There is no room to deal with this great subject historically,
scientifically, or even practically, in the space of a chapter. I am an
enthusiast, and I hold some strong views, but this is not the place to
urge them. It is my purpose to ramble on, following thoughts as they
arise, yet with a definite aim. The skilled reader will find nothing to
criticize, I hope, and the indifferent, something to amuse.

Those amiable theorists who believe that the resources of Nature, if
they be rightly searched, are able to supply every wholesome want the
fancy of man conceives, have a striking instance in the case of orchids.
At the beginning of this century, the science of floriculture, so far as
it went, was at least as advanced as now. Under many disadvantages which
we escape--the hot-air flue especially, and imperfect means of
ventilation--our fore-fathers grew the plants known to them quite as
well as we do. Many tricks have been discovered since, but for lasting
success assuredly our systems are no improvement. Men interested in such
matters began to long for fresh fields, and they knew where to look.
Linnæus had told them something of exotic orchids in 1763, though his
knowledge was gained through dried specimens and drawings. One bulb,
indeed--we spare the name--showed life on arrival, had been planted, and
had flowered thirty years before, as Mr. Castle shows. Thus
horticulturists became aware, just when the information was most
welcome, that a large family of plants unknown awaited their attention;
plants quite new, of strangest form, of mysterious habits, and beauty
incomparable. Their notions were vague as yet, but the fascination of
the subject grew from year to year. Whilst several hundred species were
described in books, the number in cultivation, including all those
gathered by Sir Joseph Banks, and our native kinds, was only fifty. Kew
boasted no more than one hundred and eighteen in 1813; amateurs still