Very well.

You fellows know that the years of a man's life are, roughly, threescore and ten.

(Actually it works out far below that figure, but I make you a present of the difference.) Very well again.

I take any average Christian aged forty-five, and what sort of premium do I observe him paying--I won't say on a policy of Eternal Bliss--but on any policy a business-like Insurance Company would grant for three hundred pounds?
There _is_ the difference too," added Brother Copas, "that _he_ gets the eternal bliss, while the three hundred pounds goes to his widow." Brother Copas took a second pinch, his eyes on Mr.Simeon's face.
He could not guess the secret of the pang that passed over it--that in naming three hundred pounds he had happened on the precise sum in which Mr.Simeon was insured, and that trouble enough the poor man had to find the yearly premium, due now in a fortnight's time.
But he saw that somehow he had given pain, and dexterously slid off the subject, yet without appearing to change it.
"For my part," he went on, "I know a method by which, if made Archbishop of Canterbury and allowed a strong hand, I would undertake to bring, within ten years, every Dissenter in England within the Church's fold." "What would you do ?" "I would lay, in one pastoral of a dozen sentences, the strictest orders on my clergy to desist from all politics, all fighting; to disdain any cry, any struggle; to accept from Dissent any rebuff, persecution, spoliation--while steadily ignoring it.

In every parish my Church's attitude should be this: 'You may deny me, hate me, persecute me, strip me: but you are a Christian of this parish and therefore my parishioner; and therefore I absolutely defy you to escape my forgiveness or my love.