MINIATURES
bony man, with the lines of his face drawn, thin and tough, giving much the impression of a Calvinistic Scotchman, fed on oatmeal and the twenty-nine articles of the Covenant. He was, nevertheless, cordial and answered such questions as were put to him with few but direct words. He indicated a certain sense of power and is probably made of sterner stuff than most men.
Shackleton, a short, stocky, dark-eyed and dark-haired Englishman, I pitied. What could be more uncomfortable than to feel that you had come near, but had not touched, the goal and then to be shown in contrast with two men, each of whom had succeeded in the difficult quest.
General Nelson E. Miles, who was one of the party, came over and sat with me at the table after the cigars had been handed around. Much of his talk was about Roosevelt, whom he detested.
Walt Whitman
Once while I was active in the management of the Penn Club in Philadelphia, an institution at the corner of Eighth and Locust streets, started by my friend Wharton Barker, and which has entertained many distinguished persons, we concluded to give a reception to the “good grey poet.” The gentlemen of the city were there, all in their evening dress. Whitman came over from Camden in a rough gray suit intended for the street and considerably the worse for wear. This was permissible if due to necessity or even to his own convenience. A large-framed, muscular man, he wore a long, heavy beard and gave the indication of brawn and vigor. Before coming he had industriously inserted forty or fifty pins in the lapel of his coat and they shone forth conspicuously. This, of course, was pure affectation, throwing doubt on the suit and giving the appearance of humbuggery to the whole performance. It has ever seemed to me that this element ran through all of his so-called poetry. There is much filth and wastage in the world, but
