Whether as “Uncle Pete” in the garden and corn-field, or “Brudder Pete” in the church, he enjoyed the good opinion of everybody excepting one person, and that was his wife.  She was a high-tempered and somewhat dissatisfied person, who had conceived the idea that her husband was in the habit of giving too much time to the church, and too little to the acquisition of corn-bread and pork.  On a certain Saturday she gave him a most tremendous scolding, which so affected the spirits of the good man that it influenced his decision in regard to the selection of the subject for his sermon the next day.

His congregation was accustomed to being astonished, and rather liked it, but never before had their minds received such a shock as when the preacher announced the subject of his discourse.  He did not take any particular text, for this was not his custom, but he boldly stated that the Bible declared that every woman in this world was possessed by seven devils; and the evils which this state of things had brought upon the world he showed forth with much warmth and feeling.  Subject-matter, principally from his own experience, crowded in upon his mind, and he served it out to his audience hot and strong.  If his deductions could have been proved to be correct, all women were creatures who, by reason of their seven-fold diabolic possession, were not capable of independent thought or action, and who should in tears and humility place themselves absolutely under the direction and authority of the other sex.

When he approached the conclusion of his sermon, Brother Peter closed with a bang the Bible, which, although he could not read a word of it, always lay open before him while he preached, and delivered the concluding exhortation of his sermon.

“Now, my dear brev’ren ob dis congregation,” he said, “I want you to understan’ dat dar’s nuffin in dis yer sarmon wot you’ve jus’ heerd ter make you think yousefs angels.  By no means, brev’ren; you was all brung up by women, an’ you’ve got ter lib wid’ em, an ef anythin’ in dis yer worl’ is ketchin’, my dear brev’ren, it’s habin debbils, an’ from wot I’ve seen ob some ob de men ob dis worl’ I ’spect dey is persest ob ‘bout all de debbils dey got room fur.  But de Bible don’ say nuffin p’intedly on de subjec’ ob de number ob debbils in man, an’ I ‘spec’ dose dat’s got ’em—­an’ we ought ter feel pow’ful thankful, my dear brev’ren, dat de Bible don’ say we all’s got ’em—­has ’em ’cordin to sarcumstances.  But wid de women it’s dif’rent; dey’s got jus’ sebin, an’ bless my soul, brev’ren, I think dat’s ’nuff.

“While I was a-turnin’ ober in my min’ de subjec’ ob dis sarmon, dere come ter me a bit ob Scripter wot I heerd at a big preachin’ an’ baptizin’ at Kyarter’s Mills, ‘bout ten year’ ago.  One ob de preachers was a-tellin’ about ole mudder Ebe a-eatin’ de apple, and says he:  De sarpint fus’ come along wid a red apple, an’ says he:  You gib dis yer to your husban’, an’ he