It is just the same case with Loelia anceps alba.  The genus Loelia is distinguished from Cattleya by a peculiarity to be remarked only in dissection; its pollen masses are eight as against four.  To my taste, however, the species are more charming on the whole.  There is L. purpurata.  Casual observers always find it hard to grasp the fact that orchids are weeds in their native homes, just like foxgloves and dandelions with us.  In this instance, as I have noted, they flatly refuse to believe, and certainly “upon the face of it” their incredulity is reasonable.

Loelia purpurata falls under the head of hot orchids. L. anceps, however, is not so exacting; many people grow it in the cool house when they can expose it there to the full blaze of sunshine.  In its commonest form it is divinely beautiful.  I have seen a plant in Mr. Eastey’s collection with twenty-three spikes, the flowers all open at once.  Such a spectacle is not to be described in prose.  But when the enthusiast has rashly said that earth contains no more ethereal loveliness, let him behold L. a. alba, the white variety.  The dullest man I ever knew, who had a commonplace for all occasions, found no word in presence of that marvel.  Even the half-castes of Mexico who have no soul, apparently, for things above horseflesh and cockfights, and love-making, reverence this saintly bloom.  The Indians adore it.  Like their brethren to the south, who have tenderly removed every plant of Cattleya Skinneri alba for generations unknown, to set upon their churches, they collect this supreme effort of Nature and replant it round their huts.  So thoroughly has the work been done in either case that no single specimen was ever seen in the forest.  Every one has been bought from the Indians, and the supply is exhausted; that is to say, a good many more are known to exist, but very rarely now can the owner be persuaded to part with one.  The first example reached England nearly half a century ago, sent probably by a native trader to his correspondent in this country; but, as was usual at that time, the circumstances are doubtful.  It found its way, somehow, to Mr. Dawson, of Meadowbank, a famous collector, and by him it was divided.  Search was made for the treasure in its home, but vainly; travellers did not look in the Indian gardens.  No more arrived for many years.  Mr. Sander once conceived a fine idea.  He sent one of his collectors to gather Loelia a. alba at the season when it is in bud, with an intention of startling the universe by displaying a mass of them in full bloom; they were still more uncommon then than now, when a dozen flowering plants is still a show of which kings may be proud.  Mr. Bartholomeus punctually fulfilled his instructions, collected some forty plants with their spikes well developed; attached them to strips of wood which he nailed across shallow boxes, and shipped them to San Francisco.  Thence they travelled by fast train