But the contrivances by which this process of fertilization is secured are so marvellous, that I confess I am completely staggered by the idea that these contrivances have been caused by the self-growth and adaptation of the plant without guidance.  There is a plant called Salvia glutinosa[1]—­easily recognized by its sticky calyx and pale yellow flowers.  The anthers that bear the pollen are hidden far back in the hood of the flower, so that the pollen can neither fall nor can the wind carry it away; but the two anthers are supported on a sort of spring, and directly a bee goes to the flower and pushes in his head to get the honey, the spring is depressed and both anthers start forward, of course depositing their pollen on the hairy back of the bee, which carries it to the stigma of the next flower.  This process can be tested without waiting for a bee, by pushing a bit of stick into the flower, when the curious action described will be observed.  It is very easy to say that this admirable mechanical contrivance is of great use to the plant in its complete form; but try and imagine what use an intermediate form would have been!  If development at once proceeded to the complete form, surely this marks design; if not, no partial step towards it would have been of any use, and therefore would not have been inherited and perpetuated so as to prepare for further completion.  But many other plants have a structure so marvellous that this objection is continually applicable.  Let me only recall one other case, that of the orchid, called Coryanthes macrantha.  In this flower there are two little horns, which secrete a pure water, or rather water mixed with honey.  The lower part of the flower consists of a long lip, the end of which is bent into the form of a bucket hanging below the horns.  This bucket catches the nectar as it drops, and is furnished with a spout over which the liquid trickles when it is too full.  But the mouth of the bucket is guarded by a curiously ridged cover with two openings, one on each side.  The most ingenious man, says Mr. Darwin, would never by himself make out what this elaborate arrangement was intended for.  It was at last discovered.  Large humble bees were seen visiting the flower; by way of getting at the honey, they set to work to gnaw off the ridges of the lid above alluded to; in doing this they pushed one another into the bucket, and had to crawl out by the spout.  As they passed out by this narrow aperture, they had to rub against the anthers and so carried off the pollen.  When a bee so charged gets into another bucket, or into the same bucket a second time, and has to crawl out, he brushes against the stigma, and leaves the pollen on it.  I might well have adduced this plant as another instance of the first objection, since it may well be asked, How could such a development, resulting in a structure which presents the greatest difficulty in the way of fertilization, be beneficial to the plant?