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A mile and a half from town, I came to a grove of tall coconut trees, with clean, branchless stems reaching straight up sixty or seventy feet and topped with a spray of green foliage sheltering clusters of coconuts--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 taht a coconut 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 coconut tree--and graceful, too.
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