In a letter dated November 15, 1855, Sarah Helen Whitman wrote to Moulton: "It is a very fascinating story, eloquently related." Whitman was, for a time, one of the most famous woman poets in the United States (more recently overshadowed by her involvement with Edgar Allan Poe) so her compliments rank highly. "You have all the qualities requisite for a successful novelist," she wrote, "and some very rare ones, as I think." The Providence, Rhode Island-based writer was so taken by Juno Clifford that she wrote and published a review of it.
Whatever the flaws, the book is well-written, particularly for such a young author. Moulton's prose style flows very easily and pulls in the reader from its first page:
Juno Clifford stood before the mirror of her richly furnished breakfast parlor... It was ten o'clock. Men, whose business hours had commenced, were hurrying to and fro in the street — the city was teeming with life and turbulent with noise, but the hum only stole through the heavily curtained windows of that lofty house on Mount Vernon street, with a subdued cadence that was very pleasant. It was a lounging, indolent attitude, in which the lady stood. In her whole style of manner there was a kind of tropical languor, and it was easy to see that she was seldom roused from her habitual calmness. And yet there was something in the curving of her dainty lips, the full sweep of her arching brows, nay, in every motion of her hand, which told of a slumbering power; an energy, resistless in its intensity; a will that might have subjugated an empire.