He seems sweepingly satisfied with himself and his opinions, which are mostly of a challenging nature.

He does not discuss but attempts to browbeat.

His voice is an argument, and the expression on his face and the fire in his eyes suggest the street corner.

He would have greatly distressed a man like Matthew Arnold, for the only method against such didactics is to send for the boxing gloves.
All the same he is a man of no little force, perhaps a scattered and dispersed force, as I am inclined to think; and he is a fighter whose blows, if not a teacher whose opinions, are more worthy of attention than his sacerdotal pretensions might lead one to suppose.
In appearance he may be compared with Dr.Clifford, but Dr.Clifford reduced to youthfulness and multiplied by an infinite cocksureness; a small, eager, sandy-haired, clean-shaven, boyish-looking man, with light-coloured eyes behind shining spectacles, the head craning forward, the body elastic and restless with inexhaustible energy, the whole of him--body, mind, and spirit--tremulous with a jerkiness of being which seems to have no effect whatever on his powers of endurance.
One misses in him all feeling, all tone, of mellowness.

His mind, at present, shows no lightest, trace of the hallowing marks of time; it suggests rather the very architecture he takes so savage a pleasure in denouncing--a kind of mock Gothic mind, an Early Doulton personality.
He has a thin voice, rather husky, and a recent accent.
In his most vigorous moments, when he is bubbling over with epigrams and paradoxes, ridiculing the dull people who do not agree with him, and laughing to scorn those who think they can maintain the Christian spirit outside the mysterious traditions of the Catholic Church, or when he is describing a recent church as a Blancmange Cathedral, and paraphrasing an account, given I think by Mr.James Douglas, of the building of a certain tabernacle in London--first it started out to be a Jam Factory, then a happy idea occurred to the builder that he should turn it into a Waterworks, then the foreman suggested that it would make an ideal swimming-bath, but finally the architect came on the scene and said, "Here, half a minute; there's an alteration wanted here; we're going to make it into a church"-- at such moments, Dr.Orchard might be likened to a duo-decimo Chesterton--but a Chesterton of nonconformity.