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WHERE ARE THE DEAD? or, SPIRITUALISM EXPLAINED Containing well authenticated and selected reports of all the different phases of modern spirit phenomena, from table-turning to the visible materialisation of the faces and forms of the departed, and the photographing of spirits ; proving by undeniable facts that those we mourn as DEAD ARE STILL ALIVE, and can communicate with us ; and that Spiritualism is sanctioned by Scripture, and consistent with science and common sense ; with specimens of intensely interesting communications received touching death, the future life, and the experiences of the departed. Also extracts from the literature of Spiritualism, advice to investigators, list of books, addresses of mediums, and all useful information. The Spiritualist, June 19, 1874 An unsettling dance of ethereal murmurs, with ghostly wormwood drifting through the husky warmth of cardamom — a whisper in a shadowed corridor. Hazy lavender and velvety orris cast an otherworldly glow in the darkened corners.
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Seances for Inquirers are held weekly at 38, Great Russel-street. Inquirers may have Tickets free, on application to the Secretary, with personal recommendations from a Member. Admission to Members and one Friend, 1s. each. Private Seances for advanced manifestations for Members only, by special arrangement. Admission 5s. The Spiritualist, 8 February 1878 A clandestine assembly of elite ghost-seekers: smoky oud, fiery crimson peppercorn, and wild patchouli swirl in a heady haze, unfolding through plush velvet labdanum, lush plum damask, molten beeswax, and a glimmer of cognac spilled over a cracked quartz sphere.
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Electricity, which is an atmospheric emanation from God, and which is moved by his will, is that substance out of which all worlds and their splendid appendages were made. Hence, it will be perceived, that electricity contains all the original properties of all the various substances in being. All the varieties of the universe around us – all the beauties and glories of creation upon which we look with so many thrilling emotions of delight, were produced from electricity, which is the inexhaustible fountain of primal matter. By the living energies of the Divine Mind, electricity was condensed into globes ; not instantly, but gradually. The heaviest particle took the lowest point, or common centre, of our globe, and so on, step by step, lighter and lighter, till we reach the surface, which is a regular mould. On this we find water, a substance still lighter than earth ; next air, which is lighter than water, and so on till we reach the sun, which is the highest point in relation to our system, because it is the common centre. The sun is, therefore, pure electricity. Hence, the twenty-nine globes, belonging to our system, are electrically, geologically, and magnetically made. They are but twenty-nine magnets revolving around our sun as a centre. The sun being pure electricity or primal matter, is but an emanation from the Deity. It is consequently in a positive state. Hence, electricity is continually passing from the sun, as a common centre to the twenty-nine surrounding worlds : on the same principle that it passes from a positive to a negative cloud. Having done its duty in giving light, heat, and vegetation, as well as magnetic power to the globes, it is returned by reaction to the sun, and these two motions from the vertices that roll worlds around him. It is impossible that there can be any inherent attraction or repulsion in matter. Attraction and repulsion are but different dispositions of electricity. The best magnets are now made for the galvanic battery. Hence, electricity, galvanism and magnetism, are but in substance one and the same fluid, and the Eternal Mind, so that all the powers of attraction and repulsion originated in Deity. His will comes in contact with electricity, and through that subtle agent he moves the whole immeasurable universe in accordance with nature’s law. All worlds are in motion. They roll rapid as the lightning’s blaze, and in the most apparent confusion ; yet all is calm, regular, and harmonious. God is, therefore, connected with his universe, and superintends all its multifarious operations. Tho’ he is thus intimately united with inert matter, yet is he distinct from the whole. Thou apart, Above, beyond ; O tell me, mighty Mind, Where art thou? Shall I dive into the deep: Call to the sun? or ask the roaring winds For their Creator! Shall I question loud The thunder, if in that the Almighty dwells! Or holds he furious storms in straitened reins, And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car! The Pittsburgh Post, 9 August 1847 The divine spark from which all things emanate; the perfume of the profound, unseen forces that connect us to the cosmos: the cold brilliance of metallic aldehydes, lemon pith, ambergris accord, and white lavender tethered to terrestrial patchouli, violet leaf, and a mineralic musk.
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Among the most intelligent inquirers with whom I converse at Brighton was a lady of title. She told me that she was one of those present at the Davenport séance, held at the residence of Sir Hesketh Fleetwood. She was seated in the dark séance by the side of a gentleman whose previous scepticism, he confessed to her, was fast disappearing in the face of the facts they were witnessing, when a light was suddenly struck, and both of them distinctly saw the form of Ira Davenport glide close past them. This incident very much disturbed the confidence of Lady L—, and entirely satisfied the sceptic that imposition was practiced, and he left the room a confirmed unbeliever. I told Lady L—that, on his return to London, Mr. Ferguson spoke to me of this very fact, as one of the most curious that had yet occurred at any of the séances. He was holding, he said, the box of matches, as he usually does, when the box was snatched from his hand, and a light was struck by the invisible operator, and during the momentary ignition of the match he plainly saw a form, apparently of a human figure. He said nothing at the moment, but whispering the fact to Mr. Fay, he confirmed it, and afterwards several of those present admitted that that, too, had seen it. Mr. Ferguson, however, was not aware that anyone present supposed it to be the actual person of Ira Davenport, as no observation to that effect was made, and as Ira Davenport was seen instantly afterwards when the light was restored, fast bound to his chair, it was simply impossible that the suspicions of Lady L—or her friend could have been well founded. But, admitting that two competent witnesses did actually see the form of Ira Davenport on that occasion, it is corroborative of a very important and interesting fact, and distinct phase of these puzzling mysteries of spiritual appearances – viz., the duplication of individual form. Mr. Ferguson, who did not on that occasion recognize the resemblance to Ira Davenport, nevertheless has, as he solemnly asserts, seen at other times, when alone with them, the entire duplicated form of Ira Davenport, and a part of Mr. Fay ; and in my first conversation with the Davenport Brothers they told me, among other curious facts of their extraordinary history, that persons had said they had met one or other of them in places where they had not been. On one occasion their father went to a neighbouring shop to order some fruit, when he was told by the shopkeeper that his son Ira had just been there, and had ordered the fruit. It was, however, satisfactorily proved that Ira had not left the house, and that the man must have seen his “wraith,” or “double.” The Spiritualist, December 19, 1873 The uncanny echo of your second self: a shadow-blackened fougere steeped in an uncanny, discomfiting lavender tar.
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In certain cases, emotionally charged complexes of representation, which have become autonomous and dissociated, seem to automatically and compulsively press for discharge and realisation through haunting phenomena…. Hence, the so-called haunting occurs in place of a neurosis. —Albert von Schrenck-Notzing Repressed rage, terror, and subjugated sexuality erupting through fierce bursts of uncontrollable psychic phenomena: black leather and red musk with aged black patchouli, Chinese rose, black pepper, coconut meat, Haitian vetiver, and igneous red ginger. I bought this one because every single note appealed to me. I expected it to be dark and sexy and yeah - that's just what this is. Now, when I first opened it the leather note slapped me in the face and I was, for a brief moment, worried. The only other leather blend I can handle is Whip and I really have to be in the mood for it. I sniffed nervously and then skin-tested it on my wrist, hoping that the leather would calm down soon and let it's fellow notes have their say. I'm happy (and relieved) to report that as soon as the oil reached drydown, the leather was whispering instead of shouting and the red musk, patchouli and coconut were right where I needed them. I absolutely love red musk blends and this is no exception. Altogether, this blend is extremely dark and powerful but also sweet (the coconut) and very slightly spicy. This is the perfect unisex blend and so far, my favourite of the Spiritualism collection. I think that in a year's time, this is going to be one of the sexiest blends I own and will be reserved for extra special date nights and very private moments. Shadowy, hot and visceral. 10/10!
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About two miles from the village of Canton, Me., is a cosey, old-fashioned farm-house which is located directly opposite a graveyard, with no other house in sight. From the window of this little house nothing can be seen except the graveyard with its gleaming stones, and the hills and mountains round about. The family that has been occupying the house moved out not long ago, declaring that they could not stand it any longer, that they were wellnight distracted by the demonstrations. When they told their story a former resident, who now lives in Hartford, announced that he had known for years that the place was haunted. He had not told any one for fear of the ridicule of his neighbors. The demonstrations were not only in the house, but in the barn and around the premises. Regularly every night at 12 o’clock a team of horses rushes from the direction of the village, rumbles over the little bridge at a slashing gait, and then disappears. It never reaches the house. Instead, ghostly voices address the members of the family who have the temerity to live there, the voices coming from all parts of the house, but never so clearly that they can be located. On one memorable night a member of the family went to the barn just at dusk without a lantern. A figure stood at the corner of the building, and he ran to learn what the straggler wanted about the place. The figure silently and mysteriously melted into the shadows and was gone. The Buffalo News, April 20, 1904 A spectral cacophony of shimmering, translucent dun sandalwood, grey amber, and wraith-chilled chestnut galloping through the mist-cloaked shadows of time, a clattering of clove and black pepper, and a crack of phantom leather.
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O transient voyager of heaven! O silent sign of winter skies! What adverse wind thy sail has driven To dungeons where a prisoner lies? Methinks the hands that shut the sun So sternly from this mourning brow Might still their rebel task have done And checked a thing so frail as thou They would have done it had they known The talisman that dwelt in thee, For all the suns that ever shone Have never been so kind to me! For many a week, and many a day My heart was weighed with sinking gloom When morning rose in mourning grey And faintly lit my prison room But angel like, when I awoke, Thy silvery form so soft and fair Shining through darkness, sweetly spoke Of cloudy skies and mountains bare The dearest to a mountaineer Who, all life long has loved the snow That crowned her native summits drear, Better, than greenest plains below – And voiceless, soulless messenger Thy presence waked a thrilling tone That comforts me while thou art here And will sustain when thou art gone – Emily Brontë Morning rising in mourning grey: tobacco flower, white oud, lavender bud, and ambergris accord.
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The Rev. Joseph Glanvil, chaplain in ordinary to Charles II., was a writer of great erudition and ability. In his “Sadducismus Triumphatus,” written to show that the phenomena of witchcraft were genuine occurrences, he gives an account of Mr. Mompesson’s haunted house at Tedworth, where it was observed that, on beating or calling for any tune, it would be exactly answered by drumming. When asked by some one to give three knocks, if it were a certain spirit, it gave three knocks and no more. Other questions were put, and answered by knocks exactly. Glanvil himself says, that, being told it would imitate noises, he scratched, on the sheet of the bed, five, then seven, then ten times ; and it returned exactly the number of scratches each time. Melanethon relates that at Oppenheim, in Germany, in 1620, the same experiment of rapping, and having the raps exactly answered by the spirit which haunted a house, was successfully tried ; and he tells us that Luther was visited by a spirit who announced his coming by “a rapping at his door.” In the famous Wesley case, the haunting of the house of John Wesley’s father, the Parsonage at Epworth, Lincolnshire, in 1716, for a period of two months, the supposed spirit used to imitate Mr. Wesley’s knock at the gate. It responded to the Amen at prayers. Emily, one of the daughters, knocked ; and it answered her. Mr. Wesley knocked a stick on the joists of the kitchen ; and it knocked again, in number of strokes and in loudness exactly replying. When Mrs. Wesley stamped, it knocked in reply. It is not surprising that John Wesley was a Spiritualist. “With my last breath,” he writes, “will I bear my testimony against giving up to infidels one great proof of the invisible world ; I mean that of witchcraft, confirmed by the testimony of all ages.” Planchette, or The Despair of Science : being a full account of modern spiritualism, its phenomena, and the various theories regarding it : with a survey of French Spiritism, Epes Sargent Green balsam, bay leaf, fossilized amber, blackened vetiver, and clove bud cloaked in oud.
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This Spiritualism is the nepenthe which the ancient philosophers sought, to prolong life for ever; you cast off your bodies like an old garment. The pathway of this new science is as clear to the spirit as the names of the constellations are to the astronomer. In the great realm of the spirit there is no room for death to abide ; he has gone out with the ignorance, and blindness, and prejudice of the past, and life, only life, remains as your inheritance. Mrs. Tappan then paused. After a moment’s silence she delivered the following inspirational poem:— O beautiful white mother Death, Thou silent and shadowy soul, Thou mystical, magical soul, How soothing and cooling thy breath! Ere the morning stars sang in their spheres, Thou didst dwell in the spirit of things, Brooding there with thy wonderful wings, Incubating the germs of the years. Coeval with Time and with Space, Thy sisters are Silence and Sleep ; Three sisters—Death, Silence, and Sleep, How strange and how still is thy face! In the marriage of matter to soul,” Thou wert wedded to young fiery Time, The now weary and hoary-haired Time, With him thou hast shared earth’s control. O beautiful spirit of Death, Thy brothers are Winter and Night; Stern Winter and shadowy Night, They bear thy still image and breath. Summer buds fall asleep in thy arms, ’Neath the fleecy and soft-footed snow, The silent, pure, beautiful snow; And the earth their new life-being warms. All the world is endowed with thy breath, Summer splendours and purple of wine Flow out of this magic of thine, O beautiful angel of Death What wonders in silence we see The lily grows pale in thy sight; The rose thro’ the long summer night Sighs its life out in fragrance to thee. O beautiful angel of Death, The beloved are thine, all are thine ! They have drunk the nepenthe divine, They have felt the full flow of thy breath. Out into thy realm they are gone, Like the incense that greeteth the morn, On the wings of thy might they’re up-borne, As bright birds to thy Paradise flown. They are folded and safe in thy sight, Thro’ thy portals they pass from earth’s prison; From the cold clod of clay they have risen, To dwell in thy temple of light. O beautiful Angel of Life, Germs feel thee and burst into bloom, Souls see thee and rise from the tomb, With beauty and loveliness rife. On earth thou art named cold Death, Dim, dark, dismal, dire, dreadful Death, In heaven thou art “Angel of Life.” We are one with thy spirit, O Death ; We spring to thy arms unafraid, One with thee are our glad spirits made. We are born when we drink thy cold breath,— Oh, Angel of Life, lovely Death. The concluding hymn was then sung, after which Mrs. Tappan uttered the following benediction—“ May the peace of the loving spirit of the Heavenly Father and His angels abide with you, and the life that knows no death bear you on to the immortal world.” The Spiritualist, Oct. 15, 1873 Poem by Cora L.V. Richmond The lily grows pale in thy sight; the rose, through the long summer night, sighs its life out in fragrance to thee.
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Softly, softly, hear the rustle Of the Spirits airy wings; They are coming down to mingle Once again with earthly things, With their rapping, and their tapping Rap-tap-tap to wake our napping, In the restless dream of error: Hear the weird the Spirit brings – Rap-tap-tap lost friends are near you; Rap-tap-tap they see and hear you; In their mystic converse rappy They declare good Spirits happy. Gently, gently, they are timid If a medium is not there; They may leave you in delusion, And dissolve again to air. Tis no fable – beings able – Rap-tap-tap upon a table; And their language is translated, While the watch with guardian care Rap-tap-tap lost friends are near you; Rap-tap-tap they see and hear you; In their mystic converse rappy They declare good Spirits happy Spirit Rappings, lyrics by T.E. Garrett, music by W.W. Rossington A joyful undeath: candied orange and pink peppercorn, sugared freesia petals, vanilla bean, and white honey.
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Whilst I was residing at Maulmain I saw a ghost with my own eyes in broad daylight, of which I could make an affidavit. I had an old schoolfellow, who was afterwards a college friend, with whom I had lived in the closest intimacy. Years, however, had passed away without our seeing each other. One morning I had just got out of bed, and was dressing myself, when suddenly my old friend entered the room. I greeted him warmly, told him to call for a cup of tea in the verandah, and promised to be with him immediately. I dressed myself in all haste, and went out into the verandah, but found no one there. I could not believe my eyes. I called to the sentry, who was posted at the front of the house, but he had seen no strange gentlemen that morning, The servants also declared that no such person had entered the house. I was certain I had seen my friend. I was not thinking about him at the time : yet I was not taken by surprise, as steamers and other vessel were frequently arriving at Maulmain. A fortnight afterwards, news arrived that he had died, six hundred miles off, almost the very time I saw him at Maulmain. It is useless to comment upon this story. To this day I have never doubted that I really saw the ghost of my deceased friend. Banbury Advertiser, 18 July 1878 A fragrance steeped in wistful melancholy and the ache of near-forgotten longing. Black tea and bergamot shimmer in the glow of sunlit amber as cypress boughs cast lingering shadows. The heart blooms softly with jasmine sambac and tender orris.
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But on what could an impression be left? An impression of such a nature becomes a material thing and implies a material nexus, however subtle. So far as we know there are only two things there, the air and the ether. The air is a mobile thing and could not carry a permanent impression. But is the ether a mobile thing? It is pictured as a most delicate medium with vibrating currents flowing in it, but it seems to me that a most tenuous jelly with quivers and thrills would be a closer analogy. We could conceive the whole material universe embedded in and interpenetrated by this subtle material, which would not necessarily change its position since it is too fine for wind or any coarser material to influence it. I feel that I am rushing in where even Lodges fear to tread, but if it should prove to be as I suggest then we should have that permanent screen on which shadows are thrown. The block of ether upon the stairs is the same that it always was, and so conveys the impression from the past. the Edge of the Unknown, Arthur Conan Doyle Gentle, almost imperceptible, permeating all things: pale amber vibrating with ambergris and a thread of lavender. This is one of the purest, most beautiful lavenders I've ever smelled. It's up there with Hidden Purpose bath oil! It's the perfect balance between floral and herbal lavender, with just a hint of salty, spicy ambergris enhancing it. The ambergris gets more prominent as it dries down, with more of a 50/50 balance between that soft ocean scent and the lavender. It's amazingly, and yes, a little ethereal. I'm probably going to need more bottles.
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Practical Occultism consists, first, of a perfect mastery of the individual’s own spirit. No advance whatever can be made in acquiring power over other spirits, such as controlling the lower or supplicating the higher, until the spirit within has acquired such perfect mastery of itself, that it can never be moved to anger or emotion—realizes no pleasure, cares for no pain; experiences no mortification at insult, loss, or disappointment—in a word, subdues every emotion that stirs common men’s minds. To arrive at this state, severe and painful as well as long continued discipline is necessary. Having acquired this perfect equilibrium, the next step is power. The individual must be able to wake when he pleases and sleep when he pleases; go in spirit during bodily sleep where he will, and visit—as well as remember when awake—distant scenes. He must be enabled by practice, to telegraph, mentally, with his fellow associates, and present himself, spiritually, in their midst. He must, by practice, acquire psychological control over the minds of any persons—not his associates—beneath his own calibre of mind. He must be able to still a crying infant, subdue fierce animals or angry men, and by will, transfer his thought without speech or outward sign to any person of a mental calibre below himself; he must be enabled to summon to his presence elementary spirits, and if he desires to do so (knowing the penalties attached), to make them serve him in the special departments of Nature to which they belong. He must, by virtue of complete subjugation of his earthly nature, be able to invoke Planetary and even Solar Spirits, and commune with them to a certain degree. To attain these degrees of power the processes are so difficult that a thorough practical occultist can scarcely become one and yet continue his relations with his fellow-men. He must continue, from the first to the last degree, a long series of exercises, each one of which must be perfected before another is undertaken. A practical occultist may be of either sex, but must observe as the first law inviolable chastity—and that with a view of conserving all the virile powers of the organism. No aged person, especially one who has not lived the life of strict chastity, can acquire the full sum of the powers above named. It is better to commence practice in early youth, for after the meridian of life, when the processes of waste prevail over repair, few of the powers above described can be attained; the full sum never. Strict abstinence from animal food and all stimulants is necessary. Frequent ablutions and long periods of silent contemplation are essential. Codes of exercises for the attainment of these powers can be prescribed, but few, if any, of the self-indulgent livers of modern times can perform their routine. The arts necessary for study to the practical occultist are, in addition to those prescribed in speculative occultism, a knowledge of the qualities of drugs, vapors, minerals, electricity, perfumes, fumigations, and all kinds of anæsthetics. And now, having given in brief as much as is consistent with my position—as the former associate of a secret society—I have simply to add, that, whilst there are, as in Masonry, certain preliminary degrees to pass through, there are numerous others to which a thoroughly well organized and faithful association might advance. In each degree there are some valuable elements of practical occultism demanded, whilst the teachings conveyed are essential preliminaries. In a word, speculative occultism must precede practical occultism; the former is love and wisdom, the latter, simply power. A Victorian occultist’s incense, invoking the Four Archangels: precious wildcrafted Indian frankincense with myrrh, cassia, sandarac, palmarosa, white sage, red sandalwood, elemi, and drops of star anise bound with grains of kyphi. In the bottle: kyphi! A fruity, wine-y kyphi scent with lots of cassia and a bit of anise. On skin: glorious spicy kyphi. This smells less like Cairo’s lemongrassy-rosy take on kyphi, not as wine-y or ashen as Philosopher in Meditation, it’s more like the kyphi note from the Oak and Kyphi atmosphere spray, or the Chthonic Kyphi incense from TAL. It’s spicy, resinous and complex. Cinnamon/cassia is the most obvious note, but it’s also full of myrrh, frankincense, red wine and honeyed raisins, there’s also a hint of fuzzy sage to it as well. The anise isn’t there any more. I absolutely love the resinous spicy scent this has. It reminds me a bit of Haloa but without the foody notes. It also reminds me of Egg Moon’s cinnamon frankincense. After a while: it doesn’t change too much but I think the honey and wine aspects of the kyphi become more obvious. The resins deepen further, the cassia becomes warmer. The myrrh is wonderful in here, it reminds me of the myrrh in Priala, especially with the cinnamon, but not as smoky. Something about it reminds me of a couple of last year’s phoenix scents. Verdict: probably the best kyphi scent by BPAL so far. If you are a kyphi lover, you must get this. It’s brimming with spice and resin and honeyed wine, all in balance. Yule is a perfect time for this scent to be on sale, there’s something almost festive to it because of the combination of red wine and cinnamon, frankincense and myrrh, at times it reminds me of mulled wine in a church during a Christmas service, but it’s got that undertone of mystery and darkness hinting at more ancient, occult origins for this particular incense blend. The great thing is that it’s cinnamony but doesn’t burn my skin. I’m glad I took a chance on this as it’s perfect, I think it will age amazingly. Is it a keeper? for sure. Maybe a backup? If you like this, try: Egg Moon, Pliny’s Phoenix, Tacitus’s Phoenix, Priala the Human Phoenix, Oak Leaves and Kyphi atmosphere spray, Saturnian Phoenix, Philosopher in Meditation, Haloa, Cairo, Saint Foutin de Varailles, Valentine of Rome
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"The case I allude to is that of an invalid woman who belongs to the humblest class of society. She is nearly thirty years old and very ignorant; her look is neither fascinating nor endowed with the power which modern criminologists call irresistible; but when she wishes, be it by day or by night, she can divert a curious group for an hour or so with the most surprising phenomena. Either bound to a seat or firmly held by the hands of the curious, she attracts to her the articles of furniture which surround her, lifts them up, holds them suspended in the air like Mahomet’s coffin, and makes them come down again with undulatory movements, as if they were obeying her will. She increases their weight or lessens it according to her pleasure. She raps or taps upon the walls, the ceiling, the floor, with fine rhythm and cadence. In response to the requests of the spectators, something like flashes of electricity shoot forth from her body, and envelop her or enwrap the spectators of these marvellous scenes. She draws upon cards that you hold out, everything that you want – figures, signatures, numbers, sentences – by just stretching out her hand toward the indicated place. “If you place in the corner of the room a vessel containing a layer of soft clay, you find after some moments the imprint in it of a small or a large hand, the image of a face (front view or profile) from which a plaster cast can be taken. In this way portraits of a face taken at different angles have been preserved, and those who desire so to do can thus make serious and important studies. “This woman rises in the air, no matter what bands tie her down. She seems to lie upon the empty air, as on a couch, contrary to all the laws of gravity; she plays on musical instruments – organs, bells, tambourines – as if they had been touched by her hands or moved by the breath of invisible gnomes… This woman at times can increase her stature by more than four inches. —Chiaia, in a letter to Lombroso Pale lilacs, white tea, and candle wax. The Lab's candlewax always starts out with a burst of citrus (to my nose, at least), in this case a light clementine-juice scent that obscures the lilac completely while wet. 10 min: Spicy? Tingly-spicy? I'm not sure where that's coming from, but the white tea comes out too, with the lilacs. 20 min: Lilac gets a bad rap around here sometimes, and I was really rooting for it, but the beeswax is making the floral part smell a bit sour and sweaty. It's a very light and inoffensive scent, but when I get in close to the wrist to go "where my lilacs at" it smells like someone holding a lilac bloom crushed in a sweaty fist. 25 min: Sweaty part over. Soft, light, citrussy floral. Flowery but not distinctively lilac. Verdict: Not for me. [EDIT: I don't know when I'm going to learn that it really does make a difference to let scents settle after coming here in the post, but this one was pretty different on second test. Way more wax, no weird citrus, a warm and sweet beeswax scent with a distinct high-toned floral. Though it still doesn't really smell like lilacs to me? I have no idea.]
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CRAZED THROUGH “OUIJA”Neglected by Her Lover She Seeks Comfort of a Fortune-Telling Device BRIDGEPORT, Conn., Nov. 20.— Mrs. Eugenia Carpenter, a young woman living at 221 Myrtle, av., has been receiving attention from a young man who very recently ceased to call upon her. Mrs. Carpenter bought a fortune-telling board called “ouija,” and from it received the prediction that her suitor would not return to her. Last night she was found wandering almost nude in the streets. Her reason was gone and at intervals she cried out “Ouija said so and I knew it was true.” November 21st 1891 Boston Daily Globe Redwood and bois de rose with white lilac, dried pink roses, and black tea. Oooh, this is a very nice blend indeed. The redwood mingles effortlessly with the bois de rose and dried pink roses. The lilac is present but in no way overpowering. All of the florals together make for a gorgeously elegant and refined perfume. Makes me want to recline on a chaise lounge and fan myself with a peacock feather fan. Honourable mention for the black tea - just what this blend needs. The tea deepens the florals and adds mystery. This is going to age beautifully. 10/10
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The desire to inflict a mortal wound on the monster, Superstition, which, from a similar origin, a few centuries ago, inflicted on European society so vast an amount of misery, and by whose influence not hundreds, but thousands, of innocent persons died in tortures, on the rack and at the stake; the desire made me wish to make the experiment, if possible, of bringing a highly sensitive person, by night, to a churchyard. I thought it possible that they might see, over graves where mouldering bodies lay, something like that which Billing had seen. Eucalyptus blossom, lime rind, and white mint coalescing into a green-tinged amber glow. In the bottle this is soft and green. Sweet lime, zingy but not sour and puckering with the softest most gentle eucalyptus I have ever smelled. I normally think of eucalyptus as purely utilitarian for use in aromatherapy bath products, but I never find it pleasant or wearable (in regards to perfume). Beth has completely transformed the possibilities of this note for me. It dries down into a truly eerie green scent. Light mint (not a chilly mint) with the lime, eucalyptus, and amber all softly mingling. I cannot stress enough how gentle this blend is, despite the potential of the notes for being bright or bracing. Very soothing and relaxing, perfect for hectic winter celebrations.
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Inquiries into the Philosophy and Phenomena of Spiritualism should procure admission to Mr. Morse’s Seances at 15, Southampton Road Holborn, London on Friday Evenings at Eight O’Clock. Don’t be late: polished teakwood, pipe smoke, sugar-clouded absinthe, vetiver, and rum musk. This smells like manly butterscotch at first! Or perhaps like Hot Buttered Whiskey and Tag Upon Avon had a love child. It's a very warm scent, and the tobacco and rum mix to create a sweet, chewy, butteriness. I don't really get much absinthe except maybe when I first put it on, but that's probably part of what's reminding me of Tag Upon Avon. The teakwood is subtle at first, but comes out more in the dry down and grounds the fragrance, keeping the sweetness from turning syrupy, like it is (IMHO) in Hot Buttered Whiskey. This is boozy, but gentler than HBW. I think it could be a cousin of Perversion actually. Very nice. I would totally want to nibble on a guy who smelled like this, but I think it would equally well for a woman.
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In Mr. Campbell Holms book, The Facts of Psychic Science, which is, and will be always, a most exact and valuable book of reference, there are a number of cases given where people have been transported through solid objects. Inexperienced and foolish people may jeer, but they will find it easier to do so than to refute the evidence. For example, upon June 3rd, 1871, Mrs. Guppy was floated from her own house in Highbury, and appeared upon the table of a room at 61 Lambs Conduit Street, where a séance was being held behind locked doors. A document was signed by the eleven sitters to testify to the fact and they had no possible object in perjuring themselves about the matter. Mrs. Guppy said that the last thing she could remember was sitting with her friend Miss Neyland. That lady deposed that Mrs. Guppy had suddenly vanished from her sight. Four of the sitters accompanied Mrs. Guppy home and heard what her friend had to say. It is difficult to find any flaw in such evidence and it would certainly have been conclusive in a court of law had it been a criminal case. But surely such a transposition is more remarkable than any of Houdinis, and had she done similar things in public her reputation would have been similar to his own. the Edge of the Unknown, Arthur Conan Doyle A séance in progress: polished oak and oxblood leather, rivulets of beeswax, a splash of rose water, and a pulsating throb of ectoplasm. This makes me happy. It's a rather masculine blend, and what comes across when I spray it ON something is mostly the oak with a hint of leather. It smells like a very nice "man office/study" with polished wood cabinets and svelte, leather furniture. In the AIR, the beeswax becomes the dominant feature to my nose, with a bit of spicy wood filling in the background. It's not a heavy scent, and there's something lovely and clean about it, along with something decidedly proper.
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A tribute to Lajos Pap, a spiritualist medium whose specialty was apporting snakes, lizards, rats, and frogs – live and dead – during séance. A pattering of night-creatures: indigo musk and patchouli croaking with oakmoss and a skittering of gleaming black olibanum. In the Bottle: Inky and dry in the bottle. Very intriguing. The oakmoss is apparent On the Skin: That indigo musk is stunning - slinky and velvety dark. Quite resinous, initially but the musk adds a gorgeous elegance. I like the use of the word "skittering" in the description because this is slick, dark and dry reminiscent of an insect carapace. On the Drydown: I almost get a dark purple (indigo?) floral from this. It is truly magnificent and dark as night.
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As performed by Griffiths Quadrille Band in a Mysteriously Effective Manner and Dedicated to all Lovers of “the Mysterious”. It really was a thing. Rose musk with pink and black pepper, a splash of bay rum, tobacco absolute, and toffee. In the bottle: Dark toffee with something sharp in the background, perhaps the rum. Fresh out of the mailbox this did not smell good but now that it's rested a bit it's much better. Wet on skin: The rose musk and the pink and black pepper come out. The pepper is making this unexpectedly spicy, almost a bit savory until the rum and tobacco come more to the foreground. Dry: I'm getting a sweet musky, spicy tobacco. I tend to amp sweetness so this would probably smell great on a man as well. I would imagine this will get even better with age.
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I can only consider departed spirits and ministering angels, as one innumerable company continually surrounding us. And are they not as nearly united to their fellow soldiers now, as when in the body ! What should hinder ? Gratitude and affection are natives of heaven, and live for ever. Forgetfulness is a property of mortality, and drops off with the body. Therefore, they that loved us in the Lord, will surely love us for ever. Can anything material interrupt the sight or presence of a spirit ? Nay,— ‘Walk within walls no more the passage bar, Than unopposing space of liquid air.’ – the British Spiritual Telegraph, Vol. 3 No. 6, April 1859 Blackened opoponax and frankincense smoke shrouded in wilted roses, black taffeta, and tear-stained lace. A deliciate, somber, soft rose...this scent reminds me of Antique Lace and the Best Lies with some incense wafting through. The rose is pink and faded but still slightly juicy, with a bit of muskiness, but darkened to a lovely sepia around the edges. Wistful and unassuming, but still well estabilished.... I can see this scent fitting in nicely anywhere.
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The protoplasmic ooze results in man. It arrives at thoughts and emotions, it builds lofty ideals and great civilisations. The objector urges that this proof of progress is no proof of the permanence of any personality. No proof, but certainly no suggestion of disproof. Again, we find no trace of waste. Change and the revolution of one form of matter into another are evident to us, but no waste, no loss, is anywhere discoverable. The noblest product of the universe so far as we are certain of it is the rounded and accomplished personality of man. Why should nature everywhere display her absolute incapacity to cast away an atom of her lowest product, and yet be able to plunge into nothingness her very greatest? – the Occult Review, January 1905 A pretense of civility, the height of anthropocentric arrogance: a lime-washed gentleman’s fougere with a pinch of snuff, an insouciant whiff of gin, and the memory of an amorphous, sluggish, protoplasmic greenness. This is what Arthur Conan Doyle’s Tobias Gregson would smell like. A Victorian man, rough-edged but not uncivilized; not outstanding, but dogged; he gets the job done — no matter what. Lime and gin in the bottle. Goes on as a fresh lime cologne. A light tobacco note comes in — is that the snuff? Continues into a masculine cologne and finishes as a somewhat generic lime aftershave. A first cousin to John Watson (the scents, not the characters). This would probably be amazing on a gentleman, but I am a lady.
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Herewith we present the public with a most accurate, well executed likeness of Dr. Henry Slade, the celebrated medium and clairvoyar who has so confounded science, startled orthodoxy, given the lie to old beliefs, and lead minds into new channels, through his powerful mediumship. As the pubic are always anxious to see the faces of extraordinary men, they will scan carefully the likeness here given. – Pomeroy’s Democrat, September 20, 1873. Bay rum and lemongrass with black pepper, cardamom pod, pine resin, red sandalwood, and cedar. the bay rum and lemongrass give this a centerpiece of rich magical voodoo oils, surrounded by a very light hint of spices and an absolutely swoonworthy woods combo. the whole blend is fantastic, gorgeous, amazing, kinda classy. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VmSRcOUmLK8
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At a late period in the evening, after nearly three hours of experiment, Mrs Hayden having risen, and talking at another table while taking refreshment, a child suddenly called out, Will all the spirits who have been here this evening rap together? The words were no sooner uttered than a hailstorm of knitting-needles was heard, crowded into certainly less than two seconds; the big needle sounds of the men, and the little ones of the women and children, being clearly distinguishable, but perfectly disorderly in their arrival. Augustus de Morgan Polished mahogany and black tea with a clatter of vanilla husk and oak wood. In the bottle this is vanilla tea with a little bit of dark polished wood underneath and it stays true on my skin. A deep rich vanilla tea, with the woods coming in for support. Elegant and cozy.
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Dr. E. S. Packard, of Corunna, Me., in the Eastern Star, states that Mr. David Prescott, of South Sangerville, over ninety years of age, “wandered away into the woods, and not returning, a crowd of over a hundred men hunted for him nearly two days; the mill pond near his house was drained. Search was made in every direction but to no success. “A gentleman of that place decided to call in the aid of Mrs. Stevens; she told him somebody was lost, and not being able to visit the place she drew a map or chart of the locality, giving directions, by which, on his return he was immediately found alive, but died the next day. The day following I was at South Sangerville, and stopping at this gentleman’s house, examined the map, which was perfect in every respect. The house and shed were correctly drawn, the mill and pond near the house were marked, the field and woods, two fences over which Mr. Prescott must climb, even to the swinging of the road by the house was definitely given. “The spot where she said he was, was shown by a large black mark, and he was found exactly in that place. When we consider that Mrs. Stevens never saw this place in her normal condition, it is to me a wonderful test of spirit power.” Absolute and perfect clarity: rockrose, white amber, Corsican immortelle, Siamese benzoin, white sandalwood, and life everlasting. Sniffed, I get clouds of sweet sandalwood incense and white cotton -- not "clean laundry," but something white and cottony and opaque. I think this particular iteration of white amber is doing the powdery thing. It's not floral-forward, though the flowers advance as the blend wears down. Mostly, it's reading as benzoin/sandalwood dusting powder. There's a non-foody but vanilla-like sweetness (probably the benzoin, which contains vanillin). Also, somehow, the blend smells white. The vanilla-resin-powderyness makes me place it in the XYZ Lace family of Lab blends (e.g. Antique Lace, Black Lace, Red Lace). So this is... Psychic Lace.
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