That was very foolish on the part of a man who was a Fellow of his college, the bishop thought; and besides, there was no need for the book--its tendency was not to help the weaker brethren.

But to assume that the book would, as some newspaper articles said it would, furnish the most powerful argument that had yet been brought forward in favor of the Disestablishment of Church, was, he thought, to assume a great deal too much.

The Church that had survived Wesley, Whitefield, Colenso, Darwin, and Renan would not succumb to George Holland.

The bishop recollected how the Church had bitterly opposed all the teaching of the men of wisdom whose names came back to him; and how it had ended by making their teaching its own.
Would anyone venture to assert that the progress of Christianity was dependent upon what people thought of the acceptance by David of the therapeutic course prescribed for him?
Was the morality which the Church preached likely to be jeopardized because Ruth was a tricky young woman?
The bishop knew something of man, and he knew something of the Church, he even knew something of the Bible; and when he came to the chapter in "Revised Versions" that dealt with the episode of Ruth and Boaz, he flung the book into a corner of his bedroom, exclaiming, "Puppy!" And then there came before his eyes a vision of a field of yellow corn, ripe for the harvest.

The golden sunlight gleamed upon the golden grain through which the half-naked brown-skinned men walked with their sickles.