Let us say in justice to our own deep conviction as to the momentous importance of this subject--to the grandeur of the cause which our revered father advocates--to the sense we entertain of the clear and imperative duty of the Church of Scotland at this crisis--that we bid him God-speed with all our hearts; and express our firm faith that these hundred missionaries and many more will soon be in the field, _with some contributed by our own Church_, to take part in this glorious enterprise about to open for the establishment in China, so long enslaved by Satan, of that blessed kingdom which is righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. The Church of Scotland had a footing in India, and it was there that his interest was fixed. There be rosy thousand-pounders whose eloquent wails over the dearth of missionaries draw handkerchiefs in the ladies’ gallery, and if the cynic says that the command is not ‘Get others to go’ but ‘Go _ye_,’ it is good exegesis and a palpable hit. But Macleod was busy among the heathen at home, and from 1864, when he was made convener of the India Mission, his mind was possessed with the thought of an embassy to Hindostan. The Sabbath question arose, and, expecting ostracism, he gave up his prospect; indeed, a section of the committee, as he afterwards learned, moved for his resignation. The General Assembly, however, in 1867, upon advices from Calcutta, requested him to visit India. ‘How strange and sudden,’ he wrote, ‘that I, who two years ago was threatened with deposition and made an offscouring by so many, am this year asked by the Assembly to be their representative in India!’ Among his acquaintance far and near, high and humble, the news that Norman Macleod was going to India created a sensation. The Queen wrote: ‘his life is so valuable that it is a great risk.’ He received letters from Stanley, Helps, and Max Müller. The presbytery gave him a dinner, at which the chair was taken by the chief Sabbatarian. Fifty private friends, including ministers of all denominations, entertained him at a feast. He in his turn held a luncheon, in the course of which he perambulated the tables, speaking the befitting word to each of thirty guests. Portraits of himself, his wife, and his mother, painted by Macnee, were presented to him; and four hundred working men gave Mrs. Macleod her husband’s bust in marble. There was a general feeling that he might never return. ‘Come life or death,’ he said of his undertaking, ‘I believe it is God’s will.’ For several weeks he had worked so hard, and gone through so much excitement, that when he started he was utterly worn out; and throughout the tour, from first to last, he was afflicted with a swelling of the limbs.