What madness! Adopting this tone is like drawing the lead from the pistol or putting a foil on the rapier: it defeats his 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.
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.
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.
Cause of the defect
The temptation to exhaust the air in the lungs, and therefore permit the final words to drop, is so strong that unless a student watch it and assiduously guard against it he will discover that he has fallen victim to this weak point before he is twelve months a priest.
It destroys a sermon