The Woodlands Orchids, Described and Illustrated. Boyle Frederick

      A bride remains in the woodland hut for several weeks, not a soul visiting her except the husband. Meantime he builds a ‘town house’ for himself, and the mother or female relatives build one opposite for his wife. In fixing the stone between them there is a ceremony, as Roezl gathered, but the nature of it he was unable to understand. Though the pair never meet again in public as long as they live, they spend as much time as they please together in the forest. And really, after due consideration, I cannot but think that the system shows remarkable sagacity. Truth compels me to add, however, that Roezl suspected infanticide. We may hope he was mistaken. Why should a people living as do these restrict the number of their children? The battle for existence is not desperate with them apparently, since they till the soil, and their territory, in effect, is boundless. No Indian race of South America feels the pride of caste; if these do, they are a notable exception in that as in other respects. Girls receive no dower; the expense of marriage, as has been seen, is nil. Why should they limit the family? We know that obvious reason does not always guide the savage in his habits. But when a painful fact is not assured we may allow ourselves the comfort of doubting it.

      This is all I have been able to collect about a most extraordinary people. My informants do not recollect, if they heard, whether the separation of the sexes was peculiar to this clan or general among the Pintado Indians. In fact, I have nothing more to say about them.

      It was here, however, that Roezl met with an adventure which he often told. His hut, as has been mentioned, was the last of the row – a ruin patched up to keep the baggage dry. He always carried a folding tressle and a light board to fix upon it, which made a sort of desk, with a camp-stool to match. One evening he set himself as usual to write labels and memoranda for his herbarium. The description of a curious plant secured that day proved difficult, and darkness had long set in. So absorbed was the enthusiast in dissecting its anatomy that he gave no attention to a loud purr, though conscious of the sound for some moments. At length he raised his eyes. By the open doorway stood a creature whose dusky fur glistened like silk in the lamplight, and great yellow eyes stared into his. It was a black jaguar, rarest and most savage of all felines.

      So they remained, staring. Roezl felt his hour had come. He could not have moved a limb; his hair rose and the sweat poured down. The jaguar also kept still, purring louder and louder. Its velvet lips were slightly raised, showing a gleam of the huge fangs. Presently it drew nearer, still purring – came up to the tressle – arched his back like a cat, and pressed against it. Crash fell desk, lamp, specimen box, camp-stool and enthusiast – a clattering overthrow! The servants rushed in. No jaguar was there.

      Roezl used to attribute his escape to the practice of never carrying arms. When the brute was approaching, he must have fired had a weapon been handy – no man could resist the impulse. And then, whatever the issue of the shot, he would certainly have died.

      THE CATTLEYA HOUSE

      With L. elegans are lodged fine examples of Cattleyas gigas and aurea, with some of their varieties; generated, as we may assume, by natural hybridisation. These rank among the supreme treasures of the orchidist, unequalled for size and rarity – perhaps for beauty. To those who have not seen the offspring it might seem impossible that the stately loveliness of the parents could be excelled. But by a very simple process Nature achieves the feat – she combines their charms.

      Of Cattleya gigas we have some two hundred specimens. It is the largest of the genus, saving its own hybrids, a native of New Granada, discovered by Warcewicz in 1848. He sent no plants home, and though a few were despatched afterwards, Roezl practically introduced the species in 1870. Conscious of supreme merit, it is far from eager to bloom; but at Woodlands we do not personally feel this drawback.

      Of course there are many varieties of Cattleya gigas, for it is truly said that two blooms of orchid exactly alike cannot be found. But I shall mention only two.

      Imschootiana is huge even above its fellows, for a flower may be nine inches across; the colour of sepal and petal mauve, with a crimson-purple lip of splendour beyond conception. The golden throat under a crimson-purple tube is lined with bright crimson; the characteristic ‘eyes’ gamboge, fading to white.

       Sanderae.– Some may well think this the loveliest of all its lovely kin. Probably it is a foreign strain, though remote, which gives such supreme softness to the magenta of the lip. On that ground the golden ‘eyes’ shine forth with an abruptness positively startling. The broad sepals and petals are sweetest rosy-mauve. Even the tube is deep crimson.

      Here also is Cattleya bicolor Measuresiana, an exquisite example of a species always charming to my taste. In this instance the sepals and petals are purest and smoothest olive green; the very long shovel-shaped labellum magenta-crimson, outlined and tipped with white.

      Of Cattleya aurea again the varieties are many. It was brought from Antioquia, New Granada, by Wallis, in 1868. If crimson and yellow, tastefully disposed, make the most gorgeous combination possible, as all human beings agree, this and its sister Dowiana are the most gorgeous of flowers. The ordinary form of Cattleya aurea is nankin yellow, but in the variety R. H. Measures, sepal and petal are gamboge. The glorious lip, opening wide from the very base, has long brownish blurs descending from the throat, on a golden ground which fades to yellow towards the edge. There are two clear crimson patches in the front, and the margin is clear crimson, whilst the whole expanse is covered with fine stripes of crimson and gold alternately.

      We come to the hybrids of these two which, dwelling side by side, have been intermarrying for ages; and their offspring again have intermarried, forming endless combinations. Cattleya Sanderiana was first discovered under circumstances rather odd. One of Messrs. Sander’s collectors, Mr. Mau, was hunting for Odontoglossum crispum by Bogota. He came upon a number of Cattleyas – none of them in bloom – and gathered any that came in his way, taking no trouble, nor even mentioning the incident in his letters. In due course he brought them to St. Albans along with his Odontoglossums. Mr. Mau said nothing even while the cases were being unpacked. Apparently he had forgotten them.

      ‘What are these Cattleyas?’ asked Mr. Sander, in surprise.

      ‘Oh, I don’t know! I found them in the woods.’

      Old spikes still remained upon the plants, and bunches of withered rags at the end. Mr. Sander perceived, first, that the flower must be gigantic beyond belief; next, that it was red.

      ‘Go back by next mail!’ he cried. ‘Search the woods – gather every one!’ And Mr. Mau did actually return by next mail.

      This was Cattleya Sanderiana – sometimes as much as eleven inches across; in colour, a tender rosy-mauve. The vast lip is almost square, with a throat of gold, lined and netted over with bright crimson. It has the charming ‘eyes’ of gigas in perfection, and the enormous disc, superbly frilled, is of the liveliest magenta crimson.

      Chrysotoxa, another of these wondrous hybrids, ‘favours’ its aurea parent; with buff-yellow petals and sepals, the lower of which hang in a graceful bunch surrounding the huge lip of dark orange ground, with an edging of maroon-crimson, narrow above, widening to a stately breadth below; the whole closely covered with branching lines of crimson.

      Mrs. Fred Hardy is a third – divinely beautiful. White of sepal and petal, with the vast magenta-crimson lip of Hardyana. The glorious effect may be in part imagined.

      We have yet a fourth of this amazing group – Trismegistris – most nearly allied to Sanderiana. I have not seen this variety in bloom; it was introduced only three years ago. But the name signifies that it is the quintessence of all. Individual taste may not always allow that claim, but no one disputes that it is at least equal to the finest.

      But the thoughtful cannot contemplate these wondrous things with satisfaction unalloyed. Unless some wealthy and intelligent persons in South America undertake to cultivate them in a regular way, it is too probable that in a generation or two they will be utterly lost; for we cannot hope that the specimens in Europe will endure so long, however vigorous they may be at present. Here is the letter which accompanied the last consignment – sad reading, as I think: —