M.F. Whittier visited a Millerite meeting in Beethoven Hall during September 1844, and wrote the following account which was published in the Portland Transcript, November 1, 1945, pp. 228, 229. As retold and quoted by Frederick Hoyt in "We Lifted Up Our Voices Like a Trumpet: Millerites in Portland, Maine," Spectrum, Volume 17, Number 5.

Frederick Hoyt begins Whittier's account as follows (in the remainder, his bridging commentary is omitted): "Whittier visited Beethoven Hall soon after the Midnight Cry began ('this fearful tocsin," as he described it) when, 'From every hill and valley of New England the startling cry went forth--'BEHOLD THE BRIDEGROOM COMETH!!!''.

Shortly after the seventh month alarm had been sounded, we attended a meeting of the believers at Beethoven Hall. With considerable difficulty, on account of the crowd, we ascended the two flights of dark and dirty stairs, and with still greater difficult elbowed our way into the hall. A motley crowd of all sizes, shapes, conditions and colors filled the h all and its galleries. On a few of the numerous faces that surrounded us sat the sneer of the scoffer, but far the larger portion bore the impress of anxiety, and by their looks seemed to ask, "are these things so?" Clustered around a rude rostrum were the elect; most of them were in a kneeling posture, their hands clasped on their breasts and their eyes strained heavenward as though they already beheld a glimpse of the attendant glory of their coming Lord. A venerable gray haired man was engaged in vocal prayer when we entered, but concluded soon after, his finishing "Amen" being repeated by the whole circle in all the various tones, from the silvery accent of the blushing maiden, and the shrill snarl of the ancient crone, to the deep gutteral of some hoarse male devotee..

A pale, cadaverous, wild looking man then stood up in the desk and delivered the most terrific exhortation that we ever listened to. Unlike other lecturers, he did not wait to warm up with his subject gradually, but bounded at once into the full lterror of his terrible discourse; strongly reminding us of a steamer (the ill-fated Erie) which we once saw leave the harbor of Ashtubula:--Having, while lying at the wharf, raised her steam to the highest endurable point, when cast off, like an arrow from the bow, she struck at one bound into her fearful speed. So it was with this speaker: His escape valves seemed to have been fastened down, and the steam suffered to generate during the whole time of the long prayer, and when it was concluded he let on the whole head..

"For behold the day cometh, that shall burn as an oven; and the proud, yeah, and all that do wickedly, shall be stubble; and the day that cometh shall burn them up, saith the Lord of Hosts, that it shall leave them neither root nor branch.".

Shouting this truly awful text at the very top of a most sonorous voice, this wild herald of the "Advent near" proceeded to draw a most horrible picture of the consummation of time..

"In a few days," said he, "and suddenly as the lightning leapeth from the clouds, the Judge of all the earth will burst upon our vision. To you, my brothers and sisters, who are of the light, this will be the fruition of all your hopes.--You will be clothed with white robes--you will have crowns and harps of gold--you will be caught up and be forever with your Lord. But you, God-abandoned, Hell-deserving sinners, who now hold yourselves up stoutly against the Lord, where, O where! will you appear when the great white throne is set in the heavens and the books are opened? O! you may scoff and mock at God's people, but your time is short. God will avenge his people. In a few days we shall see you flying and calling on the mountains and rocks to fall on and hide you from the terrible presence of the Lamb. A few more rolling suns and we shall see you burning in unquenchable fire! And your pain will be enhanced by seeing us, who believe, sitting with the saints in glory.--And you must not think we will aid you;--Oh no! we shall be witnesses against you. The day of grace is past--the door of mercy is even now closed forever--you cannot repent if you would--you must burn--burn forever!".

No sooner had this vindictive "Son of Thunder" ceased, than he was succeeded by a pretty miss of "sweet sixteen," or thereabouts, who, commencing in a very low, soft voice, gradually rose to the most piercing treble, as she descanted upon a sort of vision she had had the night before, in which she had seen the awful scenes of the judgment enacted. She was rather pretty and had a very benevolent and mild cast of countenance, which contrasted strangely with the fiendish exultation with which she described the coming agonies of her unbelieving friends and acquaintances..

Around the hall hung pictures of strange uncouth animals, supposed to be the representation of those seen by Daniel and by St. John at Patmos. These horriblel figures, the awful visions and denunciations of the speakers, did, we confess, produce an effect upon our mind--and we said to ourself, is this nothing but delusion? Is it possible that the long drama of time is about to close? As we looked upon the earnest countenances of the worshipers we could not for a moment doubt that they believed their doctrine true..

And as we looked, the whole band commenced singing to a most dismal, dirge-like air, the "Judgment Hymn"--.

"So He comes with clouds descending,
Once for favored sinners slain;
Twice ten thousand saints attending,
sweel the triumps of his train."

The singers all stood with folded arms and raised eyes, and down the fair cheeks of beauty and deeply furrowed face of age, tears rolled freely. We could not--we did not doubt that, though the spirit of Truth might be absent, the visible presence of Sincerity was there!.

We left the Hall, bearing with us, we acknowledge, something of the gloomy Terror which pervaded it. But when we reached the outside, and felt the cool bracing air, and saw the bright sunlight of a cloudless September day, we convalesced rapidly. The strong old ocean sent up its untiring waves to the rugged shores of Cape Elixabeth calmly and regularly, and its deep, solemn tones fell gratefully upon our ears, subduing and driving out the morbid fancies imbibed in the hall. To effect a perfect cure we walked round the Western Promenade, and the glorious prospect--glowing waters, variegated forest, frowning rocks, etc.--all bathed in the mellow light of an Autumnal sunset, cured us entirely. All Nature around us seemed so rejoicing and decked in such gala garb;--and the "White Hills," in the distance, lifted up their hoary heads so proudly, that we could not cherish for a moment the idea that in a few days the Creator would destroy the beautiful and sublime which his own mind had conceived and his own hands made.

We felt so light and joyous and so confident in the Goodness of Providence, that we wished Father Miller and all his disciples had been there--that surrounded by such powerful aids, we might argue the matter with them. We felt sort of Apostolic, and had strong faith that if they would only "come on," single-handed, we could convert them from the error of their ways.