Jula Ward Howe, Reminiscences: 1819-1899

He was much attached to his father, of whom he once said to me, ‘We don't dare to mention anything pathetic at our table. If we did, father would be sure to spoil the soup’ (with his tears, being understood). The elder Appleton belonged to the congregation of the Federal Street Church. I asked his son if he ever attended service there. He said, ‘Oh, yes; I sometimes go to hear the minister exhort that assemblage of weary ones to forsake the vanities of life. Looking at the choir, I see some forlorn women who seem, from the way in which they open their mouths, to mistake the congregation for a dentist.’ He did not care for music. At a party devoted to classical performances, he turned to me: ‘Mrs. Howe, are you going to give us something from the symphony in P?’

He was much of an amateur in art, literature, and life, never appearing to take serious hold of matters either social or political. Wendell Phillips had been his schoolmate, and the two, in company with John Lothrop Motley, had fought many battles with wooden swords in the Appleton garret. For some unexplained reason, he had but little faith in Phillips's philanthropy, and the relations of childhood between the two did not extend to their later life.