Dined this evening with Richard Mansfield at Delmonico's. I sat between Mr. Charles A. Dana, the first of American journalists, and General Horace Porter, and had what my American friends would call "a mighty elegant time." The host was delightful, the dinner excellent, the wine "extra dry," the speeches quite the reverse. "Speeches" is rather a big word for what took place at dessert. Every one supplied an anecdote, a story, a reminiscence, and contributed to the general entertainment of the guests. The Americans have too much humor to spoil their dinners with toasts to the President, the Senate, the House of Representatives, the army, the navy, the militia, the volunteers, and the reserved forces. I once heard Mr. Chauncey M. Depew referring to the volunteers, at some English public dinner, as "men invincible--in peace, and invisible--in war." After dinner I remarked to an English peer: "You have heard to-night the great New York after-dinner speaker; what do you think of his speech?" "Well," he said, "it was witty; but I think his remark about our volunteers was not in very good taste." I remained composed, and did not burst. * * * * * _Newburgh, N. Y., January 21._ I lectured in Melrose, near Boston, last night, and had the satisfaction of pleasing a Massachusetts audience for the second time. After the lecture, I had supper with Mr. Nat Goodwin, a very good actor, who is now playing in Boston in a new play by Mr. Steele Mackaye. Mr. Nat Goodwin told many good stories at supper. He can entertain his friends in private as well as he can the public. * * * * * To-night I have appeared in a church, in Newburgh. The minister, who took the chair, had the good sense to refrain from opening the lecture with prayer. There are many who have not the tact necessary to see that praying before a humorous lecture is almost as irreverent as praying before a glass of grog. It is as an artist, however, that I resent that prayer. After the audience have said _Amen_, it takes them a full quarter of an hour to realize that the lecture is not a sermon; that they are in a church, but not at church; and the whole time their minds are in that undecided state, all your points fall flat and miss fire. Even without the preliminary prayer, I dislike lecturing in a church. The very atmosphere of a church is against the success of a light, humorous lecture, and many a point, which would bring down the house in a theater, will be received only with smiles in a lecture hall, and in respectful silence in a church. An audience is greatly influenced by surroundings.