The contrast between the character of the religious 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, humane 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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