July 6.
Yesterday a strange thing happened in the meeting-house. The minister
had gone on in his discourse, until the sand in the hour-glass on the
rails before the deacons had wellnigh run out, and Deacon Dole was about
turning it, when suddenly I saw the congregation all about me give a
great start, and look back. A young woman, barefooted, and with a
coarse canvas frock about her, and her long hair hanging loose like a
periwig, and sprinkled with ashes, came walking up the south aisle.
Just as she got near Uncle Rawson's seat she stopped, and turning round
towards the four corners of the house, cried out: "Woe to the
persecutors! Woe to them who for a pretence make long prayers! Humble
yourselves, for this is the day of the Lord's power, and I am sent as a
sign among you!" As she looked towards me I knew her to be the Quaker
maiden, Margaret Brewster. "Where is the constable?" asked Mr.
Richardson. "Let the woman be taken out." Thereupon the whole
congregation arose, and there was a great uproar, men and women climbing
the seats, and many crying out, some one thing and some another.
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