day an aureole radiating from the reflection of his head in the water, as he leaned over the side of a boat, took it at once for sign certain that his salvation was assured.
So much for the fresh-water cure. To sum it up in a maxim,—adapting to its gentler warfare with the spirits of evil Danton's celebrated one about war in general,—we may say that the three essentials to success in it are: "De l'eau douce! de l'eau douce! et encore de l'eau douce!"
III.
Fasting (danjiki) is the next mortification to the flesh. The poor brute of a body unequally yoked to so indomitable a spirit fares ill. For it is deprived at once both of superficial gratification and of solid nourishment. The would-be pure must abstain from meat, from fish, from things cooked, and, comprehensively, from whatever has taste or smell. In short, he should lead gastronomically an utterly insipid existence. He may not even indulge in the national tea, a beverage tasteless and bodiless enough in all conscience to escape proscription. Salt is specially to be shunned (shiwodachi). It is worth noting
