All persons suffering from proctitis and colitis and their symptoms, as described in the previous chapters of this work and in _Intestinal Ills_, will require, now and then, if not under treatment, special irrigation of the stomach to remove fermentative matter, particles of undigested food, and tenacious, ropy mucus before the next meal is taken. Otherwise the condition will be made doubly bad, for the fresh material is piled on top of the unduly retained contents of the stomach. As evidence of our civilization, we clean pots and kettles before the next meal. We even clean our fingers before, during, and after the meal. Teeth, mouth, and face get their proper cleansing. Why should we suppose that stomach, duodenum, and kidneys, which receive all sorts of stuff, should remain clean without an occasional flushing? They need rinsing out after brewing the wine of life. The water drunk between meals not only cleanses the organs through which it passes but irrigates the whole system, keeping a normal amount of water in all the tissues, which is as necessary for the maintenance of health as is the due supply of water to the plant in your conservatory. Observe the large percentage of human beings that are anemic, sallow, clay-colored, or white--a few obese, but the many spare, lean, gaunt--all of them expressing the disgust of the soul in having such an abiding-place. If all the organs and tissues of the body were kept flushed, what a fresh and inviting spot the soul would have for the cultivation here on earth of the arts of life! Water is the wholesomest of all drinks. It quickens the appetite and strengthens the digestion. It is the most effective agent in the work of elimination--in ridding the system of waste material. Properly taken, it prevents the undue clogging of the organs and tissues, and tends to cure or relieve those that had become clogged, and it does this by washing away the substances for which the system has no further use, and which if they remained would poison it. It is said that if water be drunk freely during a meal the gastric juice will become diluted or washed away. A similar objection is offered concerning the use of the enema. The horse, it is alleged, should have more sense than to drink from three to six gallons of water and almost immediately thereafter eat a peck or more of oats and a quantity of hay, for it ought to know that there is no room for food with such an amount of water in the stomach. If such objectors could but see the horse smile at such arguments--for it secretly knows that the water does not _remain_ in its stomach, and that its gastric juice is naturally strong and needs dilution--they would stand aghast. Would we not be better off if we were not influenced by fool talk like the above advice to the horse, especially as regards our internal economy?