Mary, smiling.

"Such a boy for paradoxes!" said his mother.

"Well, so it is in a certain way," said Charles, "but I can't explain.
Sounds and scents are more ethereal, less material; they have no
shape--like the angels."

Mr. Malcolm laughed. "Well, I grant it, Charles," he said; "they are
length without breadth!"

"Did you ever hear the like?" said Mrs. Reding, laughing too; "don't
encourage him, Mr. Malcolm; you are worse than he. Angels length without
breadth!"

"They pass from place to place, they come, they go," continued Mr.
Malcolm.

"They conjure up the past so vividly," said Charles.

"But sounds surely more than scents," said Mr. Malcolm.

"Pardon me; the reverse as _I_ think," answered Charles.

"That _is_ a paradox, Charles," said Mr. Malcolm; "the smell of
roast-beef never went further than to remind a man of dinner; but sounds
are pathetic and inspiring."

"Well, sir, but think of this," said Charles, "scents are complete in
themselves, yet do not consist of parts. Think how very distinct the
smell of a rose is from a pink, a pink from a sweet-pea, a sweet-pea
from a stock, a stock from lilac, lilac from lavender, lavender from
jasmine, jasmine from honeysuckle, honeysuckle from hawthorn, hawthorn
from hyacinth, hyacinth"----

"Spare us," interrupted Mr. Malcolm; "you are going through the index of
Loudon!"

"And these are only the scents of flowers; how different flowers smell
from fruits, fruits from spices, spices from roast-beef or pork-cutlets,
and so on. Now, what I was coming to is this--these scents are perfectly
distinct from each other, and _sui generis_; they never can be confused;
yet each is communicated to the apprehension in an instant. Sights take
up a great space, a tune is a succession of sounds; but scents are at
once specific and complete, yet indivisible. Who can halve a scent? they
need neither time nor space; thus they are immaterial or spiritual."

"Charles hasn't been to Oxford for nothing," said his mother, laughing
and looking at Mary; "this is what I call chopping logic!"

"Well done, Charles," cried Mr. Malcolm; "and now, since you have such
clear notions of the power of smells, you ought, like the man in the
story, to be satisfied with smelling at your dinner, and grow fat upon
it. It's a shame you sit down to table."

"Well, sir," answered Charles, "some people _do_ seem to thrive on snuff
at least."

"For shame, Charles!" said Mr. Malcolm; "you have s