 Section 15 of About Orchids a Chat For a long time after 1853, when serious work began, M. Weich had a monopoly of the business. It is but forty years, therefore, since experiments commenced, in which time hundreds of hybrids have been added to our list of flowers. But this is my point. Nature has been busy at the same task for unknown ages, and who can measure the fruits of her industry? I do not offer the remark as an argument. Our observations are too few as yet. It may well be urged that if nature had been thus active, the natural hybrids which can be recognized would be much more numerous than they are. I have pointed out that many of the largest genera show very few, many none at all. But is it impossible that the explanation appears to fail only because we cannot yet push it far enough? When the hybridiser causes by force a fruitful union betwixt to genera, he seems to triumph over a botanical law. But suppose the genera themselves are artificial, only links in a grand chain which nature has forged slowly, patiently, with many a break, and many a failure, in the course of ages. She would finish her work bit by bit, and at every stage the new variety may have united with others in endless succession. Few natural hybrids can be identified among cat layers, for instance. But suppose cat layers are all hybrids, the result of promiscuous intercourse among genera during cycles of time. Suppose that is the genus itself sprang from parents, widely diverse, crossing, returning, intercrossing, from age to age. It is admitted that kipropidium represents a primeval form, perhaps the primeval form of orchid. Suppose that we behold in this nineteenth century a mere epoch or stage in the ceaseless evolution. Only an irresponsible amateur could dare talk in this way. It would, in truth, be very futile speculation if the experiments already successful did not offer a chance of proof one day, and others hourly ripening did not summon us to think. I may cite, with the utmost brevity, two or three facts which, to me, unscientific, appear inexplicable, unless species of orchid were developed on the spot, or the theory of special local creations be admitted. Oncidium cuculatum flourishes in certain limited areas of Peru, of Ecuador, of Colombia, and of Venezuela. It is not found in the enormous spaces between, nor are any oncidiums which might be accepted as its immediate parents. Then we suppose that the winds or the birds carried it over mountain ranges and broad rivers more than two thousand miles in four several directions to establish it upon a narrow tract. It is a question of faith, but for my own part I could assume believe that aesthetic emigrants took it with them. But even winds and birds could not bear the seeds of dendrobium heterocarpum from Ceylon to Burma, and from Burma to Luzon in the Philippines, at least I am utterly unable to credit it. If the plants were identical or nearly in their different habitats, this case would be less significant, but the dendrobium heterocarpum of Ceylon has a long, thin pseudo-bulb with bright yellow flowers. That of Burma is short and thick, with paler colouring. That of Luzon is no less than three feet high, exaggerating the stature of its most distant relative, while showing the colour of its nearest, but all absolutely the same botanic plant. I have already mentioned other cases. Experience hitherto suggests that we cannot raise adontoglossum seedlings in this climate very, very few have ever been obtained. Attempts in France have been rather more successful. Baron Adolf de Rothschild has four different hybrids of adontoglossum in Bud at this present moment in his garden at Armand-Villiers, near Paris. Monsieur Morro has a variety of seedlings. Authorities admit now that a very great proportion of our adontoglossums are natural hybrids. So many can be identified beyond the chance of error that the field for speculation has scarcely bounds. The adontoglossum exilens is certainly descended from O. pescatoriae and O. triumphans, adontoglossum elegans from O. cirrosum and O. haleae, adontoglossum watianum from O. harianum and O. histrix. And it must be observed that we cannot trace pedigree beyond the parents as yet, saving a very, very few cases. But unions have been contracting during cycles of time. Doubtless from the laws of things, the orchid is latest born of nature's children in the world of flora, but mighty venerable by this time, nevertheless. We can identify the mixed offspring of adontoglossum chryspum alexandri paired with O. gloriosum, with O. luteo purpurium, with O. lindelianum. These parents dwell side by side, and they could not fail to mingle. We can already trace with assurance a few double-crosses as adontoglossum lancians, the result of an alliance between O. chryspum alexandri and O. rucurianum, which latter is a hybrid of the former with adontoglossum gloriosum. When we observe O. rurslii upon the bank of the River Corka and O. vexilarium on the higher ground, whilst O. vexilarium superbum lives between, we may confidently attribute its peculiarity of a broad dark blotch upon the lip to the influence of O. rurslii. So, taking station at Maneos upon the Amazons, we find to Eastwood, Catalea Superba, to Westwood, C. Eldorado, and in the midst, C. Brimeriana, which it is safe to assume represents the union of the two. For that matter, the theory will very soon be tested, for M. Alfred Blur has made the cross of C. Superba and C. Eldorado, and its fowl is expected with no little interest. These cases, and many more, are palpable. We see a variety in the making at this date. A thousand years hence, or ten thousand, by more distant alliances by change of conditions, the variety may well have developed into a species, or by marriage excursions yet wider, it may have founded a genus. I have named Mr. Cookson several times. In fact, to discourse of hybridization for amateurs without reference to his astonishing record would be grotesque. One Sunday afternoon, ten years ago, he amused himself with investigating the structure of a few kit-prepeds after reading Darwin's book, and he impregnated them. To his astonishment, the seed vessel began to swell, and so did Mr. Cookson's enthusiasm simultaneously. He did not yet know, and happily, these experiments gave him no reason to suspect, that pseudo-fertilization can be produced, actually, by anything. So intensely susceptible is the stigmatic surface of the kit-preped that a touch excites it furiously. Upon the irritation caused by a bit of leaf, it will go sometimes through all the visible processes of fecundation, the ovary will swell and ripen, and in due time burst, with every appearance of fertility. But, of course, there is no seed. Beginners, therefore, must not be too sanguine when their bold attempts promise well. From that day, Mr. Cookson gave his leisure to hybridization, with such results as, in short, are known to everybody who takes an interest in orchids. Failure's in abundance, he had at first, but the proportion has grown less and less, until, at this moment, he confidently looks for success in 75% of his attempts. But this does not apply to bi-generic crosses, which hitherto have not engaged his attention much. Beginning with kit-prepedium, he has now 94 hybrids, very many plants of each, produced from 140 capsules sown. Of Calanthi, 16 hybrids from 19 capsules. Of Dendrobium, 36 hybrids from 41 capsules. Of Mastavalia, four hybrids from 17 capsules. Of Adontaglossum, none from nine capsules. Of Phages, two from two capsules. Of Vanda, none from one capsule. Of Bi-generic, one from nine capsules. There may be another, indeed, but the issue of an alliance so startling and produced under circumstances so dubious that Mr. Cookson will not own it until he sees the flower. It does not fall within the scope of this chapter to analyze the list of this gentleman's triumphs, but even Savants will be interested to hear a few of the most remarkable crosses therein, for it is not published. I cite the following haphazard. Reader's Note. I omit 28 named crosses between members of the genera, Phages, Loelia, Catlaya, Kit-prepedium, Dendrobium, and Mastavalia. End Reader's Note. Of these and so many more, Mr. Cookson has at this moment 15,000 plants. Since my object is to rouse the attention of amateurs that they may go and do likewise, I may refer lightly to a consideration which would be out of place under other circumstances. Professional growers of orchids are fond of speculating how much the Wylam Collection would realize if judiciously put on the market. I shall not mention the estimates I have heard. It is enough to say that they reach many, many thousands of pounds, that the difference between the highest and the lowest represents a handsome fortune, and this great sum has been earned by brains alone without increase of expenditure, by boldness of initiative, thought, care, and patience, without special knowledge also at the beginning. For 10 years ago, Mr. Cookson had no more acquaintance with orchids than is possessed by every gentleman who takes an interest in them, while his gardener the early time was both ignorant and prejudiced. This should encourage enterprise, I think. The revelation of means to earn great wealth in a delightful employment. But amateurs must be quick. Almost every professional grower of orchids is preparing to enter the field. They, however, must needs give the most of their attention to such crosses as may be confidently expected to catch the public fancy, as has been said. I advise my readers to be daring, even desperate. It is satisfactory to learn that Mr. Cookson intends to make a study of bi-generic hybridization henceforward. Footnote, Mr. Cookson writes to me, give some of the credit to my present gardener, William Murray, who is entitled to a large proportion at least. End footnote. The common motive for crossing orchids is that, of course, which urges the florist in other realms of botany. He seeks to combine tints, forms, varied peculiarities in a new shape. Orchids lend themselves to experiment with singular freedom within certain limits, and their array of colors seems to invite our interference. Taking species and genera all round, yellow dominates, owing to its prevalence in the great family of Onchidium. Purple's and mauve's stand next by reason of their supremacy among the cat layers. Green follows, if we admit, the whole group of epidendrums. The great majority of which are not beautiful, however. Of magenta, the rarest of natural hues, we have not a few instances. Crimson, in a thousand shades, is frequent. Pure white, a little rare. Orange, much rarer. Scarlet, very uncommon, and blue almost unknown, so supremely lovely in the few instances that occur. Thus the temptation to hybridise with the object of exchanging colors is peculiarly strong. It becomes yet stronger by reason of the delightful uncertainty which attends one's efforts. So far as I have heard or read, no one has yet been able to offer a suggestion of any law which decides the result of combination. In a general way, both parents will be represented in the offspring. But how, to what degree, either will dominate? In what parts, colours or fashions a hybrid will show its mixed lineage, the experienced refuse to conjecture, saving certain easy classes. After choosing parents thoughtfully with a clear perception of the aim in view, one must go it blind. Very often the precise effect desired appears in due time. Very often, something unlooked for turns up. But nearly always the result is beautiful. Whether or no, it serves the operator's purpose. Besides effect, however, there is an utility in hybridisation which relates to culture. Thus, for example, the lovely Kipropidium ferianum is so difficult to grow that few dealers keep it in their stock. By crossing it with Kipropidium barbatum from Mount Ophir, a rough and ready cool species, we get Kipropidium vexilarium, which takes after the latter in constitution while retaining much of the beauty of the former. Or, again, Kipropidium sanderianum from the Mele archipelago needs such swampy heat as few even of its fellows appreciate. It has been crossed with Kipropidium insigni which will flourish anywhere. And though the seedlings have not yet bloomed, there is no reasonable doubt that they will prove as useful and beautiful as in the other case. Kipropidium insigni of the fine varieties has been employed in a multitude of such instances. There is the striking Kipropidium hersutissimum with sepals of a nameless green shaded yellow studded with spicule, exquisitely frilled and tipped by a contrast almost startling with pale purple. It is very hot in the first place and in the second, its appearance would be still more effective if some white could be introduced. Present it to Kipropidium niveum and confidently expect that the progeny will bear cooler treatment whilst their dorsal sepal will be blanched. So the charming Mastavalia tovarensis, warm, white and lowly, will take to itself the qualities in combination of Mastavalia bella, tall, cool and highly colored red and yellow, as Mr. Cookson has proved. So Phalaenopsis whiteii, delicate of growth and small of flower, will become strong and generous by union with Phalaenopsis grandiflora without losing its dainty tones. It is worth mentioning that the first flora medal offered by the Royal Horticultural Society for a seedling, a hybrid in open competition, was won by Loelia Arnoldiana in 1891. The same variety took the first prize in 1892. It was raised by Maceo Sander from Loelia Per Purata by Catlea Labietta, Seed Sewn 1881, Flowered 1891. And now for the actual process by which these most desirable results and 10,000 others may be obtained. I shall not speak upon my own authority which the universe has no reason to trust. Let us observe the methods practised in the great establishment of Mr. Sander at St. Albans. Remark in the first place, the low unshaded range of houses devoted to hybridisation, a contrast to those lofty structures, a hundred yards long or more where plants merely flourish and bloom. There span roofs one may touch with the hand and their glass is always newly cleaned. The first and last demand of the hybridiser is light. Light, eternally light. One of it stands at the bottom of all his disappointments, perhaps. The very great majority of orchids, such as I refer to, have their home in the tropics. Even the cool Adontaglots and Mastavalias owe that quality to their mountaineering habit, not to latitude. They live so near the equator that sunshine descends almost perpendicularly and the sun shines for more than half the year. But in this happy isle of ours, upon the very brightest day of Midsummer, its rays fall at an angle of 28 degrees, declining constantly until at midwinter they struggle through the fogs at an inclination of 75 degrees. The reader may work out this proportion by himself, but he must add to his reckoning the thickness of our atmosphere at its best and the awful number of cloudy days. We cannot spare one particle of light. The ripening seed must stand close beneath the glass and, however fierce the sunshine, no blind may be interposed. It is likely that the mother plant will be burnt up, quite certain that it will be much injured. This house is devoted to the hybridising of kipropediums. I choose that genus for our demonstration, because, as has been said, it is so very easy and so certain that an intelligent girl mastered all its eccentricities of structure after a single lesson, which made her equally proficient in those of dendrobes, onchidiums, Adontaglots, epidendrums, and I know not how many more. The leaves are green and smooth as yet, with many a fantastic bloom and many an ovary that has just begun to swell, rising amidst the verdure. Each flower spike which has been crossed carries its neat label, registering the father's name and the date of union. Mr. Maynard takes the first two virgin blooms to hand, kipropedium sanderianum and kipropedium godfroyi, as its chances. Let us cut off the lip in order to see more clearly. Looking down now upon the flower, we mark two wings, the petals, which stood on either side of the vanished lip. From the junction of these wings issues a round stalk, about one quarter of an inch long and slightly hairy, called the column. It widens out at the tip, forming a pretty table, rather more than one third of an inch long and wide. This table serves no purpose in our inquiry. It obstructs the view and we will remove it, but the reader understands, of course, that these amputations cannot be performed when business is intended. Now, the table's snipped off. We see those practical parts of the flower that interest us. Beneath its protection, the column divides into three knobbly excrescences, the central plane, those on either side of it, curling back and down, each bearing at its extremity, a pad the size of a small pin's head, outlined distinctly with a brown color. It is quite impossible to mistake these things. Equally impossible, I hope, to misunderstand my description. The pads are the male, the active organs, but the column does not finish here. It trends downward, behind and below the pads, and widens out with an exquisitely graceful curve into a disc one quarter of an inch broad. This is the female, the receptive part, but here we see the peculiarity of orchid structure, for the upper surface of the disc is not susceptible. It is the under surface, which must be impregnated, though the imagination cannot conceive a mere accident which would throw those fertilizing pads upon their destined receptacle. They are loosely attached and adhesive when separated to a degree actually astonishing, as is the disc itself. But if it were possible to displace them by shaking, they could never fall where they ought. Some outside impulse is needed to bring the parts together. In their native home, insects perform that service, sometimes. Here we may take the first implement at hand, a knife, a bit of stick, a pencil. We remove the pads, which yield at a touch and cling to the object. We lay them one by one on the receptive disc where they seem to melt into the surface and the trick is done. Write out your label, Kipropidium Sandarianum, by Kipropidium Godfrey, Maynard. Add to the date and leave nature to her work. She does not linger. One may almost say that the disc begins to swell instantly. That part, which we term the column, is the termination of the seed purse, the ovary, which occupies an inch or two or three of the stalk behind the flower. In a very few days, its thickening becomes perceptible. The unimpregnated bloom falls off at its appointed date, as everybody knows. But if fertilized, it remains entire, saving the labellum until the seed is ripe, perhaps half a year afterwards. But withered, of course. Very singular and quite inexplicable are the developments that arise in difference genera or even species after fertilization. In the washer-witchellers, for example, not the seed purse only, but the whole column swells. Faleonopsis ludmaniana is specially remarkable. Its exquisite bars and mottlings of rose, brown and purple begin to take a greenish hue forthwith. A few days later, the lip jerks itself off with a sudden movement, as observers declare. Then the sepals and petals remaining take flesh, thicken and thicken, while the hues fade and the green encroaches. Until presently, they assume the likeness of a flower, abnormal in shape, but perfect, of dense green wax. This kipropidium of ours will ripen its seed in about 12 months, more or less. Then the capsule, two inches long and two-thirds of an inch diameter, will burst. Mr. Maynard will cut it off, open it wide, and scatter the thousands of seeds therein, perhaps 150,000, over pots in which orchids are growing. After experiments innumerable, this has been found the best course. The particles, no bigger than a grain of dust, begin to swell at once, reach the size of a mustard seed. And in five or six weeks, or as many months, they put out a tiny leaf, then a tiny root, presently another leaf. And in four or five years, we may look for the hybridized flower. Long before, naturally, they have been established in their own pots. Strange incidents occur continually in this pursuit, as may be believed. Nine years since, Mr. Godsef crossed Catacetam macrocarpum with Catacetam callosum. The seed ripened, and in due course it was sown, but none ever germinated in the proper place. Along while afterwards, Mr. Godsef remarked a tiny little green speck in a crevice above the door of this same house. It grew and grew very fast, never receiving water, unless by the rarest accident, until those experts could identify a healthy young Catacetam. And there it has flourished ever since, receiving no attention. For it is the first rule in orchid culture to leave a plant to itself, where it is doing well. No matter how strange the circumstances may appear to us, this Catacetam wafted by the wind when the seed was sown, found conditions suitable, where it lighted and quickened, while all its fellows carefully provided for died without a sign. It thrives upon the moisture of the house. In a very few years it will flower. In another case, when all hope of the germination of a quantity of seed had long been lost, it became necessary to take up the wooden trellis that formed the flooring of the path. A fine crop of young hybrids was discovered, clinging to the underside. The amateur who has followed us thus far with interest may inquire how long it will be before he can reasonably expect to see the outcome of our proceedings. In the first place, it must be noted that the time shortens continually as we gain experience. The statements following, I leave unaltered, because they are given by Monsieur Weich, our oldest authority, in the last edition of their book. But at the temple show this year, Norman C. Cookson, his choir, exhibited Catlea William Murray, offspring of Catlea Mendeliae, by Catlea Lorenziana, a lovely flower, which gained a first-class certificate. It was only four years old. The quickest record as yet is Calanthi Alexanderiae, with which Mr. Cookson won a first-class certificate of the Royal Horticultural Society. It flowered within three years of fertilizing. As a genus, perhaps, dendrobiums are readyist to show. Plants have actually been pricked out within two months of sowing, and they have bloomed within the fourth year. Phaegis and Calanthi rank next for rapid development. Mastavalia, Caesis, and Capropedium require four to five years, Lycasty, seven to eight, Loelia, and Catlea, 10 to 12. These are Mr. Vitey's calculations in a rough way, but there are endless exceptions, of course. Thus, his Loelia Triophilma flowered in its eighth season, while his Loelia Callaglossa delayed till its 19th. The genus Zygopetulum, which plays odd tricks in hybridizing, as I have mentioned, is curious in this matter also. Zygopetulum maxillari, crossed with Zed Macai, demands five years to bloom, but vice versa nine years. There is a case somewhat similar, however, among the Kipropeds. Kipropedium shlimii, crossed with C. Longifolium, flowers in four years, but vice versa in six. It is not to be disputed, therefore, that the hybridizer's reward is rather slow in coming. The more earnestly should he take measures to ensure as far as is possible that it be worth waiting for. End of chapter nine and the end of About Orchids a Chat by Frederick Boyle