Mr. Whitman might be able to control the use of brooms about his own premises, but his authority did not extend beyond. How the women of the locality learned of his antipathy to sweeping, either in or out of doors, is not known. Probably in some unguarded moment he had condemned it in their hearing. "He was extremely annoyed by the habit the women of his neighborhood had of coming out two or three times a day with their brooms, and stirring up the water in the gutter. He thought it caused malaria. If they would only let it alone!" (_Thomas Donaldson._) It may be that the women made their brooms an excuse for tantalizing "The Poet." He was no less opposed to their sweeping in dry weather, and one morning when six or seven appeared simultaneously and set to sweeping with a will, he knew that it was nothing less than a concerted plan, and this he would not endure. Irritated beyond self-control, he let his indignation fly out of the window in passionate and pointed sentences, which the sweepers totally ignored. In 1867, about four years after his general breakdown, he had commenced to give occasional lectures. This spring (1886) he delivered two, the first on March 1, in Morton Hall, Camden, the second on the afternoon of April 15, in the Chestnut Street Opera House, Philadelphia. Both lectures were upon the same subject, his favorite theme: Abraham Lincoln. He was not an orator, and his audiences were at all times made up of people more curious perhaps to see than to hear him. This second lecture--his last appearance but one as a speaker in the "Quaker City"--was a greater strain than he had calculated upon, although the arrangements had been made for him by his friends, and he was conveyed from his own house direct to the back door of the theatre. He always remained in his carriage while crossing the river. Few people attended this lecture, and out of the $692 it netted him, only $78.25 was received at the door. The rest was made up by appreciative admirers. Two gentlemen gave each $100, four gave $50 each, eight gave $10, two $5, and a society--The Acharon--gave $45. The money was handed to Mr. Whitman in a large white envelope as he left the stage. It was not removed from the envelope until the next forenoon, when it was deposited unbroken in the bank.