INTRODUCTION 



The word orchid has a rich, languorous sound to those 

 who know only the painted blossoms of the florist, poised 

 above their boxes of aerial roots. The tales of primeval 

 forests whose branches are aflame with their high-perched, 

 airy visitors rather lead the novice to fancy that the heart 

 of some unexplored New Hampshire forest will reveal a 

 gorgeous galaxy of blossoms, regal with wide, tinted petals, 

 such as float above the heads of the guests at a princely 

 entertainment. But the truth is that our Northeastern 

 American orchids all grow on the ground, are many of them 

 very plain and inconspicuous, and, although some are 

 lovely in the spike, the individual flowers are small and 

 fragile. 



But humble as our native orchids may seem compared 

 with the magnificent specimens of the tropics, and with 

 those that vie with the Black Tulip in bringing enormous 

 prices, ours have all the characteristics of this aristocratic 

 family. The orchids are the nobility of the flower world. 

 They are a race set apart. No common garb is theirs. 

 The lilies and the irises, their next of kin, wear blue — but 

 never orchids. These stand in purple and gold, with all the 

 shades between the faintest gleam of pearl and the intensest 

 crimson violet. "Such is their number and variety," 



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