must pass through or over the hair of the moustache, and be warmed in the passage: and when the air makes its way by the mouth, it must pass under the moustache and be warmed, like that under the eaves of a thatched roof.
The moustache, however, not merely warms the inspired air, but filters it from superfluous moisture, dirt, dust, and smoke; and soon we trust it will be deemed as rational to deprive the upper lip of its protecting fringe, as to shave the eyebrows or pluck out the eyelashes.[1]
Those to whom the extent of preventible disease among our artizans—disease arising solely from their employments is unknown, I must refer to Mr. Thackrah's book on that specific subject. Scientific ingenuity had long attempted to devise contrivances to relieve the men from some of these diseases; but the schemes were found too cumbrous, or otherwise impracticable. As so often happens, what men were profoundly searching for, nature had placed directly under their noses. Mr. Chadwick, to whom the public are indebted for much valuable information on
- ↑ I can from personal experience state, that being subject when younger to swelling of the upper lip from cold, previous to entering Switzerland I allowed my moustache to grow. During six weeks excursion on foot, exposed to all weathers and stopping for none, being at one moment in warm valleys and a few hours afterwards at the top of ice-clad mountains, I never felt the least uncomfortableness about the mouth. When on returning home, however, I was foolish enough to shave, I paid dearly for the operation.
