Direct your voice not to the end of the church, but to the side
wall about three-quarters way down from the pulpit to the door.
Fix your eye on some person there; to him address your sermon,
but pitch your voice against the wall about two feet above his
head.

By this plan you not only secure your voice against unnecessary
fatigue, but you take the surest method of sending it into every
ear, and the reverberations of your own voice will act
electrically on you.

As ring after ring of your sentences comes back from the sounding
spot against which you have discharged them you are filled with
courageous confidence and an assurance that every word has found
its mark.

A recent writer in the _Quarterly Review_ discloses in one
luminous sentence the qualities that go to make an orator, and
every priest should struggle with all his might to be an orator
in the best sense of the word.

He says: "Nor is any man a great orator who has not many of the
gifts of a great actor--his command of gesture, his variety and
grace of elocution, his mobility of features, his instant
sympathy with the ethical tone of this or that situation, his
power of evoking that sympathy in every member of his audience;
and this is surely what Demosthenes meant by making acting not
action the secret of all oratory."