purpose, it renders his weapon ineffective. So far from setting
his congregation on fire he sets them asleep; instead of sending
them away with clenched convictions they leave the church
tittering, or perhaps in bad temper.

[Side note: Priests never use in moments of serious issues]

I would like to ask such a man--If you were pleading in a court
for your character or before an angry mob for your life is it on
this antiquated weapon you would rely? Would not nature's
unerring instinct tell you to fling it to the winds and stake
your fortunes on the untrammeled outpouring of head and heart?
Every tone would ring with earnestness: every sentence thrill
with passion.

The thoughts, how clear! How convincing the arguments! Nature's
unfettered strength would then, like a tidal wave, sweep you
triumphantly onward to the goal.

Yet when you stand in the pulpit to plead a brief for Christ the
simple, unaffected earnestness that everywhere else carries
conviction is abandoned for such a musty instrument as an
unctuous whine or a holy drone. The young priest should avoid it:
it spells ruin.

[Side note: Voice dropping]

It is wonderful how few the speakers are who sustain the same
pitch and energy of voice from the beginning of a sentence to its
closing syllable.