Indeed, none of the other senses shows the same phenomenon. If we happen to catch a momentary glimpse of the noonday sun, we plainly see a disc of intense light (it is pale blue in colour to my eye), surrounded by a fiery halo, before it blinds us. In the same way, when a gun is fired close to the ear, we hear the sound before we are deafened by it. It is for such reasons that perfumers never sniff at a bottle of scent; they take a little, rub it on the back of the hand, and then wait until the spirit has evaporated before they proceed to smell it. The exquisite delicacy of the sense might lead us to suppose that the olfactory organ must be quick at responding to its proper stimulus. But such is not the case. It is, on the other hand, relatively “slow in the uptake.” Gleg has estimated that the reaction time for auditory sensation is from 0·12 to 0·15 of a second, whereas the reaction time for smell is as much as 0·5 of a second, only one sensory stimulus being slower, that of pain, namely, which occupies 0·9 of a second. Odours are conveyed to the olfactory end-organ in the air we breathe. Before they can rise into the air from the odorivector (the odorous body) and be transported they must, it is clear, pass into the vaporous or gaseous state. (In the case of fish, of course, the odour must undergo solution, that is pass into the liquid state.) Many of the natural properties manifested by smells have been related to this transformation into vapour. Everybody knows how rich garden scents become after a shower. It has been claimed that this results from the lightening of the atmosphere by the storm, in consequence of which the diffusion of odorous vapours, following the law that governs the diffusibility of gases, is facilitated. But some of the effect must be due, one would think, partly to the impact of the raindrops breaking up and dispersing the halo of perfumed air that surrounds each flower, and partly also to the evaporation of the rain-water that has absorbed these floral emanations. We are told also that during the night and in the chill of early morning the air is less charged with odours because cold checks the diffusion of gases. This may be true enough for some odours, but I am inclined to think that the fact is not stated with perfect accuracy, as there are certain perfumes, that of the tobacco-plant for one and that of the night-scented stock for another, which are most prevalent after nightfall. And it has always seemed to me that Mother Earth is never so nicely perfumed as on a cool September morning, although I should never be inclined to call any morning “incense-breathing,” like Gray, for anything less like incense could scarcely be imagined. There is no doubt, however, that frost seals up all odorivectors and renders the air quite odourless.