The brother was a handsome youth of good judgment, and given to sage remarks; the sister, witty, intuitive, and incisive in speech; the mother, dressed in rich Quaker costume, and though nearly seventy, still possessed of great personal beauty.

She was intelligent, dignified, refined, and, in manner and appearance, reminded one of Angelina Grimke as she looked in her younger days.

Everything about the house and its appointments indicated that it was the abode of genius and cultivation, and, although Anna was absent, the hospitalities were gracefully dispensed by her family.

Napoleon and Shakespeare seemed to be Anna's patron saints, looking down, on all sides, from the wall.

The mother amused us with the sore trials her little orator had inflicted on the members of the household by her vagaries in the world of fame.
On the way to Kennett Square, a young gentleman pointed out to us the home of Benjamin West, who distinguished himself, to the disgust of broadbrims generally, as a landscape painter.