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  The Phenomena of Witchcraft Perfume Oil

  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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  The Human Double Perfume Oil

  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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  O Beautiful White Mother Death Perfume Oil

  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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  Eusapia 2024 Perfume Oil

  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.

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