not by any means. Mr. Williams himself never repeated the experiment. It was one of those delightfully perplexing vagaries which the orchid-grower notes from time to time.
There are rare species of this genus which will not be found in the dealers' catalogues, and amateurs who like a novelty may be pleased to hear some names. Ph. Manni, christened in honour of Mr. Mann, Director of the Indian Forest Department, is yellow and red; Ph. cornucervi, yellow and brown; Ph. Portei, a natural hybrid, of Ph. rosea and Ph. Aphrodite, white, the lip amethyst. It is found very, very rarely in the woods near Manilla. Above all, Ph. Sanderiana, to which hangs a little tale.
So soon as the natives of the Philippines began to understand that their white and lilac weeds were cherished in Europe, they talked of a scarlet variety, which thrilled listening collectors with joy; but the precious thing never came to hand, and, on closer inquiry, no responsible witness could be found who had seen it. Years passed by and the scarlet Phalœnopsis became a jest among orchidaceans. The natives persisted, however, and Mr. Sander found the belief so general, if shadowy, that when a service of coasting steamers was established, he sent Mr. Roebelin to make a thorough investigation. His enterprise and sagacity were rewarded, as usual. After floating round for twenty-five years amidst derision, the rumour proved true in part. Ph. Sanderiana is not scarlet but purplish rose, a very handsome and distinct species.
To the same collector we owe the noblest of Aerides, A. Lawrenciæ, waxy white tipped with purple, and deep purple lip. Besides the lovely colouring it is the largest by far of that genus. Mr. Roebelin sent two plants from the Far East; he had not seen the flower, nor received any description from the natives. Mr. Sander grew them in equal ignorance for three years, and sent one to auction in blossom; it fell to Sir Trevor Lawrence's bid for 235 guineas.
Coelogene Pandurata.
Reduced to One Sixth
Many of the Cœlogenes classed as cool, which, indeed, rub along with Odontoglossums, do better in the stove while growing. Cœl. cristata itself comes from Nepaul, where the summer sun is terrible, and it covers the rocks most exposed. But I will only name a few of those recognized as hot. Amongst the most striking of flowers, exquisitely pretty also, is Cœl. pandurata, from Borneo. Its spike has been described by a person of fine fancy as resembling a row of glossy pea-green frogs with black tongues, each three inches in diameter. The whole bloom is brilliantly green, but several ridges clothed with hairs as black and soft as velvet run down the lip, seeming to issue from a mouth. It is strange to see that a plant so curious, so beautiful, and so sweet should be so rarely cultivated; I own, however, that it is very unwilling to make itself at home with us. Cœl. Dayana, also a native of Borneo, one of our newest discoveries, is named after Mr. Day, of Tottenham. I may interpolate a remark here for the encouragement of poor but enthusiastic members of our fraternity. When Mr. Day sold his collection lately, an American "Syndicate" paid 12,000l. down, and the remaining plants fetched 12,000l. at auction; so, at least, the uncontradicted report goes. Cœl. Dayana is rare, of course, and dear, but Mr. Sander has lately imported a large quantity. The spike is three feet long sometimes, a pendant wreath of buff-yellow flowers broadly striped with chocolate. Cœl. Massangeana, from Assam, resembles this, but the lip is deep crimson-brown, with lines of yellow, and a white edge. Newest of all the Cœlogenes, and supremely beautiful, is Cœl. Sanderiana, imported by the gentleman whose name it bears. He has been called "The Orchid King." This superb species has only flowered once in Europe as yet; Baron Ferdinand Rothschild is the happy man. Its snow-white blooms, six on a spike generally, each three inches across, have very dark brown stripes on the lip. It was discovered in Borneo by Mr. Forstermann, the same collector who happed upon the wondrous scarlet Dendrobe, mentioned in a former chapter. There I stated that Baron Schroeder had three pieces; this was a mistake unfortunately. Mr. Forstermann only secured three, of which two died on the journey. Baron Schroeder bought the third, but it has perished. No more can be found as yet.
Of Oncidiums there are many that demand stove treatment. The story of Onc. splendidum is curious. It first turned up in France some thirty years ago. A ship's captain sailing from St. Lazare brought half a dozen pieces, which he gave to his "owner," M. Herman. The latter handed them to MM. Thibaut and Ketteler, of Sceaux, who split them up and distributed them. Two of the original plants found their way to England, and they also appear to have been cut up. A legend of the King Street Auction Room recalls how perfervid competitors ran up a bit of Onc. splendidum, that had only one leaf, to thirty guineas. The whole stock vanished presently, which is not surprising if it had all been divided in the same ruthless manner. From that day the species was lost until Mr. Sander turned his attention to it. There was no record of its habitat. The name of the vessel, or even of the captain, might have furnished a clue had it been recorded, for the shipping intelligence of the day would have shown what ports he was frequenting about that time. I could tell of mysterious orchids traced home upon indications less distinct. But there was absolutely nothing. Mr. Sander, however, had scrutinized the plant carefully, while specimens were still extant, and from the structure of the leaf he formed a strong conclusion that it must belong to the Central American flora; furthermore, that it must inhabit a very warm locality. In 1882 he directed one of his collectors, Mr. Oversluys, to look for the precious thing in Costa Rica. Year after year the search proceeded, until Mr. Oversluys declared with some warmth that Onc. splendidum might grow in heaven or in the other place, but it was not to be found in Costa Rica. But theorists are stubborn, and year after year he was sent back. At length, in 1882, riding through a district often explored, the collector found himself in a grassy plain, dotted with pale yellow flowers. He had beheld the same many times, but his business was orchids. On this occasion, however, he chanced to approach one of the masses, and recognized the object of his quest. It was the familiar case of a man who overlooks the thing he has to find, because it is too near and too conspicuous. But Mr. Oversluys had excuse enough. Who could have expected to see an Oncidium buried in long grass, exposed to the full power of a tropic sun?