One lady, who, poor soul, should have been born two or three hundred
years ago, when her narrowness would have been more natural, is shocked,
almost indignant; and though she is good enough to say she does not
accuse me of "intentional sacrilege," still, addressing a prayer to God
from a theatre is nothing less in her eyes than profanation. "For," says
she, "you know we must only seek God in His sanctuary, the church."

Goodness, mercy! in that case some thousands of us would become heathen
if we never found God save inside of a church.

Does this poor lady not read her Bible, then? Has she not heard the
psalmist's cry: "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there. If I make
my bed in hell, behold, thou art there also; whither shall I flee from
thy presence?"

Surely, there are a great many places besides the church between heaven
and hell, and even in a theatre we may not flee from His presence.

But lest the young girl writers should feel abashed over their
expressions of surprise at my conduct, I will show them what good
company they have had.

A good many years ago a certain famous scholar and preacher of New York
City called upon me one day. I was absent, attending rehearsal. The
creed of his denomination was particularly objectionable to me, but
having wandered into the big stone edifice on Fourth Avenue one Sunday,
I was so charmed by his clear reasoning, his eloquence, and, above all,
by his evident sincerity, that I continued to go there Sunday after
Sunday.