Tag: Henry S. Scovel

Philadelphia, Sept. 15. - Toward sundown this evening, as Walt Whitman was half dozing over a pile of manuscript near a window in his little frame house in Camden, the jarring rattle of wheels startled the old man, and a smart chestnut horse drew a natty phaeton up to the door. The poet glanced over his flowers at the turnout and nodded kindly to the little chap who held the reins, for he was a favorite, the son of his old friend Tom Donaldson. The boy carefully tied the animal and handed up with a mysterious air a portentious [sic] envelope, big and fat, and started to walk away, but was called back and induced to enter the cozy workshop.

Walt Whitman Surprised

oward sundown this evening, as Walt Whitman was half dozing over a pile of manuscript near a window in his little frame house in Camden, the jarring rattle of wheels startled the old man, and a smart chestnut horse drew a natty phaeton up to the door.