parts of the orchideæ are annually reproduced in a great many instances,
and there is really no reason they should not live for ever unless, as
is generally the case with them in captivity, they be killed by errors
in cultivation." Sir Trevor was addressing an assemblage of
authorities--a parterre of kings in the empire of botany--or he might
have enlarged upon this text.

The epiphytal orchid, to speak generally, and to take the simple form,
is one body with several limbs, crowned by one head. Its circulation
pulsates through the whole, less and less vigorously, of course, in the
parts that have flowered, as the growing head leaves them behind. At
some age, no doubt, circulation fails altogether in those old limbs, but
experience does not tell me distinctly as yet in how long time the
worn-out bulbs of an Oncidium or a Cattleya, for example, would perish
by natural death. One may cut them off when apparently lifeless, even
beginning to rot, and under proper conditions--it may be a twelvemonth
after--a tiny green shoot will push from some "eye," withered and
invisible, that has slept for years, and begin existence on its own
account. Thus, I am not old enough as an orchidacean to judge through
how many seasons these plants will maintain a limb apparently
superfluous. Their charming disposition is characterized above all
things by caution and foresight. They keep as many strings to their bow,
as many shots in their locker, as may be, and they keep them as long as
possible. The tender young head may be nipped off by a thousand chances,
but such mishaps only rouse the indomitable thing to replace it with
two, or even more. Beings designed for immortality are hard to kill.

Among the gentle forms of intellectual excitement I know not one to
compare with the joy of restoring a neglected orchid to health. One may
buy such for coppers--rare species, too--of a size and a "potentiality"