A little later the Presbyterians held a convention in our city. This too was an outcome of the war. In May, their General Assembly at Pittsburg had enacted some severe and radical measures in reference to slavery and loyalty to the national government. Many Presbyterians, especially of the border States, protested against this. The convention was called to consider the whole question. There were over two hundred delegates, mainly from the North; probably not a score of them were from the border States, including Missouri.[115] The aggrieved States were very slimly represented. The synod of Missouri was so opposed to the legislation of the General Assembly as to ask permission peaceably to withdraw from it. Their request was very earnestly debated. A pastor from Brooklyn, N. Y., joined hands with a pastor of St. Louis in behalf of the recalcitrant synod, urging, by great ingenuity of argument, that the synod should be permitted unmolested to secede. In their impassioned appeals on behalf of the aggrieved synod they were at times so eloquent that the galleries burst out into applause. The ladies waved their handkerchiefs. The style of the brother from our city was often quite flowery. These two defenders of the refractory synod sometimes complained in their speeches that they were not being fairly dealt with, and posed as martyrs; at other times their language became somewhat threatening. But at last a Scotchman from Ohio got the floor. His speech was replete with mingled humor and sarcasm. The delegates and spectators were at times convulsed with laughter. Among other things he said, with a decided Scotch accent, “Mr. Moderator, the brethren who have defended the synod that wishes to secede have posed as martyrs. What is a martyr? In the time of the early church it was one who suffered for the truth which he believed and advocated. He was thrown to wild beasts and was torn limb from limb; or he was sewed in a sack and thrown into the Tiber, or he was burned at the stake. But what is a modern martyr? It is to live on Brooklyn Heights and be sent to Europe for the bronchitis.” A too personal thrust at the delegate from Brooklyn. “What is a modern martyr? It is to make an eloquent speech in an assembly like this and have the fair in the galleries wave their handkerchiefs. But the speech of the brother from this city brought to my mind an experience of my school days. I wrote an oration and handed it to my teacher for correction. When he had examined it he called me to him and said, ‘Taylor, if you would only pluck a few feathers from the wings of your imagination and stick them into the tail of your judgment, you would write a great deal better.’