There was, however, one sad, yet ludicrous, incident, connected with my sermon on “Obedience to the State,” which shows that the brutal spirit of the mob was not wholly extinct. On Locust Street, two squares west of our house of worship, stood the Central Presbyterian Church. Its pastor was Rev. S. J. P. Anderson, D. D. He had occupied that position for fifteen or twenty years, and both on account of the length of his pastorate and his acknowledged ability was generally known, even among non-churchgoers, while I, having the same surname, had been in St. Louis not quite three years. It was therefore perfectly natural for godless outsiders to attribute to him my pulpit utterances, which had stirred up so much bad blood. So they determined to chastise him for what I had said. Now he was a secessionist. In the preceding winter he had preached the sermon to which we have already alluded, on “The Ultimatum of the South.” While of course he would have utterly condemned all mob violence, still the men who had marked him out for brutal usage were in political fellowship with him. They watched for an opportunity to carry out their ruthless purpose, and found it. He was accustomed, every Saturday night, just at dusk, to go to the Post-office, at the corner of Third and Pine Streets, to get his mail. There was then no free delivery. His assailants hid themselves in an alley which ran into Pine Street, and as he was passing by, threw brickbats at him, one of which struck him on the cheek, and knocked him down. The next day his face was so swollen and painful that he could not preach. They aimed at me and hit him. They ignorantly knocked down their own political ally. They compelled him to be my substitute. He unwillingly suffered in my stead. He soon recovered, and I hastened to assure him of my deep regret that he had been compelled to suffer vicariously for me. To which he very naturally replied: “Yes, indeed, I don’t wish to be mixed up with you.” Nor did I wish to be politically mixed up with him, however useful in this case it had been to me. On one point we were in absolute agreement, our mutual desire not to be confounded with each other in the public mind. Two more incidents, though pertaining wholly to my own church and congregation, are worthy of notice, as revealing the peculiar sensitiveness of those among whom we lived and toiled. My secession brethren determined if possible to oust me from my pastorate; they declared that their opposition to me was solely because I had introduced politics into the pulpit. To carry out their purpose, they drew up a paper setting forth their grievances, and urgently praying me to resign. They made an extended canvass for signatures, but had such meagre success that they abandoned their project.