The contrast between the character of the re-
ligious influences of the remoter past, or even
of twenty or thirty years ago, in our part of
the city, with those of the present day, is marked
in the church edifices themselves.

Across from the settlement's main houses on
Henry Street stands All Saints', with its slave
gallery, calling up a picture of the rich and
fashionable congregation of long ago. For
years after their removal to other parts of the
city, sentiment for the place, focusing on the
stately, young-minded, octogenarian clergyman
who remained behind, occasionally brought old
members back, but now he too is gone, and the
services echo to empty pews. The Floating
Church, moored to its dock nearby, was removed
but yesterday. Mariners' Temple and the
Church of the Sea and Land still stand, and
suggest an invitation to the seafaring man to
worship in Henry Street.

Occasionally a zealot seeks to rekindle in the
churches of our neighborhood the fire that once
brightened their altars, and social workers hailed
one as "comrade" who ventured to bring the
infamy of the red-light district to the knowledge
of his bishop and the city. That bishop, hu-
mane and socially minded, came down for a
short time to live among us, and in the evenings
when he crossed the crowded street to call or

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