Work-cure is, I think, the sanest and most helpful part of Christian Science, as of all other types of psychotherapy. The Christian Scientists do set idle people to work and turn inverted attention outward upon the world. This is a great service--the greatest, I think, that can be done to a human being. By setting their patients to the work of healing and teaching others, Christian Scientists have wisely availed themselves of the greatest healing power on earth. I believe that suggestion, education, and work-cure can be used in far safer and saner ways by physicians, social workers, and teachers or clergymen properly trained for the work than by the Christian Scientists. Heretofore these last have held the field of psychotherapy largely without competition. American physicians have confined themselves mostly to physical and chemical methods (diet, drugs, and surgery), which have a place in the cure of functional disease, but not, I think, the chief place. Now that scientific psychotherapy is being taken up by physicians, social workers, and educators (including the clergy), not instead of, but in conjunction with physical and chemical treatment, I think it is reasonable to expect that Christian Science will have to stick closer to the truth if it is to hold its ground in competition. SOUTH STREET BY FRANCIS E. FALKENBURY As I came down to the long street by the water, the sea-ships drooped their masts like ladies bowing, Curtseying friendly in a manner olden, Shrouds and sails in silken sunlight flowing, Gleaming and shimmering from silvern into golden, With the sea-winds through the sunlit spaces blowing. As I came down to South Street by the glimmering, tossing water, the sweet wind blew, oh, softly, sweetly blew O'er the lean, black docks piled high with curious bales, Odorous casks, and bundles, of foreign goods, And all the long ships with their fair, tall sails, Lading the winey air with the spices of alien woods. As I came down by the winding streets to the wondrous green sea-water, the sounds along the water-front were tuned to fine accord; I heard the racket of the halliards slapping, Along the bare poles stabbing up aloft; I saw loose men, their garments ever flapping, Lounging a-row along each ruined wooden stair: Their untamed faces in the golden sun were soft, But their hard, bright eyes were wild, and in the sun's soft flare Nothing they saw but sounding seas and the crash of ravening wind; Nothing but furious struggle with toil that never would end. The call of mine ancient sea was clamoring through their blood; Ah, they all felt that call, but nothing they understood, As I came down by the winding streets to South Street by the water.