| A mile and a half from town, I came to
a grove of tall cocoanut trees, with clean, branchless stems reaching straight
up sixty or seventy feet and topped with a spray of green foliage sheltering
clusters of cocoanuts--not more picturesque than a forest of colossal ragged
parasols, with bunches of magnified grapes under them, would be. I once
heard a grouty northern invalid say that a cocoanut tree might be poetical,
possibly it was; but it looked like a feather-duster struck by lightning.
I think that describes it better than a picture--and yet, without any question,
there is something fascinating about a cocoanut tree--and graceful, too. - Roughing It |
 Illustration from first edition of ROUGHING IT |
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