We sometimes hear that ours is a material, dull age, yet we perpetuate terms and usages which ally us to the childhood of the human race, and which stand for imagination and sheer loveliness. We still speak of laureled brows, palms of victory, the rose of beauty, the lily of purity, the oak of strength, willowy grace, fig-trees of shelter, and corn of abundance; we extend the olive-branch of peace, we put our legs under our host's mahogany, we indicate poison by nightshade and toadstools, and health by flowers and fruits.Though Bacchus is no longer with us, we emblemize him in our reference to the vine. Moreover, states and nations choose their flowers, and certain Scottish Highlanders still wear them as badges of their clans. The liking for these things, their service to the eye, antedates history, and although Shakespeare lived when there was no botany, and only an enjoyment of nature in place of the study of it, his chance mention of one hundred fifty trees and plants hints at the regard such matters enjoyed in those days.