FERNS 23 



still, steamy atmosphere of a hot-house, and we are 

 conscious that all round us, growing in luxuriant 

 abundance, are rare and beautiful plants of which a 

 single specimen would be treasured and treated with 

 every fostering care in England. But we sigh to be 

 able to recognise these treasures and make contact 

 between home and this exceptionally favoured 

 region — favoured, that is to say, as regards plant 

 life. From among the giant trees, the bamboos, 

 the palms, the climbers, the shrubs, the flowers, the 

 orchids, we look out anxiously for friends — or at 

 least for acquaintances whom we hope may develop 

 into friends as we meet them again and again on 

 our journeys through the forest. 



Of the flowers, the orchids are naturally the first 

 to attract us. They shine out as real gems in the 

 greenery around them. The eye jumps to them at 

 once. Here seems to be something as nearly perfect 

 in colour, form, and texture as it could possibly be. 

 If the orchid is white it is of the purest whiteness, 

 and shines chaste and unsullied amidst its dull sur- 

 roundings. If it is purple, or pale yellow, or golden- 

 yellow, or rose, or violet, or white, the colour has 

 always a depth and purity which is deeply satisfying. 

 And it seems to be because the waxy texture of 

 these orchids is such a perfect medium for the dis- 

 play of colour that orchids are so exceptionally 

 beautiful. The texture is of the very consistency 

 best adapted for revealing the beauty of colour. 

 And when we pluck a spray of these choice treasures 

 from the forest branch and hold it in the sunlight, 

 we feel we are seeing colour almost in perfection. 



The colour and texture are beautiful enough 



