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Prior to Becoming a Member |
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New Lebanon, N. Y.,
IN THE YEAR 1824.
MT. LEBANON, COLUMBIA CO., N. Y. º
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AUTOBIOGRAPHY
MARY ANTONETF DOOLITIE
Prior to Becoming a Member
OF THE
SEHLA-BCIHEER, COMIMITUTISTITY,
New Lebanon, N. Y.,
IN THE YEAR 1824.
Enquirers Address
F. W. EVANS, Mt. Lebanon, Columbia Co., N. Y.
TO THE READER.
APOLOGIEs when merely offered as excuses are weak things.
Therefore I proffer none for this humble effort ; but will make
a simple statement of the reason that induced me to present a
brief history of my experience in early life, previous to becom-
ing a member of the Shaker Society at New Lebanon, N. Y.
I have frequently been asked the question—by strangers—
“What induced you to become a Shaker P” It was partly to
answer that query, and partly to satisfy the feelings of near
friends, who have urged me to pen these lines. And as the
present season rolled around — it being the fifty-fifth anniver-
sary of my birth into the “Shaker Community,” and the at-
tending circumstances so nearly represented that period, just
about the same quantity of snow having fallen in the night
time as then—it brought those former scenes vividly to
mind; and I related some of them to a circle of friends, saying
the “Second day of November, 1824, will always be a memora-
ble day to me.”
Again they urged me to jot down those incidents; for they
thought they would be of interest to some persons who might
perchance read them. If the simple narrative of facts as
here presented are deemed worthy of notice, it is well. If
not, we trust we have done no harm. Q
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.
PART I.
Individuals, communities and nations all have their history.
The former may not always interest the public, yet be of es-
sential importance to the individual, and to a private circle of
friends.
I have frequently been urged by friends to give a simple
narrative of my experience in early childhood and youth,
previous to entering the Shaker Society at New Lebanon,
which is now precisely fifty-five years ago.
Of my ancestry I will say but little ; indeed, I know com-
paratively little of the ancestral line on my father's side. I
never saw either of my grandsires, but knew both of my grand-
mothers. They differed widely in their intellectual and reli-
gious views.
My grandmother on my mother's side was of the Puritanic
school, and one of the most devout adherents of the Presby-
terian church of those days; and I have been told that my
grandfather was so strict in his family that he would not allow
one of his children to wipe a slop from the floor, after the sun
had gone down behind the western hills, on Saturday night; as
he believed that time was the commencement of the Sabbath,
they were to remember and keep holy. They had a large
family—six sons and six daughters; my mother came in about
midway of the twelve.
AN AMUSING INCIDENT.
There was one son who did not relish the Puritanic style of
Sabbath day restraint; nor the long family prayers that he
6 A UT OBIOG R A PHY OF
was forced to listen to, morning and evening, every day. He
studied to know how he could free himself from such bondage.
He knew his father had a weak stomach, and that nothing was
more offensive to him than the scent of an old-fashioned blue dye,
of which every New England farm-house was possessed—in those
days of home-dyed and home-made cloth—before being com-
plete in its arrangements.
One morning he nerved himself up to the point, and, see-
ing a cat passing through the room, right in the midst of his
father's prayer, he lifted the lid of the dye-tub, which stood in
a corner, and threw the cat in. It seemed the cat did not like
its morning bath ; for as quick as thought, it jumped out, and
shook itself powerfully and ran into the open air. Amen fol-
lowed as quickly, and his father found relief by parting with
his breakfast. The irreligious boy, Daniel, was allowed after
that time to act his own pleasure in regard to attending or not
attending family prayers.
MY GRAND FATHER'S DEMISE.
After the sudden and unexpected decease of my grand-
father, my grandmother spent much of her time with her
children, and made her home in my father's family almost
constantly for seven years after my birth. Nothing pleased
me better than to sit by her side, and hear her relate
her experience with the Massachusetts Old Stockbridge In-
dians, of whom they purchased their farm, where they
built houses, and enjoyed peace and plenty until his de-
cease. They comprised one of the three families of “pale
faces” who first settled among that tribe; and although it
took a little time to form a mutual understanding between
them, yet they finally established fraternal relations, and from
those natives the children learned some lessons that were
useful to them in after life.
MARY AN TOINETTE DOOLITT LE. 7
OF MY PARENTS.
My father (Miles Doolittle) was born in Wallingſord, Conn.,
in the year 1779, where he spent his juvenile days. My moth-
er's maiden name was Esther Bennet. She was born in Stock-
bridge, Mass., in 1781, where she was reared and educated.
She was a teacher in a common school in the Town of New
Lebanon, N. Y., several years before her marriage, which took
place in the year 1803. Between the brief period of 1804 to
1818 there were nine children bearing the name of Doolittle.
Seven years from that time one son more followed, which com-
pleted the family circle : five sons and five daughters. At the
time of their union, my father owned a small farm and a
tannery, almost within a stone's throw of the celebrated springs
of New Lebanon. The house and farm were under mort-
gage at the time of purchase, which was unknown to him. How-
ever, he managed to hold the place until I was three years of
age.
I was born September eighth, two years previous to the
War of 1812. There was one incident that transpired in my
infantile days that is distinctly impressed upon my mind. My
brother Miles was born August, 1812. A few days after his
birth, my father gathered the children at the bed-side, where
our mother was resting, and talked to her and the children of
a matter that I, of course, did not understand, but they wept
and the children wept with them ; and he gave us all a kiss,
and with a look of sadness, said : “Good-bye.” I afterward
learned that my father was drafted to enter the army ; and I
think that either a strong attachment to his family, or want of
courage, induced him to hire a substitute to go in his stead :
for if his conscience forbade his taking up arms to fight and
kill those who had never injured him in person or property, he
would not have hired a substitute to do by proxy what he
would not do in a direct and open manner. He soon returned
8 A UTOBIOGRAPHY OF
to his family, and in two or three days afterward I well re-
member hearing that peace was proclaimed. I was then only
two years of age.
REVERSES OF FORTUNE.
About that time my father met with reverses in business,
and circumstances compelled him to relinquish his home in
favor of the former mortgagee, who had a prior lien upon the
property. My father then had one brother living younger than
himself, to whom he was strongly attached, and in whom he
had almost unbounded confidence. They entered into co-
partnership and kept a large dairy, about four miles north
of Lebanon Springs. All, as he thought, was prospering finely,
he having so much confidence in his brother’s integrity that
he would have trusted him with uncounted gold ; but somehow
there was a little too much agreement between them ; for it
Sometimes happens that the love of money is stronger than the
love of natural family relation, and the ties of consanguinity
melt before the strong temptation to get wealth, even if it
has to be done by stealth.
It was a dark day in our family when we learned that our
Uncle Henry—whom we had almost revered—had worked in
a clandestine manner to get all into his hands that was possible
for him to do, without detection, and had contracted debts to
a large amount for those times. Of course, people of that
period only counted their hundreds where now they count
their thousands.
He left his home, and our home, between two days, leaving
his family behind, who pretended not to know anything Con-
cerning his departure, nor of his whereabouts. It was several
months before he made a way for his family to join him in the
then far West.
MARY ANTOINETTE DOOLITTLE, 9
This brought us into straitened circumstances. Everything
that could be spared had to be sold to cancel the debts. We
strove to lift our heads above the clouds, and put forth new
energies to live honestly and honorably and have some of the
comforts of life. I was still a very small child, but realized,
in a limited degree, the trials and sorrows that my parents
had to bear.
ANOTHER CHANGE.
Again we took up our residence at New Lebanon Springs;
but this time it was in a hired house—a hotel. We also hired
the Bath House, now an adjunct, I believe, of “Columbia
Hall.” There my father struggled hard to support his large
family, and continued in that business several years ; but he
was too trusting and conſiding to make money in that position;
boarders left without paying their bills, etc., and he turned to
his trade—shoemaking -at which he served an apprenticeship
in his younger days.
I will mention in connection with the bathing-house, that
at that time there was one free bath open for all the people of
the Town of New Lebanon. Many of the residents
availed themselves of the opportunity of bathing in those
limpid waters. Among the rest, the Shakers often came. They
were a great curiosity to me; the sphere which they occupied
seemed so different that I hardly knew whether they were
spirits or mortals, and my mother often remarked, in my hear-
ing, when she saw them, that “those Shaker sisters seemed dif-
ferent to her from any other persons whom she had ever met.”
She would then speak of one “Polly Lawrence,” who was one
of her pupils when she taught school in New Lebanon, and
what a lovely child she was ; and that Polly's mother, when on
her death-bed, requested that she should be taken (with her
brother Garret and sister Nancy) to the Shakers and be
brought up by them. I mention this because that simple narra-
I O O A UTOBIOGRAPHY OF
tion made a deep impress on my mind, and had much to do
with my future destiny.
I often think if parents and guardians could only know how
intensely children listen to the words which fall from their lips,
and how vividly they are daguerreotyped upon their memories
—while their minds are young and tender—how careful they
would be to direct their words in wisdom.
I also well remember a little incident in my mother’s history
that she related to me, that taught me an important lesson.
She said there was a time when the wheel of fortune seemed to
turn against them, and poverty looked them fair in the face,
that she frequently saw a woman pass the house, richly attired
—a boarder at the Springs—and she almost coveted her po-
sition and wealth. It so happened that one day this stranger
lady dropped into her house and wanted to rest awhile, and she
voluntarily opened her sorrowing heart to my mother; told her of
her domestic trials and burdens, and that with all her wealth,
$ 2
she was one of the most unhappy beings living. “ Then,
said my mother, “I learned to be contented in my lot.”
EARLY CHILD HOOD DAYS.
*
I was a mirthful child, and had the reputation of being play-
ful, and as having a strong proclivity to laugh so heartily that
sometimes I would lose my breath. Still, there were times,
young as I then was, that my religious nature was touched.
My mother was the only one in our family at that time who
professed to be religious. I have been informed that she joined
the Baptist Church when about sixteen years of age. I remem-
ber one particular time—when with my younger sisters I was
engaged in some childish play—that I heard my mother in an
adjoining room praying for us. When she came where we were,
I noticed she had been weeping; this pricked my little heart,
and I resolved that I would be a good child and not cause her
MARY ANTOINETTE DOOLITTLE. I I
unnecessary anxiety and grief. About that time, one of my
little companions and myself agreed that while other children,
who were attending the same school with us, devoted all their
leisure hours to play, we would spend a little time each day—in
some secluded spot—praying as best we could. Accordingly, we
selected a little nook in the corner of an old orchard, and placed
some pieces of board, where we quietly went and made our
childish offerings such as we could attain unto. Though crude
and simple in the extreme, yet I have always believed they
were heard, and noticed in the heavens.
About that time an aunt of mine—my mother's sister—who
lived in Chesterfield, N. Y., on the western banks of Lake
Champlain, sent a very urgent request to my mother for me to
come to her; for she had five sons and no daughter; and she
was anxious to adopt me as her own child. My grandmother
was then there, and she was a strong magnet to draw me,
for I was strongly attached to her. After a time, when I was
ten years of age, my mother gave her consent to part with me,
and sent me to my aunt, who I think was very fond of me.
Chesterfield was then sparsely settled, and the soil near the
lake shore was somewhat sterile and used chiefly as pasturage
for sheep. School was two miles distant, which I attended quite
regularly ; but my limbs were often weary after walking such a
distance. There was not a regular church within six miles
of us; but whenever weather and circumstances would permit,
my uncle would harness his large farm horses and take all the
family out to what was then called “Adgate's Falls,” to attend
Baptist meeting.
Of course, we had to be up betimes in the morning—as
they were well-to-do farmers—to get the stock fed, ourselves
properly attired, and ride six miles, and be there in season to
hear the venerable preacher—who seemed to me almost like an
antediluvian—take his text, concerning which we children were
closely catechised on our return home in the evening; for we
I 2 A U TO BIOG R A PHY OF
always took our dinner with us and stayed to afternoon meeting,
and did not reach home until night-fall. I enjoyed the ride
and scenery immensely It was picturesque and charming to
me, especially as we neared the “falls,” which, like a cataract,
whose waters wildly dash over ragged rocks, leap into the chasm
below and are lost to sight. The sound of those waters could
be distinctly heard over a mile distant; and as we drew near
the place, I always listened to catch the first sound. I knew
we should always find them there; for it is not in the power
of mortals to tame them, nor bind their course.
To those who are familiar with the topography of the region
of country on the western shore of Lake Champlain, we need
not stop to speak of the cliffs of rocks that rise in almost per-
pendicular form some fifty feet above the lake. One incident
that occurred while I was living there will give the reader some
idea of the local position of the place. The Town of Willsbor-
ough sent forth a narrow strip of land into the lake—three miles
in length—called “Willsborough Point.” East of that, four
islands lifted their heads above the water, known as the “Four
Brothers.” The point of land had many dwellings upon it,
and was under good cultivation. **
One bright moonlight winter's evening—about nine o'clock
—we heard a loud rap at the door, which was speedily answer-
ed, and an Irish pedlar, with a heavy pack of goods on his back,
entered, and in an almost exhausted condition, sank into a
chair. His first words were : “O, good friends, will you let me
stay with you till morning 2 I cannot go any farther.” Then
he told us of his perilous journey across the bay from the point
of land to the western shore, and up the rocks. The distance
was one and a half miles; but it had taken him five hours to per-
form it; as he started about four o’clock P. M. The bay had been
frozen over; then, there was a fall of snow several inches deep;
then again, there was rain, and ice had formed above the whole,
which was so slender that at every step it gave way. That was
MARY AN TOINETTE DOOLITTLE. I3
a tedious tramp. When he came to the cliff of steep rocks,
Covered with snow and ice, he almost despaired of ever reach-
ing the summit. He cried for help, but no one heard him.
And, with his pack on his back, with his hands he made places
in the crested snow for his feet, and pulled himself up by clinch-
ing the twigs that had ſound their way through the clefts of the
rocks. We pitied him, and were also amused. When partak-
ing of a good, warm supper, which was quickly provided for
him, he said (in his own peculiar dialect), “O, what a good
Christian it will make of a man to be placed in the condition
that I was in to-night ! Why, I prayed like a Methodist, and
if they had been attentive they might have heard me to the
third heavens.”
I lived with my aunt three years and some months; but down
deep in my heart I sighed for my old home, and to look upon
the beautiful hills and scenery of Lebanon. I thought much of
my young companion—Delia Judson—with whom I used to
kneel in prayer in the old orchard, and to whom I was strongly
attached. At length I heard that her spirit had taken its flight
to other spheres, and her remains were laid away beneath the
cold sods ; also, that in about the last words she uttered, she in-
quired for me. Frequently I went near the lake shore, and while
seated in the shade of the evergreen cedars—which were
plentiful there—I watched the boats as they coursed their way
up and down the lake, and wished that I could charter one to
take me to Lebanon. There were no railroads then, and New
Lebanon seemed such a long distance away. I knew that my
aunt did not want to part with me, and I feared to broach the
subject to her.
At length, I wrote to my parents that I wished to return
home, and my mother accompanied by my eldest brother came
for me, and brought me where I could see the old familiar places,
and again tread the soil that my tiny feet had pressed in by-
gone days. The hills and valleys wore the same aspect, but
I 4 A UTOBIOGRAPHY OF
Q.
the inhabitants were more or less changed. My brothers and
sisters were all living, but changed in size and appearance. I
Soon commenced going to school. My two eldest brothers
were in Albany on some business, and I did not see them very
frequently ; but they were kind to me, and I was warmly at-
tached to them.
PART II.
In the month of July, 1824, a marked change came over me.
I can hardly tell how or whence it came. It so happened that
one beautiful afternoon I was at a neighbor's house, named
Royce; when suddenly two young women, attired in Shaker
costumes, entered the rear door of the dwelling, and inquired
for the lady of the house. They introduced themselves, said
“they had left the society of Shakers in a clandestine manner,
and had their reasons for so doing.” They said the Shakers
lived according to their profession, were honest and upright,
and had always treated then well; but they did not wish to live a
celibate life any longer. They acted strangely and seemed
guilty, as if they had committed some crime, and were afraid of
detection.
Of course, I knew nothing of Shakers, save that a people bear-
ing that name lived near by and passed a secluded life, and
were different from other people in their habits and customs; but
did not know why they so lived, whether from a religious point
of view under some strange infatuation, or to carry out a plan
relative to temporal subsistence. While conversing with them,
a strange sensation seemed to creep over me; and something
like a voice spoke to me and said, “Why listen to them P Go to
the Shakers, visit, see and learn for yourself who and what they
MARY AN TOINETTE DOOLITTLE. I 5
are ſ” I intuitively answered, “I will.” Those seceders left the
house, and we soon learned that a young man followed them,
and was married to one of them that evening.
After they left the house, I looked upon the frescoed walls of
the parlors where we were seated and saw two large letters,
E. G., painted there. I inquired what those letters signified,
and was informed that the name of the former owner of the
property there was “Eleazer Grant,” and those were his ini-
tials. I knew nothing of the history of the former occupants of
the house.
At the proper time I returned home, but the singular impres-
sions that I had received that afternoon did not leave me. It
seemed that the same voice followed me wherever I went.
“Go, see and learn for yourself.” I reasoned with my feelings
and said : “Why do you indulge such absurd and foolish
thoughts 2 " I was ready to ask, “Can anything good and true
be found among the Shakers ?” Nathaniel-like, when he asked
if any good thing could come out of Nazareth.
I said nothing to my family and friends about my feelings ;
but kept thinking and thinking how I could find access to the
Shakers, if I should conclude to follow my impressions. I knew
that their meeting-house was open to the public upon the Sab-
bath, and I resolved to attend. Accordingly, one lovely sunny
morning I started out and slowly wended my way toward the
village; and as I ascended the hill, I felt a little weary, and
noticed a rock by the roadside, shaded by two trees which af.
forded a nice shelter from the sun. I turned aside, sat down
and rested there. I afterward learned that even those rocks
had their history.
At the base of that rock there lay a smooth flat stone, where
James Whitaker—whom the Shakers called Father James—was
thrown from a horse when followed by a fierce mob of per-
secutors, who frightened his horse, and would gladly have end-
ed the life of the rider, if they could have done it in that man-
I 6 A UTOBIOGRAPHY OF
ner. They did succeed in breaking one of his ribs; but he was
Soon healed by a Supernatural power, and made able to remount
his horse and pursue his journey.
As I entered the village and stood in front of the North
family, I did want so to gain admittance; but how to do it, and
not to be abrupt, was the question. All at once it flashed
across my mind that I would ask for a glass of water, and then
inquire for “Polly Lawrence,” of whom I had heard my moth:
er speak. I did not know in which part of the village Polly
was located, but concluded they would know. I rapped, and
found entrance ; and—without inquiry—was conducted into
the room where Polly resided. They gave me the water; then
I asked for Polly Lawrence and found that I was in her pres-
ence. She was a beautiful looking woman, and she smilingly
said : “Whose child are you?” I told her of my mother. She
grasped my hand and said : “Is it possible that this is Esther
Bennett's daughter P Why I used to go to school to her, and
I cannot tell you how dearly I loved her.” I was no longer
timid and fearful ; for in her presence I felt quite at home.
When I entered that room there was a rich perfume, that
was like the aroma of fragrant flowers, that seemed to fill
the atmosphere; yet there were no flowers visible; but to my
senses, it was delightful beyond expression. After the pleasant
interview with Polly—at which time she kindly invited me to call
again on some week day—I went to meeting, full of thought
and feeling. I did not wait long before I accepted the invita-
tion to call again. That time I took a young friend with me,
and spent several hours in conversation, and looking around. I
felt drawn to the sisters by a power that I did not comprehend,
and could not explain. I finally took courage and said to my
parents: “I thought I could be very happy among the Shak-
' They—not thinking me in earnest—laughingly said :
“Yes, you had better go.”
Whoever named me, was liberal, so far as length was con-
ers.'
MARY AN TOINETTE DOOLITTI.E. I 7
cerned. My full name was Mary Antoinette Doolittle, which
made twenty-three letters in all; quite enough for one child.
In childhood and youth I was called Mary.
Days passed on, and my father said to me : “Mary, I thought
you were going to the Shakers; what are you waiting for 2 " I
took him at his word, and thought I would spend a week with
Polly and the sisters. When I left the house, they did not
think for a moment that I purposed going to the Sisters, but
thought I would call upon an aunt living near by and return
to them the next day. They waited four days and I did not
return and then became alarmed, and began to think there
was something more earnest and serious than they had previ-
ously thought. On the fifth day, I returned home; then came
the tug of war. They laughed at me, argued with me and tried
to reason with me ; and at last gathered up all the absurd stories
they had ever heard about the Shakers, and repeated them ;
but all to no purpose.
My eldest brothers came home from Albany; they tried to per-
suade me, and wanted that I should agree to wait until Spring,
and go with them to Albany and attend school during the winter
term ; then—if I still kept the same mind—they would consent
to my going to the Shakers. I knew I was young to take such
a step contrary to the wishes of all my friends—I was then
fourteen years of age—and I agreed to do as they requested.
I had previously told Polly and the sisters that I would surely
be with them in the course of a few weeks; and I thought it
would not be honorable for me not to let them know of my de-
cision to wait a few months; and One Saturday afternoon I
asked my mother's permission to take my little sister, and go to
the village and spend the night, and take leave of my Shaker
friends; and I would return home immediately after attending
their meeting on the Sabbath. She kindly gave consent.
I had previously read considerable in a book published by
the “United Society of Shakers ” called the “Millenial
18 A UTOBIOGRAPHY OF
Church.” I was deeply interested in it, and had a strong de-
sire that my friends also should have an opportunity to read it,
for I thought it would be a means of removing erroneous opin-
ions from their minds regarding the Shakers. I asked Polly if
she would allow me to take it home for a time. She said : “I
was welcome to do so.’ It was my purpose to call after meet-
ing, get the book and return home immediately. When we
came out from church, I was somewhat surprised at finding my
two eldest brothers in waiting for us. They said our parents
wished us to go home at once as there was a friend waiting to
see us. I thought it would not be best, under the circumstan-
Ces, to take the book at that time, and we said a hasty fare.
well to the Shaker Sisters, and went with our brothers.
When we reached home, we found an old friend and neigh-
bor (George Langdon), to whom in early childhood I was
strongly attached; he then lived some three or four miles dis-
tant from us. He kindly invited me to go with him and spend
a few weeks in his family, until my brothers were ready to take
me to Albany. I accepted the invitation, and spent about three
weeks with them; but was not happy. They were kind, and
took pains to interest and make me feel at home. I recollect
that one Sabbath while I was at their home, G. L., and Some
of his family went to Shaker meeting; and how intensely I
listened to all they had to say about the meeting, after they re-
turned home. I said nothing to them of the workings of my
own mind, but felt that my body was in one place, and my
heart in another; and I concluded not to tarry longer with
them, and soon returned home.
One evening, as I stood looking out of the window, I saw many
bright lights in Shaker village, and my heart almost leaped
within me. I drew my mother's attention, and said: “I feel
like ſlying up that hill; I wish I could be there !” She replied :
“Mary, my child, what does ail you ?” I said: “I do not know,
but that is the way I feel.”
MARY AN TOINETTE DOOLITTLE. 19
One morning, while seated at breakfast table, my eldest sister
—who had been more like a tender watchful mother to me than
a mere sister–tried to reason with, and persuade me to give up
my foolish notions about the Shakers, and accept the advice of
my best friends. I said to her, “Harriet, I realize how in-
tensely you are interested in my welfare ; but what can I do *
It seems to me that the way of life and of death are opened
before me; and it is for me to decide which path I will walk in.”
There was a constant conflict in my mind, whether it were bet-
ter for me to seek some way to drown my feelings, and accept
the advice of those who had nurtured me in infancy, provided
for me in childhood and youth, and who still had strong moral
and legal claims upon me, or to yield to and strive to carry out
my strong convictions of duty in the other direction ; which
conviction seemed impossible for me to divest myself of. How-
ever, I resolved to fulfill the promise that I had made to my
brothers, which was that I would wait until Spring.
MORE ABOUT THAT * * SHAKER BOOK.”
I did not forget the book and wished I had it in my posses-
sion; but how I could obtain it, was a query in my mind. I
knew I could not gain consent, if I should ask, to go to the
village and get it. I did not want to be deceitful, nor disobe-
dient; for we were early taught obedience to Our parents and
teachers; but I think it was more from feelings of love to our
parents than fear of punishment that prompted us to obey them.
I thought the matter over and was puzzled to know how to act,
or what to do. I wanted the book, and felt that I must have it.
It occurred to me how I could get it, in what appeared to me
to be a reasonable way.
My grandmother—on my father's side—married the second
time and lived with her husband (Amos Broad) on the summit
of the mountain, between New Lebanon Springs and Pittsfield,
on the old stage road, and kept what was called the “Stage
2O A UTOBIOGRAPHY OF
}
House.” The children of our family often went and spent
some time with our grandmother, who seemed to be fond of us.
I formed what I deemed a feasible and legitimate plan, which
was to get permission to visit my grandmother for a few days,
and on my way thither to call at the Shakers, and get the book.
I did not intend to tarry there an hour.
Accordingly, on the morning of the second day of November,
1824, I said : “Mother, are you willing for me to go and spend
a week with grandmother ?” She replied, “Yes, my child,
willing for you to go anywhere except the Shakers.” I made
no reply ; but while in another room, I heard my eldest sister
say: “Mother, I believe Mary will go to the Shakers.” When
I returned, mother said to me, “Now, Mary, do not go to the
Shakers.” I replied, “Do you think I would ask to go to see
grandmother, and go to the Shakers instead 2 ” She said,
“No, I do not think you would.” This occurrence gave me
some uneasiness; but I reasoned that there could be no harm
in calling at the door to get the “book.”
A neighbor of ours was going in a carriage, about half way to
my grandmother's, and he agreed to give me a ride as far as he
went. I started out in good spirits, and thought all would be
well. The road was rough, and for two reasons I preferred
walking. I gave the neighbor but one reason, that of the
roughness of the road; but I knew if I continued to ride with
him, I must go a different road from the one that led to where
the desired “book '' was. So I concluded to take my time and
walk. It took me longer to climb the hill than I anticipated,
and when I called, I learned by inquiry that the way which lay
across the mountain, and led to my grandmother's house, was
long, lonely and dreary.
Sister Polly thought it would be quite imprudent for me to
attempt the journey that day, but of course left me to choose
my own course of action. I did not wish to risk the danger of
MARY AN TOINETTE DOOLITTLE, 2 I
being overtaken by night-fall on a lone mountain, and I con-
cluded to stay until morning.
AN UN WELCOME SNOW STORM.
When I awoke in the morning, judge of my surprise at find-
ing the ground covered with snow, twelve inches deep. What
could I do under the circumstances 2 I felt that I had commit-
ted a wrong, but where was the remedy ? I knew I did not in-
tend it, and thought I could do no better—under the circum-
stances—than to bide the time for the snow to melt away, so
that I could pursue my journey without danger.
I waited until Thursday morning, November 5th, and then
started to cross the mountain. After leaving the main road,
for two miles I followed a path, seldom traveled except by
woodmen. It was a lovely morning and there was nothing to
impede my course as I slowly threaded my way through the
woodland, as the path opened before me a little at a time. I
was eager to devour some of the contents of the book that
I had taken so much pains to get into my hands, and I walked
and read. Occasionally a little Squirrel would run across the
path before me and arrest my attention, or a singing bird would
chirp a few notes in my ears as if to let me know there was
some living thing in being beside myself.
I reached my grandmother's dwelling about noon-day. I
told her about my book, and she wished me to read to her.
She felt friendly toward the Shakers, and became quite inter-
ested; but my grandfather, by marriage, was bitter in his feel-
ings toward them. I will not say that he hated them, but he so
disliked them, that if the earth had opened its mouth and swal-
lowed thern up, I do not think he would have mourned over
the event more than forty days and nights. He did not like to
have me read the “Shaker book,” and he watched an oppor-
tunity get it into his own hands and hide it from me ; and then
tried to make me think he had destroyed it.
22 t A UTOBIOGRAPHY OF
The Sabbath following, his daughter Lucy—who married
Allen Spencer, and lived in the valley below—came to
visit her parents. They were my friends and had influence
over him. Allen told him he had better give it back to me
for it was borrowed, and if he kept it, he would have to be re-
sponsible for it. He returned it to me, and on Sabbath even-
ing I went home with Allen and Lucy, and stayed with them
over night and went in the morning to my father's house, hav-
ing been absent eight days. While at my uncle's in the even-
ing, he said to me, “Mary, if I wanted to be a Shaker, I would
be one regardless of opposition.” His father (Squire Spencer)
also told my father that if any of his children should choose to
cast their lot with the Shakers, he would not place any ob-
stacles in their way. I afterward learned that Priest Church-
ill—the settled Presbyterian minister of New Lebanon—said
if I were his daughter, he would head me up in a hogshead
sooner than let me go to the Shakers. I gave thanks that I
was not a creed-bound minister's daughter.
MY SEVEREST STRUGGLE.
Again I found myself in my humble home. My father was
away, but I found they had anticipated my wanderings, and
had given the subject much serious thought in my absence. I
did not try to conceal anything from them, but gave a strict ac-
count of my doings from the time I left them. One of my
youngest sisters said to me, “Father is going to have a serious
talk with you when he gets home. He says he cannot have you
so unsettled in your mind, for it will ruin you, and he is going to
give you your choice to be a Shaker, or to break off from them
entirely.” This gave me opportunity for reflection; and I said
to myself, “Shall I, can I, turn from those who have always
been my true friends and guardians—as best they knew—and
cast my lot among strangers? How do you know but this is
obstinacy on your part that may prove your ruin P” My heart
was heavy, but I kept quiet and awaited the result.
MARY AN TOINETTE DOOLITTLE. 23
In the evening, my father, in the presence of the rest of the
family, commenced a conversation that continued nearly two
hours. If he had been severe with me, I could have borne it
better. As it was, it seemed as if it would break my heart. He
reasoned, but did not chide, and tried to make me understand
what an important step I was about to take, and he feared that
I did not realize what the consequences might be ; but said,
“He would not force me, one way, or the other; said he was
not willing to take that responsibility after a child was of my .
age ; but I was still young and needed a father's advice,
whether I would accept it or not; and that advice would be, to
remain at home until I was older.”
He said that “he knew little of the Shakers, except in business
transactions, and had always found them honest and up-
right in their dealings; but in their religious views they were
certainly very strange, and he thought deluded.” He continued :
“Mary, if I thought you could go, and always remain, I would
not try to hold you ; but I have known many who have lived
among the Shakers awhile and left them ; and I do not know
what the matter is, but they never seem happy after they leave”
—as he expressed it –“ they are not company for themselves,
or anybody else. Now if you go there and stay awhile, then
return to me saying, “Father, I do not like to live with the
Shakers as well as I thought I should, I want to come home
again,” I will still be your friend, and as long as I have a loaf of
bread you shall share in it; but I could not feel towards you
as I would have done had you accepted my advice. But
the time has now come for you to make your choice.” I wept
bitter tears, while he said to me, “Come, my child, tell me what
you will do.” I said, in broken accents, “Father, I will go!” A
death-like stillness prevailed, for my mother’s heart was too full
for utterance.
When the matter was fully decided, they continued to be
kind and gentle to me. I waited until the fourteenth day of
24 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
the month, then I bade them all good-bye. On parting, my
mother took me by the hand—while tears gushed from her eyes—
and said: “Mary, my daughter, I expect to see the time that
you will tell me that you repent of having lived to see this
day.” I said, “Perhaps you will ; but I must go, and time will
decide.” I would not have had her known my feelings at that
time for the world; it seemed as if my heart would burst; but
some unseen power sustained me, and as I sped my way up the
hill, the ground seemingly rose up to meet me in the face ; and
it was all that I could do to reach my Shaker friends, and what
—under the good providence of God—was to be my future
home.
At first, all to me was new and strange. I had many lessons
to learn pertaining to the new life that I had chosen, and many
friends and relatives who were interested in my welfare called
upon, and visited me in my new home; for young as I was, it
created quite a sensation in the then conservative neighborhood
of New Lebanon.
A RELIGIOUS REVIVAL.
In the winter following, a new wave of spiritual life—com-
monly called a religious revival—passed over the vicinity and
adjacent towns, under the ministration of the celebrated revi-
valist preacher, C. G. Finney. Six or seven of my father's family
claimed to have been converted about that time; and if memory
is not at fault, five were immersed in water in one day, and joined
the Baptist Church. During that exciting period, a heavy pres-
sure was brought to bear upon me, and many severe reflections
were cast upon my parents for the course they had pur-
sued in regard to me. However, time rolled on, and my con-
science did not upbraid me for the choice I had made. Many
prayers were uttered in my behalf, both in public and private,
and I now thank every one who felt interest enough in my
welfare to offer up one ſervent prayer to God for me.
MARY AN TOINETTE DOOLIT T LE. 25
CHANGES IN O U R FATHER'S FAMILY.
Change is stamped upon all things here below, and our fami-
ly came in for their share. They all had a choice to make in
life, and were as free to choose their course of action, as I was
to choose mine, and they were soon scattered. Three of my
brothers went to Hamilton Seminary, and entered upon a
course of studies to fit them for professional life. Two—Horace
and William—prepared for the ministry, and Edwin studied law.
William—the younger clerical brother—entered upon his minis.
terial course, and was said to be earnest, and somewhat talented,
but thoughtless concerning his physical health. He married
in New York, and moved to North Hampton, Mass., and was
there a minister in a Baptist Church until his decease. He was
predisposed to pneumonia, and by over-exertion and exposure
in attending protracted meetings for a length of time, he took
cold, and died quite suddenly at the age of twenty-eight years.
My eldest brother is still living in New Jersey, the pastor of a
church there, and is now seventy-two years of age. Edwin,
the lawyer, died of heart disease, while crossing the ferry from
New York to Jersey City in April, 1878, in the seventieth year
of his age. The two eldest sisters lived three score years and
ten. Two brothers are now living in Saratoga county, N. Y.,
one a mechanic, the other a doctor by profession. One sister
lives in Philadelphia, and one in Orange, New Jersey.
Our parents lived to see four score years, and I believe the
reflection of the course they pursued in regard to permitting
me to choose my own course of action in early life, was a
solace to them in their declining years, and one of the crowning
joys of their earth life.
CONCERN IN C THE • ‘ GRANT HOUSE.”
If the reader will go back with me to the “Grant House,”
where I first received the impression to go to the Shakers, and see
26 A UTOBIOGRAPHY OF
and take lessons for myself, I will show you that it also had a
history, which to me at least was interesting As the old in-
habitants of the town have all passed away, the present genera-
tion probably know very little of the scenes and incidents of
those times.
The first Shakers, Ann Lee and her little band who came
from England to America, were greatly persecuted for their re-
ligious views and principles. It is not my purpose to detain
the reader with a lengthy account of the cruel persecution
which they received at the hands of relentless mobs, who follow-
ed them day and night, and showed them no mercy ; but mere-
ly to relate, in part, the history of the “Grant House.” Ele-
azer Grant was owner and occupant of the house at that time.
When Mother Ann Lee—as she was called by her followers—
was quietly passing through the town, accompanied by those
who had chosen to cast their lot with her, they were set upon
by a rude, unprincipled set of men, who mobbed and abused
them in a shameful manner. They pursued them until
they came in front of the house, and as Grant was a civil of
ficer of the town, the persecuted band appealed to him for pro-
tection from their violent oppressors. He soon showed that
his sympathies were more with the persecutors than the per-
ecuted ; and he allowed the mob to seize, what they called
“the old witch,” (Mother Ann) and force her up stairs in such
a brutal manner that they almost pressed the life out of her,
while they heaped abusive epithets upon her.
Her brother William—who accompanied her from England—
pressed his way through the crowd, and claimed that it was his
light to stand by and defend his sister, and with her, was lock-
ed in an upper chamber. Mother Ann, at that time, raised a
window and said to the sorrowing band who had followed her,
“Be of good cheer, they will not be suffered to kill me, for my
work is not yet done.” At the same time she told them that
the Shakers would sometime own and worship God in that
MARY AN TOINETTE DOOLITTLE. 27
house, in their own peculiar manner as the Spirit might di-
rect ; and some there present would live to see the fulfillment
of her prediction.
Years passed by, when, by a singular coincident, the property
fell into the hands of the Shakers ; and one beautiful afternoon
in the year 1842 about three hundred brethren and sisters sang
and marched to that house, and had a joyful meeting. Quite
a number were in attendance who heard the prophecy as it fell
from the lips of their persecuted leader, and while they rejoic-
ed in spirit, they wept and knelt in prayer, that God would
forgive those persecutors and show mercy to them.
CONCLUSION.
Fifty-five years of my life have been spent among the Shak-
ers. It has not all been sunshine, yet I feel that “goodness
and mercy have gone before me all the days of my life.” I
have never for a moment regretted the choice that I made in
early life, and I believe that I was influenced and directed by
invisible agencies, and now bless and praise God for the power
that guided and sustained me. I have spent an active life;
have shared some of its cares and burdens, and I trust that I
have not lived altogether in vain.
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