XLIV.—THE ATMOSPHERE.

1. The atmosphere rises above us, with its cathedral[362]-dome, arching towards the heavens, of which it is the most familiar synonym[363]and symbol. It floats around us like that grand object which the apostle John saw in his vision—“a sea of glass like unto crystal.” So massive is it, that, when it begins to stir, it tosses about great ships like playthings, and sweeps cities and forests to destruction before it. And yet it is so mobile[364], that we live years in it before we can be persuaded that it exists at all; and the great bulk of mankind never realize the truth that they are bathed in an ocean of air. Its weight is so enormous that iron shivers before it like glass; yet a soap bubble sails through it with impunity, and the tiniest insect waves it aside with its wing.

2. It ministers lavishly to all the senses. We touch it not; but it touches us. Its warm south wind brings back color to the pale face of the invalid; its cool west winds refresh the fevered brow, and make the blood mantle in our cheeks; even its northern blasts brace into new vigor the hardy children of our rugged clime.

3. The eye is indebted to it for all the magnificenceof sunrise, the full brightness of midday, the chastened[365]radiance of the “gloaming[366],” and the “clouds that cradle near the setting sun.” But for it the rainbow would want its “triumphal arch,” and the winds would not send their fleecy messengers on errands round the heavens. The cold weather would not shed its snow feathers on the earth, nor would drops of dew gather on the flowers. The kindly rain would never fall, nor hailstorm, nor fog diversify[367]the face of the sky. Our naked globe would turn its tanned and unshadowed forehead to the sun, and one dreary, monotonous blaze of light and heat dazzle and burn up all things.

4. Were there no atmosphere, the evening sun would in a moment set, and without warning plunge the earth in darkness. But the air keeps in her hand a sheaf of his rays, and lets them slip slowly through her fingers; so that the shadows of evening gather by degrees, and the flowers have time to bow their heads, and each creature space to find a place of rest, and nestle to repose. In the morning, the gairish[368]sun would at once burst from the bosom of night, and blaze above the horizon; but the air watches for his coming, and sends at first one little ray to announce his approach, and then another, and by and by a handful; and so gently draws aside the curtain of night, and slowly lets the light fall on the face of the sleeping earth, till her eyelids open, and, like man, she “goeth forth again to her labor till the evening.”

[362]Ca-theˊ-dral, a large church, the term is properly applied to the church in which the bishop of the diocese usually officiates.[363]Synˊ-o-nym, one of two or more words having the same or a similar meaning.[364]Mobˊ-ile, movable, light.[365]Chastˊ-ened(chaˊ-snd), pure.[366]Gloamˊ-ing, twilight.[367]Di-verˊ-si-fy, give variety to.[368]Gair-ish, gaudy, brightly shining.

[362]Ca-theˊ-dral, a large church, the term is properly applied to the church in which the bishop of the diocese usually officiates.

[363]Synˊ-o-nym, one of two or more words having the same or a similar meaning.

[364]Mobˊ-ile, movable, light.

[365]Chastˊ-ened(chaˊ-snd), pure.

[366]Gloamˊ-ing, twilight.

[367]Di-verˊ-si-fy, give variety to.

[368]Gair-ish, gaudy, brightly shining.

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