The young man staggers. He now turns to where he should expect to
find strength. Under the pulpit next Sunday is a mind where the
mists of doubt are gathering and darkening. He looks up to the
"Light of the World" to have these mists dispelled. Instead of
seeing his foes battered with their own weapons he sees these
weapons, that in every domain are conquering for the devil, here
despised.

He is forced to listen, perhaps, to an exhibition of tedious
crudity. He goes away disheartened; perhaps to fall.

Now, the solid theological knowledge in that preacher's head is
more than sufficient to shatter the arguments of infidelity; the
analytic power acquired during his college course would enable
him to tear every sophistry to shreds; but the art of making both
of these effective for the pulpit, the mastery of clear and
nervous English, the elocution that sends every argument like a
quivering arrow of light to its mark, these he neglected, or
perhaps contemned.

This is our weak spot; here our position wants strengthening.

Sit by the fireside with that preacher and suggest the
advisability of cultivating English and elocution. He replies: "I
have two thousand souls to look after, sodalities to work up,
schools to organise, and attend, perhaps, four sick calls in one
night." No, _not now, but long years before_, he should have been
trained. It is not on the battlefield, when the bugle is sounding
the "charge," that the soldier should begin to learn the use of
his weapons. In the college, and not on the field of action, is