Air is so elastic and its density diminishes so rapidly with elevation that nearly one half of the weight of the entire mass of the atmosphere lies below the level of the top of Pike’s Peak, which has a height of a little less than three miles above sea level. It presses with a weight of about fifteen pounds per square inch of surface, and its pressure is exerted in all directions, upward as well as downward. An ordinary man sustains a pressure of over one ton on each square foot of his surface, but as the air penetrates all portions of his body and exercises a pressure outward as well as inward he feels no inconvenience. If his body could be so tightly sealed that no air could enter and if then the air of the interior should be removed with a pump, his body instantly would be crushed to a shapeless pulp. A cubic foot of atmospheric air weighs one and one third ounces. Water is 773 times, and mercury ten thousand times, as dense as air. But air is a more ponderable substance than many suppose; an ordinary lecture hall forty by fifty feet and thirty feet from floor to ceiling contains two and one half tons of air at freezing temperature. It would contain less at a higher temperature, because heat expands its volume; it would contain more at a lower temperature, because cold contracts its volume. =Everything Evolved from the Air.= Air is so common that we seldom stop to consider the magnitude of the force it exerts or the grandeur wrought by this invisible architect of nature. In the great cycle of world building—birth from the nebulæ, growth, maturity, decay, disintegration, death, and then possibly back again to the nebulæ—the atmosphere, be it light and tenuous as at present, or be it filled with the hot vapors of earth and metal, is the vehicle and the medium of the builder, transporting and transmuting, in mysterious ways and to wondrous forms, the materials of planets. Its work as a builder may be further illustrated by showing that the body of man itself returns not to the earth earthy, as we have been taught, but largely to the air whence it came. Decomposition is but the liberation of the aëriform gases of which it is mainly composed; the residue is but a handful that goes back to mother earth. Let us take the dried corn plant; weigh it, then burn it in a closed vessel so that none of the ashes can blow away. Continue the burning until the ashes are perfectly white and it will be found that the weight of the ashes is only about one twentieth of the weight of the great stalk, ear, and foliage we began with. What has become of all the rest? The fire has destroyed it, you say. No, we can destroy nothing. Remember that; we can destroy nothing that the Creator has made, neither matter nor force. The fire has simply changed the form of the plant; the nineteen twentieths that have disappeared have gone back to the air whence they came.