From　exhalations　I　learn　much　about　people。　I　often　know　the　work　they

are　engaged　in。　The　odours　of　wood；　iron；　paint；　and　drugs　cling　to　the

garments　of　those　that　work　in　them。　Thus　I　can　distinguish　the

carpenter　from　the　ironworker；　the　artist　from　the　mason　or　the　chemist。

one　place　to　another　I　get　a　scent

impression　of　where　he　has　been……the　kitchen；　the　garden；　or　the

sick…room。　I　gain　pleasurable　ideas　of　freshness　and　good　taste　from　the

odours　of　soap；　toilet　water；　clean　garments；　woollen　and　silk　stuffs；

and　gloves。

I　have　not；　indeed；　the　all…knowing　scent　of　the　hound　or　the　wild

animal。　None　but　the　halt　and　the　blind　need　fear　my　skill　in　pursuit；

for　there　are　other　things　besides　water；　stale　trails；　confusing　cross

tracks　to　put　me　at　fault。　Nevertheless；　human　odours　are　as　varied　and

capable　of　recognition　as　hands　and　faces。　The　dear　odours　of　those　I

love　are　so　definite；　so　unmistakable；　that　nothing　can　quite　obliterate

them。　If　many　years　should　elapse　before　I　saw　an　intimate　friend　again；

I　think　I　should　recognize　his　odour　instantly　in　the　heart　of　Africa；

as　promptly　as　would　my　brother　that　barks。

Once；　long　ago；　in　a　crowded　railway　station；　a　lady　kissed　me　as　she

hurried　by。　I　had　not　touched　even　her　dress。　But　she　left　a　scent　with

her　kiss　which　gave　me　a　glimpse　of　her。　The　years　are　many　since　she

kissed　me。　Yet　her　odour　is　fresh　in　my　memory。

It　is　difficult　to　put　into　words　the　thing　itself；　the　elusive

person…odour。　There　seems　to　be　no　adequate　vocabulary　of　smells；　and　I

must　fall　back　on　approximate　phrase　and　metaphor。

Some　people　have　a　vague；　un