Judge Sewall wrote, in 1677, "A female quaker, Margaret Brewster, in
sermon-time came in, in a canvass frock, her hair dishevelled loose like a
Periwig, her face as black as ink, led by two other quakers, and two other
quakers followed. It occasioned the greatest and most amazing uproar that I
ever saw." More grievous irruptions still of scantily clad and even naked
Quaker women were made into other Puritan meetings; and Quaker men shouted
gloomily in through the church windows, "Woe! Woe! Woe to the people!"
and, "The Lord will destroy thee!" and they broke glass bottles before
the minister's very face, crying out, "Thus the Lord will break thee in
pieces!" and they came into the meeting-house, in spite of the fierce
tithingman, and sat down in other people's seats with their hats on their
heads, in ash-covered coats, rocking to and fro and groaning dismally, as
if in a mournful obsession. Quaker women managed to obtain admission to the
churches, and they jumped up in the quiet Puritan assemblies screaming out,
"Parson! thou art an old fool," and, "Parson! thy sermon is too long," and,
"Parson! sit down! thee has already said more than thee knows how to say
well," and other unpleasant, though perhaps truthful personalities. It is
hard to believe that the poor, excited, screaming visionaries of those
early days belonged to the same religious sect as do the serene,
low-voiced, sweet-faced, and retiring Quakeresses of to-day.
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