Francis John Bellew, Memoirs of a griffin (1891)
“ I thought of home—my mother—the widow—when I should be a captain—and other things equally remote and agreeable.The tamarind, to my taste, is the most beautiful tree of the East—not even excepting the banyan—the foliage, which is of a delicate green, droops in rich and luxuriant masses, like clusters of ostrich plumes—overhanging a 324piece of water, or half-enveloping some old mosque, durgah, or caravanserai—with the traveller’s horse picketed in its shade, or the group of camels ruminating in repose beneath it—nothing can be more picturesque. ”
