‘hoped brethren would pardon him for so unmanly an expression of his feelings. He was not a man of tears on any other subject but that which concerned religion and its great interests: but from his childhood he never could refrain from tears, when his own personal salvation, and that of others, was at stake. On that subject he confessed he was a perfect child.’ Did Norman cry, _Hear, hear_? On the contrary, he also would be _greetin’_. The time came when he not only left the Alliance, but used the word Evangelical as an epithet of sarcasm and reproach. Meanwhile, he was one of the chief figures, being a member of the business committee, a frequent chairman of devotions, and an occasional debater. What he prized in the meetings was the prevailing love and harmony; and to sit smoking in a group of Germans, Frenchmen, and Americans, all united by the bond of a common religion, was delightful to his peculiar soul. Another good thing he owed to the Alliance--the privilege of visiting Prussian Poland and Silesia. Along with Mr. Herschell of London, he was sent to look into certain progressive movements which had been reported from these countries. By the year 1847 he had seen the working of different ecclesiastical systems, from the borders of Russia to the Canadian backwoods, and from the Thames to Lochaber. The result was to deepen his attachment to the Church of Scotland. How Norman Macleod was orthodox, and yet might care for religion in a magnanimous way, not as an ecclesiastic but simply as a Christian, should now be plain. And in the chosen leisure of Dalkeith, inquiring after modern knowledge, he grew at least in mental susceptibility. He came under the influence of his heretical cousin, John Macleod Campbell, a deep and holy man; and of Thomas Arnold, in certain respects a kindred soul; and even of Emerson, whom he hailed ‘thou true man, poet of the backwoods.’ He was getting on. But the advance was in spirit and feeling, not in religious belief. Here he was still at one with Macintosh, the friend of his heart. What had become of the scholar? In 1851 he lay at Tübingen, dying. After his studies at Glasgow he had gone to Cambridge. There he had led a painfully diligent and ascetic life. He had thrown in his lot with the non-intrusionists, and had assisted Dr. Chalmers, his idol, in the experiment at the West Port. At the manse of Dalkeith he had been a frequent visitor, but in 1848 he had proceeded to the Continent, never to return. His correspondence reveals the wonderful affection he had for his old comrade. He calls him his ‘dearest Norman,’ his ‘beloved Norman,’ whose letters are sweet to him as violets among moss; speaks of his open-mindedness and loving counsel; salutes him as a friend to whom he owed many of the happiest hours of his life, much mental development, and not a few faithful and well-timed warnings--a friend the thought of whom brightened his future. ‘Think of you? Yes, yearn to see you, dear,