Early in 1861, before the river to the South was obstructed, a Christian gentleman from Mississippi often came up to St. Louis on business. Whenever he stayed over Sunday he worshipped with my congregation. He was a pro-slavery man and a secessionist. In those days I always prayed publicly for the country, for all that were in authority, and that all efforts to break up the Union might be thwarted. One of my brethren asked him if the prayers did not offend him. He pleasantly replied, “No, not at all; I pray with your pastor till he gets to the country, and then I just skip that.” He was one of those rare souls that in a time of discord and conflict are lifted above unseemly passion, and kept with his brethren, from whom he politically differed, “the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” Nor must I fail to notice a warm-hearted, impulsive member of my church, a Kentuckian by birth. He firmly believed that secession was constitutional and right, and that slavery was of divine origin. He had not yet learned that “what is inhuman cannot be divine.” He was filled with indignation when I maintained in the pulpit that there was no just cause for rebellion against the Federal government, and that instead we were under solemn obligation to obey it; notwithstanding, soon after he invited me, together with my wife, to dine at his house just outside the city. At the appointed time he sent his carriage for us. On our arrival, after warmly greeting us at the gate, he said to me, “I think that you had no right to preach on the subject of secession; but you thought you had, and I do not think that this difference of opinion should destroy our Christian fellowship. You have had your say, and now that I have had mine, be so good as to walk into the house and make yourselves at home.” I assured him that his position was altogether satisfactory to me; and that I rejoiced that we could hold and express antagonistic political views without marring our brotherly love. Considering how fiery the disposition of this good man was, the stand that he took was as gratifying as it was surprising. The grace of the gentle and forgiving Lord, in whom he trusted and whom he loved, had in some measure been imparted to his own soul. Thus in the midst of much that was unlovely and repulsive there were here and there many noble acts that fascinated us, and allured us to Christ-like living.