340 THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE IN THE FOREST. 
princes of the vegetable kingdom are very tender; a single larva will 
kill the strongest of them. There they stand, like kings deprived of 
their crowns, until the inevitable scavengers come forward and crum- 
ble them into mold. 
In the great struggle for light, which means life in the forest, there 
is no place for small herbaceous plants. Such little beauties as daisies 
and primroses could find no sunny banks or fields to bask in. The 
eround is strewn with dead leaves and withered petals, which have 
fallen from the canopy above, and sometimes you pick up a flower or 
seed and wonder which tree it came from. You look up and try to 
identify the foliage of some particular tree, but they are so intermin- 
gled that this is almost impossible. There is hardly anything to be 
seen in the dense forest save an interminable jumble of trunks and 
bush ropes. However, flowers are not entirely absent. Scattered here 
and there may be found a few leafless root parasites. One orchid, the 
Wullschlegelia aphylla, is able to exist in the half-light, together with 
three species of Voyria. Except one of the latter, which is like a min- 
iature yellow crocus, these plants are particularly delicate, poor, pale, 
sickly looking creatures, that seem ready to fall to pieces by their own 
weight, although they are only 2 or 3 inches high. 
However, herbaceous plants are not wanting in the forest. Let us 
single out a giant Mora, if we can, and use a glass, when we shall see 
that its limbs are covered with small plants, which may be recognized 
as orchids and bromelias. Far above our heads are the representatives 
of Shakespeare’s ‘long purples” and the other temperate orchids 
which decorate the English meadows. ‘There they sit, 100 to 150 feet 
above our heads, ‘‘ born to blush unseen,” as far as the human eye 
is concerned. Nevertheless they live, and perhaps enjoy life, doing 
their work, and doing it admirably. They do not elbow their neigh- 
bors, nor do they smother, strangle, or suck them, but simply make 
use of the topmost branches of the forest giants as resting places. 
The orchid grasps its support in a loving manner, holding it tightly, 
but not like the parasite, to get fat at its expense. No, the orchid has 
succeeded in making itself almost independent. It is satisfied with a 
little light; so there is no necessity for interfering with its host. Hav- 
ing, as it were, succeeded in getting out of the turmoil of the fight, it 
decorates the brawny limbs of the forest giant with its brilliant flow- 
ers, and invites the bees and butterflies to come to its nuptials. 
Although it apparently takes things very easy, the orchid is by no 
means idle, while its position to-day represents the outcome of genera- 
tions of steady work. Having no connection with the soil, it has to 
gather its food from the air, rain, and dew, and not only to collect, but 
also to store it. Although rains are frequent enough, still there are 
dry seasons, when, under the tropical heat, a plant in such a position 
must wither and die unless some provision were made for these contin- 
gencies. Like the plants of the desert, the orchid stores its food in 
