In his last volume several of her poems were published, which are quite worthy the place the brother's appreciation has given them.

Whittier's love and reverence for his mother and sister, so marked in every word and look, were charming features of his home life.

All his poems to our sex breathe the same tender, worshipful sentiments.
Soon after this visit at Amesbury, our noble friend spent a few days with us in Chelsea, near Boston.

One evening, after we had been talking a long time of the unhappy dissensions among anti-slavery friends, by way of dissipating the shadows I opened the piano, and proposed that we should sing some cheerful songs.

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Mr.Stanton, "do not touch a note; you will put every nerve of Whittier's body on edge." It seemed, to me, so natural for a poet to love music that I was surprised to know that it was a torture to him.
From our upper piazza we had a fine view of Boston harbor.