XI 



A GLOWING log rolls down from its 

 allotted place on the hearth, sending into 

 the room a jet of wood smoke, blue at 

 the stem, white feathering as it spreads 

 out/ and the pungent smell immediately 

 revives a fresh set of scenes from the 

 past, 



That nothing brings back old memories 

 so suddenly and so vividly as perfume 

 is a commonplace remark. But I wonder 

 whether the extraordinary persistency of 

 a first impression, in the case of odours 

 constantly met with, has been so generally 

 noticed. Perhaps I am peculiar in this 

 sensitiveness. Smells, pleasant, indifferent, 

 or otherwise, which one is liable to en- 

 counter in the most varied circumstances, 

 should, one would think, cease in time to 

 recall any particular period of existence. 

 For example, the delicious smell of roast- 

 ing coffee an aroma not common in 

 England may well bring you back, at 

 a jump, to some foreign, unfamiliar ex- 

 perience of your youth to that early 

 morning walk in the little Flemish town 

 of which you have forgotten the name/ 

 where, as you sauntered down the street, 

 you were greeted at nearly every doorstep 

 by this pungent savour. The black cylin- 

 f ' 81 



