VIII 



A SALT BREEZE 



\\/ HEN one first catches the smell of the sea, 

 ' ' his lungs seem involuntarily to expand, the 

 same as they do when he steps into the open air 

 after long confinement indoors. On the beach he 

 is simply emerging into a larger and more primitive 

 out-of-doors. There before him is aboriginal space, 

 and the breath of it thrills and dilates his body. 

 He stands at the open door of the continent and 

 eagerly drinks the large air. This breeze savors of 

 the original element ; it is a breath out of the morn- 

 ing of the world, — bitter, but so fresh and tonic ! 

 He has taken salt grossly and at second-hand all his 

 days; now let him inhale it at the fountain-head, 

 and let its impalpable crystals penetrate his spirit, 

 and prick and chafe him into new activity. 



We Americans are great eaters of salt, probably 

 the largest eaters of salt and drinkers of water of 

 any of the civilized peoples; the amount of the 

 former consumed annually per capita being more 

 than double the amount consumed in England and 

 on the Continent; and the quantity of water (with 

 ice in it) we drink is in still greater proportions. 

 Our dry climate calls for the water, and probably 



