[Side note: Defence of the system I]

The first great difficulty against extemporary preaching is that,
though a priest studies his subject and maps his plan, he still
reckons without his host. The mind aroused to activity and warmed
by exertion is sure to spring new thoughts, arguments, and
illustrations across his path. These offspring of latest birth
clothed in freshness will prove a temptation too strong. He will
swerve from the main line to pursue them: the tendency to chase
the fresh hare can scarcely be resisted. Then another new thought
springs up, and, alas! another fresh hunt. The defined sketch
lying on his desk is abandoned: the new ideas have mastered him,
but he cannot master them. He labours himself to death without
avail, for there is neither point, argument, nor sequence: his
sermon is a definition of eternity--without beginning and without
end. The congregation is groaning in despair, and the only
appreciated passage in the whole performance is the preacher's
passage from the pulpit to the sacristy.

Now, to a man who writes his sermon, such a catastrophe is
impossible. In the process of preparation the field is well
beaten and every thought that could arise secured. From the best
of these his selection is made. To this selection he clings
without danger of swerve. The road on which he travels is not
only mapped but free of ambush and surprises. The milestones are
erected. He may not be a Bossuet or a Burke, but he speaks to a
definite point, has a time to stop, and the people leave the
church with a clear idea.

[Side note: II.]