To the eye or to the touch, ordinary matter appears to be continuous; our dinner-table, or the chairs on which we sit, seem to present an unbroken surface. We think that if there were too many holes the chairs would not be safe to sit on. Science, however, compels us to accept a quite different conception of what we are pleased to call "solid" matter; it is, in fact, something much more like the Irishman's definition of a net, "a number of holes tied together with pieces of string." Only it would be necessary to imagine the strings cut away until only the knots were left. When science seeks to find the units of which matter is composed, it is led to continually smaller particles. The largest unit is the molecule, but a molecule is as a rule composed of "atoms" of several different "elements." For example, a molecule of water consists of two atoms of hydrogen and one of oxygen, which can be separated from each other by chemical methods. An atom, in its turn, is found to be a sort of solar system, with a sun and planets; the empty regions between the Sun and the planets fill up vastly more space than they do, so that much the greater part of the volume that seems to us to be filled by a solid body is really unoccupied. In the solar system that constitutes an atom, the planets are called "electrons" and the Sun is called the "nucleus." The nucleus itself is not simple except in the case of hydrogen; in all other cases, it is a complicated system consisting, in all likelihood, of electrons and hydrogen nuclei (or protons, as they are also called). With electrons and hydrogen nuclei, so far as our present knowledge extends, the possibility of dividing up matter into bits comes to an end. No reason exists for supposing that these themselves have a structure, and are composed of still smaller bits. We do not know, of course, that reasons may not be found later for subdividing electrons and hydrogen nuclei; we only know that so far nothing prevents us from treating them as ultimate. It is difficult to know whether to be more astonished at the smallness of these units, or at the fact that there are units, since we might have expected matter to be divisible ad infinitum. It will help us to picture the world of atoms if we have, to begin with, some idea of the size of these units. Let us start with a gramme of hydrogen, which is not a very large quantity. How many atoms will it contain? If the atoms were made up into bundles of a million million, and then we took a million million of these bundles, we should have about a gramme and a half of hydrogen. That is to say, the weight of one atom of hydrogen is about a million-millionth of a million-millionth of a gramme and a half. Other atoms weigh more than the atom of hydrogen, but not enormously more; an atom of oxygen weighs 16 times as much, an atom of lead rather more than 200 times as much. Per contra, an electron weighs very much less than a hydrogen atom; it takes about 1850 electrons to weigh as much as one hydrogen atom.