Probably for the first time in the history of New York, a Roman Catholic priest, a Jewish rabbi, Presbyterian, Methodist and Baptist pastors sat down around a table to talk over the welfare of the people.  A committee was formed, and I nominated the Catholic priest for chairman.  He was elected.  The restaurant did not last very long, and probably the chief good of the thing was the getting together of these men.  Difficulties, of course, came thick and fast.  Kosher meat for the Jews, fish for the Catholics on Friday, and any old thing for the Gentiles, were the smallest of the difficulties to be overcome.

I was supported in my church work by a band of young men and women, mostly from a distance, who gave their services freely, and in the course of a year or two, we managed to increase the church membership by a hundred or so, and occasionally we filled the structure by serving out refreshments to the lodging-house men of the Bowery.  I had an opportunity to touch the social needs of the community by cooeperating with the University Settlement which was then in its infancy.  I opened the church edifice for their lecture course which included Henry George, Father McGlyn, Thaddeus B. Wakeman, Daniel de Leon, Charles B. Spahr, and W.J.  Sullivan.  Sixteen years ago these men were the moving spirits in their respective lines in New York City.  The New York Presbytery was not altogether pleased by this new departure in church work; but we had the lectures first, and asked permission afterward.  Most of these men filled the church to overflowing.  In the case of Father McGlyn, hundreds had to be turned away.

As I sat beside Father McGlyn in the pulpit, I said, “Father, how do you stand with the Pope, these days?  What is the status of the case?”

“Well, Irvine,” he said, “I can best explain it by a dream that I had some time ago.  I dreamed that a young priest visited me with the intention of getting me to recant.  ‘McGlyn,’ he said, ’if you don’t recant, you’ll be damned!’ And I thought for a minute or two and then gave the only answer that a man with a conscience could give:  ’Well, brother, I’ll be damned if I do!’”

I found myself drifting quietly out of old methods of church work, and attempting, at least, to apply religion to the conditions around me.  Every aspect of social life was in need of remedial treatment.  Of course, I did not neglect the religious teaching, but what the situation demanded was ethical teaching, and, without making any splurge about my change of view, I worked at whatever my hand found to do in that immediate neighbourhood.

[Illustration:  Alexander Irvine.  From a sketch by Juliet Thompson]