The Moderatorship, which is the presidency of the General Assembly, is the highest office in the Church. The appointment lies with the members, but in practice the retiring dignitary, on the opening day, names his successor, who has in fact been chosen six months before at a secret conclave. Some such arrangement is necessary, as the Moderator has to wear an antique and elaborate scheme of apparel. Supposing the General Assembly were to reject the nominee, picture the situation! There behind the door would be the proud one, giving the last touch to his ruffles, casting a final glance at his buckled shoes, while a gentleman in mere coat and trousers was marching to the Chair! On the whole the college of Moderators has proved an excellent body of electors, and seldom has it done itself more credit than in promoting Norman Macleod. In 1869 he was, to be sure, the chief man in the Church, but the old Moderators were just the persons who would be most shocked by his view of the first day of the week. In offering to so recent a culprit the greatest honour which the Church had to bestow, they showed no little magnanimity, even were the idea of muzzling him not altogether absent. ‘I should like to be at the head of everything,’ Norman had said in his youth, and though too good a man to sacrifice any of his moral being to ambition, undoubtedly he was fond of power. The Moderatorship he at first, both by word and letter, refused, chiefly on the ground of his desire for freedom in the expression of his opinions. But of course it was all right! During the session of the General Assembly the Moderator has an exciting round of social duties. Every morning he entertains a number of the clergy and their wives to breakfast, and at the dinners and receptions in Holyrood Palace he is the principal figure, next to the representative of the Sovereign. But the great event for the Moderator is the closing address, which he delivers about midnight to a mixed crowd. After that comes the most impressive scene of all, when they stand and sing-- ‘Pray that Jerusalem may have Peace and felicity; Let them that love thee and thy peace Have still prosperity.’ Speaking of the creed Macleod was so vague (mindful of the old hands after all) that he might as well have passed the matter off with one of his favourite quotations-- ‘I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me!’