C.  Dowiana was discovered by Warscewicz about 1850, and he sent home accounts too enthusiastic for belief.  Steady-going Britons utterly refused to credit such a marvel—­his few plants died, and there was an end of it for the time.  I may mention an instance of more recent date, where the eye-witness of a collector was flatly rejected at home.  Monsieur St. Leger, residing at Asuncion, the capital of Paraguay, wrote a warm description of an orchid in those parts to scientific friends.  The account reached England, and was treated with derision.  Monsieur St. Leger, nettled, sent some dried flowers for a testimony; but the mind of the Orchidaceous public was made up.  In 1883 he brought a quantity of plants and put them up at auction; nobody in particular would buy.  So those reckless or simple or trusting persons who invested a few shillings in a bundle had all the fun to themselves a few months afterwards, when the beautiful Oncidium Jonesianum appeared, to confound the unbelieving.  It must be added, however, that orchid-growers may well become an incredulous generation.  When their judgment leads them wrong we hear of it, the tale is published, and outsiders mock.  But these gentlemen receive startling reports continually, honest enough for the most part.  Much experience and some loss have made them rather cynical when a new wonder is announced.  The particular case of Monsieur St. Leger was complicated by the extreme resemblance which the foliage of Onc.  Jonesianum bears to that of Onc. cibolletum, a species almost worthless.  Unfortunately the beautiful thing declines to live with us—­as yet.

Cattleya Dowiana was rediscovered by Mr. Arce, when collecting birds:  it must have been a grand moment for Warscewicz when the horticultural world was convulsed by its appearance in bloom. Cattleya aurea had no adventures of this sort.  Mr. Wallis found it in 1868 in the province of Antioquia, and again on the west bank of the Magdalena; but it is very rare.  This species is persecuted in its native home by a beetle, which accompanies it to Europe not infrequently—­in the form of eggs, no doubt.  A more troublesome alien is the fly which haunts Cattleya Mendellii, and for a long time prejudiced growers against that fine species, until, in fact, they had made a practical and rather costly study of its habits.  An experienced grower detects the presence of this enemy at a glance.  It pierces an “eye”—­a back one in general, happily—­and deposits an egg in the very centre.  Presently this growth begins to swell in a manner that delights the ingenuous horticulturist, until he remarks that its length does not keep pace with its breadth.  But one remedy has yet been discovered—­cutting off any suspected growth.  We understand now that C.  Mendellii is as safe to import as any other species, unless it be gathered at the wrong time.[5]