"Just as I was closing up my sermon and pressing it with all the force I could command, the power of God suddenly was displayed, and sinners fell by scores all through the assembly. It was supposed that several hundred fell in five minutes; sinners turned pale; some ran into the woods; some tried to get away, and fell in the attempt; some shouted aloud for joy." The horror of Brother Cartwrights for "immersionists" and Calvinists of every degree, appears throughout his entire book. That his righteous soul was often sorely vexed because of them is beyond question. That his cup had not been drained to the dregs will appear from a new element he encountered when sent across the Ohio to the Scioto conference. "It was a poor and hard circuit at that time, and the country round was settled in an early day by a colony of Yankees. At the time of my appointment I had never seen a Yankee, and I had heard dismal stories about them. It was said they lived almost entirely on pumpkins, molasses, fat meat, and Bohea tea; moreover that they could not bear loud and zealous sermons, and that they had brought on their learned preachers with them, and were always criticising us poor backwoods preachers." The "isms" our circuit-rider now encountered would have appalled a less resolute man. He seems, however, to have gotten along fairly well except with one "female," who, from all accounts, was given over in about equal parts to "universalism" and "predestinarianism." This troublesome female, that he candidly admitted he had _a hard race to keep up with,_ he has left impaled for all time as a "thin-faced, Roman-nosed, loquacious, glib-tongued Yankee." Something of the antagonism of the different persuasions in the good old pioneer days, may be gathered from the tender farewell taken by Brother Cartwright of a former associate, one Brother D., "who left the Methodists, joined the Free-will Baptists, left them and joined the New Lights, and then moved to Texas, where I expect the devil has him in safe keeping long before this time!" It would be idle to suppose that Peter Cartwright was a mere visionary or dreamer. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He was abundantly possessed with what, in Western parlance, is known as "horse sense." He was a student of men, and kept in close touch with the affairs of this world. His shrewdness, no less than his courage, was a proverb in his day. Upon one occasion, at the beginning of his sermon before a large audience, he was more than once interrupted by the persistent but ineffectual attempt of a saintly old sister to shout. Annoyed at length, turning to her he said: "Dear sister, never shout as a matter of duty; when you can't help it, then shout; _but never shout as a mere matter of duty!"_