The same thing applies to Buxton in my own neighbourhood and gout, especially when it threatens the stomach or the throat.

Even archbishops will do these things, to say nothing of such small fry as deans, or stout and prominent lay figures of the Church.
From common sinners like myself such conduct might be expected, but in the case of those who are obviously poised on the topmost rungs of the Jacobean--I mean, the heavenly--ladder, it is legitimate to inquire why they show such reluctance in jumping off.

As a matter of fact the only persons that, individually, I have seen quite willing to die, except now and again to save somebody else whom they were so foolish as to care for more than they did for themselves, have been not those "upon whom the light has shined" to quote an earnest paper I chanced to read this morning, but, to quote again, "the sinful heathen wandering in their native blackness," by which I understand the writer to refer to their moral state and not to their sable skins wherein for the most part they are also condemned to wander, that is if they happen to have been born south of a certain degree of latitude.
To come to facts, the staff of Faith which each must shape for himself, is often hewn from unsuitable kinds of wood, yes, even by the very best among us.

Willow, for instance, is pretty and easy to cut, but try to support yourself with it on the edge of a precipice and see where you are.

Then of a truth you will long for ironbark, or even homely oak.