An excellent Presbyterian pastor, with whom I often conversed, was greatly perplexed as to whether he should preach on the subject of secession. He was intensely loyal; but his church was not large and in national politics was apparently about equally divided. In determining his duty he sought my counsel. I told him that, taking into account all the circumstances, he ought in my judgment to forego, for a time at least, the public discussion of the national problem. While he seemed satisfied that I had pointed out what was wisest for him to do, he found it very difficult to keep silent concerning his country even for a season. Patriotism burned hotly within his heart. To get some relief he preached one Sunday afternoon on Paul’s words, “I have fought the good fight.” He began his sermon by saying, “There are then some fights that are good. The fight against sin is a good fight. The fight against the devil is a good fight.” But just as he pronounced the last sentence, a pew-door flew open spitefully, and one of the ablest women of his church walked excitedly down the middle aisle and out of the outer door, never again to return. Immediately after the service he went to see her. He went too soon. She had not had time to cool; moreover his prompt visit tended to pamper her self-importance. He gently asked why she left the church so abruptly? She replied that she left because she was offended, and said that she thought he ought not to have preached from that text. But he inquired why that text displeased her. She said, “Did you not say that some fights are good fights?” “Certainly,” he replied, “and are they not?” “Oh, yes,” she responded, “but you meant the fight against the Southern Confederacy.” That was probably the fact. He was giving, perhaps unconsciously, just a little vent to his own flaming patriotism. She felt it. She intuitively knew it. He could not persuade her to return to her place and her duty. That good pastor, sorely beset and tried, at last delivered fully his patriotic message and resigned. From such an event we learn how difficult it was to be a good and faithful minister of Christ in a border city at the beginning of our civil war. But there were also many cheering occurrences during those dismal days; some deeds of sense and self-restraint illumined the thickening gloom. “How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.”