There were two memorable items in this sale:  the idol aforesaid and a skull to which one of the Dendrobes had attached itself.  Both were exhibited as trophies and curiosities, not to be disposed of; but by mistake, the idol was put up.  It fetched only a trifle—­quite as much as it was worth, however.  But Hon. Walter de Rothschild fancied it for his museum, and on learning what had happened Mr. Sander begged the purchaser to name his own price.  That individual refused.

It was a great day indeed.  Very many of the leading orchid-growers of the world were present, and almost all had their gardeners or agents there.  Such success called rivals into the field, but New Guinea is a perilous land to explore.  Only last week we heard that Mr. White, of Winchmore Hill, has perished in the search for Dendrobium ph.  Schroederianum.

I mentioned the great sale of Cyp.  Curtisi just now.  An odd little story attaches to it.  Mr. Curtis, now Director of the Botanic Gardens, Penang, sent this plant home from Sumatra when travelling for Messrs. Veitch, in 1882.  The consignment was small, no more followed, and Cyp.  Curtisi became a prize.  Its habitat was unknown.  Mr. Sander instructed his collector to look for it.  Five years the search lasted—­with many intermissions, of course, and many a success in discovering other fine things.  But Mr. Ericksson despaired at last.  In one of his expeditions to Sumatra he climbed a mountain—­it has been observed before that one must not ask details of locality when collecting orchid legends.  So well known is this mountain, however, that the Government, Dutch I presume, has built a shelter for travellers upon it.  There Mr. Ericksson put up for the night.  Several Europeans had inscribed their names upon the wall, with reflections and sentiments, as is the wont of people who climb mountains.  Among these, by the morning light, Mr. Ericksson perceived the sketch of a Cypripedium, as he lay upon his rugs.  It represented a green flower, white tipped, veined and spotted with purple, purple of lip. “Curtisi, by Jove!” he cried, in his native Swedish, and jumped up.  No doubt of it!  Beneath the drawing ran:  “C.C.’s contribution to the adornment of this house.”  Whipping out his pencil, Mr. Ericksson wrote:  “Contribution accepted.  Cypripedium collected!—­C.E.”  But day by day he sought the plant in vain.  His cases filled with other treasures.  But for the hope that sketch conveyed, long since he would have left the spot.  After all, Mr. Curtis might have chosen the flower by mere chance to decorate the wall.  The natives did not know it.  So orders were given to pack, and next day Mr. Ericksson would have withdrawn.  On the very evening, however, one of his men brought in the flower.  A curious story, if one think, but I am in a position to guarantee its truth.