They interrupt the writer, and they distract the reader. At
the place I have chosen to illustrate our theme, one has but to cross a
corridor from any of the working quarters to reach the showroom. We may
start upon our critical survey from the very dwelling-house. Pundits of
agricultural science explore the sheds, I believe, the barns, stables,
machine-rooms, and so forth, before inspecting the crops. We may follow
the same course, but our road offers an unusual distraction.

It passes from the farmer's hall beneath a high glazed arch. Some thirty
feet beyond, the path is stopped by a wall of tufa and stalactite which
rises to the lofty roof, and compels the traveller to turn right or
left. Water pours down it and falls trickling into a narrow pool
beneath. Its rough front is studded with orchids from crest to base.
Coelogenes have lost those pendant wreaths of bloom which lately
tipped the rock as with snow. But there are Cymbidiums arching long
sprays of green and chocolate; thickets of Dendrobe set with flowers
beyond counting--ivory and rose and purple and orange; scarlet
Anthuriums: huge clumps of Phajus and evergreen Calanthe, with a score
of spikes rising from their broad leaves; Cypripediums of quaint form
and striking half-tones of colour; Oncidiums which droop their slender
garlands a yard long, golden yellow and spotted, purple and white--a
hundred tints. The crown of the rock bristles all along with Cattleyas,
a dark-green glossy little wood against the sky. The _Trianaes_ are
almost over, but here and there a belated beauty pushes through, white
or rosy, with a lip of crimson velvet. _Mossiaes_ have replaced them
generally, and from beds three feet in diameter their great blooms start
by the score, in every shade of pink and crimson and rosy purple. There
is _Loelia elegans_, exterminated in its native home, of such bulk and
such luxuriance of growth that the islanders left forlorn might almost
find consolation in regarding it here. Over all, climbing up the
spandrils of the roof in full blaze of sunshine, is _Vanda teres_, round
as a pencil both leaves and stalk, which will drape those bare iron rods
presently with crimson and pink and gold.[8] The way to our farmyard is
not like others. It traverses a corner of fairyland.

We find a door masked by such a rock as that faintly and vaguely
pictured, which opens on a broad corridor. Through all its length, four
hundred feet, it is ceilinged with baskets of Me