There are breathers and breathers and breaths and breaths, and if you happen to be one kind of a breather you might take a good many thousand breaths without doing yourself very much good. All because you force one poor little bit of a muscle to do the work of a great many large muscles.
Perhaps some of you don’t know that you have in your throat the neatest little trap door ever was seen. You might not know it is there, and you may never have heard its name, but I’ll warrant you have experienced several unpleasant sensations in your day from having left this little trap door open at the wrong instant. And you have probably missed a great many enjoyable sensations by closing it Up at unseasonable moments.
This neat little trap door, that works so smoothly you hardly knew you had it, is intended for just one purpose in ordinary life—the purpose of keeping anything more dense than ozone from getting into time air passage to the lungs.
But the epiglottis is a very intelligent and obedient little servant, and I have known singers to teach it to flap up and down very fast, and so help in producing staccato tones.
Then I have known other folks to impose shamefully upon this dainty little member of the human family, which is built for light, rapid motion and not for long strains.
Strange to say, it is the new-thought people, the disciples of love, who oftenest abuse it. But they don’t mean to, of course.