Fragrance in the writings of Charles Dickens

Oliver Twist

Perfume

Scent


Odor


Fragrance

smell


Bleak House

Perfume

scent


fragrance


fragrant

smell

Christmas Books

perfume

scent

fragrance

fragrant

incense

smell

Old Curosity Shop

perfume


scent


fragrance

fragrant

smell

odour

David Copperfield

perfume

scent

fragrance

smell

odour

Great Expectations

scent

fragrance

smell

Pickwick Papers

scent


fragrant


smell

odour

The Nose-Harper's Magazine

NOSES.

A DESIDERATUM in science is the inductive analysis of what history records, physiognomists agree upon, and literature illustrates in regard to the human nose. Conjectures, anecdotes, and facts we have in abundance, but they are not adequately classified and digested. When Judith arrayed herself for conquest, she put a jewel in her nose. The most remarkable monarchs—the Emperor Charles and William of Orange, for instance—had eagle-like noses. The ancient writers describe the play of character as indicated by the size and inflection of the nostrils. Ovid was named Naso from an excrescence on his proboscis; a gilded nose with a brazen n.ime designates one of Oxford's most renowned colleges; Cowper's only recorded law case is "Nose vs. Eyes;" satire, and a sharp nose were equivalent in Iloratian philosophy, and the rhinocoratic was a classic appellative; the Greeks despised a flat nose, and Moses deemed it a permanent obstacle to sacerdotal dignity. "Ho is restored to society," complacently exclaimed a surgeon who had manufactured an admirable nose for one of his patients. Pointed nasal extremities are instinctively regarded as proofs of a fox-like, prying, and mischievous tendency. When Socrates was called a sot on account of his nose, he acknowledged its language was a true index to his natural character; one Dr. Geddes wrote a treatise on Noseology; Monmouth called the nose "the scat of reputation;'' and in Hudibras a "supplemental" one is recognized. Intemperance and lust write their degrading signs, scorn her vulgar sneer, anger her swelling wrath, sleep her unconscious respiration, pride her solemn curve, and blood its graduated refinements—on or through this plow, forerunner, facial herald, handle, arch, or elegant demonstrator of character and channel of life—the nose! Yet with these and a thousand other offices and meanings, common parlance treats the nose with contempt.

A cinder in the eye or a cut lip excites commiseration, but an accident to the nose provokes a laugh. '' Follow your nose!" is the watchword to impertinent ciceroni, and to be "led by the nose" a synonym for imbecility. "Nose out of joint" is the approved phrase for discomfiture. When a man is too plebeian for a challenge, and too insignificant to be flogged, the approved method of punishment is to tweak his nose. "I'll slit tho villain's nose!" is tho lowest of threats. To turn up the nose at a thing suggests contempt too small for indignation; to lay one finger on the nose, or gyrate all four with the thumb for a pivot, arc vulgar comic gestures: and thus this feature, by universal consent, is associated with tho ridiculous and the ignoble
phases and forms of life. Why is this? Partly, because occupying the center of the physiognomy, and being the most prominent point therein, its least singularity breaks up the harmony of the whole; partly, because it is the most passive yet ostentatious of the features; and, finally, because its character, being indicated by form— without mobility like the mouth, and changes of tint and size like the eye—has a certain fixed emphasis which provokes attention. Hence they are fortunate whose noses have an average type, and no special mould, whereby they escape scrutiny. Lord Brougham's vast mental activity does not save his peculiar nose from comment and caricature; and the greatest beauty of court or bower is reduced to a prosaic level by a snore, a snivel, or a sneeze.

Paley cites the nasal function in respiration as one of the most beautiful provisions for infant life, breathing being thus secured during the act of nutrition. .Napoleon said he chose men with large noses for responsible stations because they allowed free and full inhalation, and thereby kept the brain cool and clear. In vocalism and oratory the nose is an essential element of success; it was large in Cooke, and is often wide at the top and wings in great singers. Space between the eyes, which is filled by the upper extremity, according to phrenologists, indicates the organ of form, or power of correctly judging local distance and conditions: it was remarkably wide in Washington's head. Governor Morris, who was one of the most impressive elocutionists of our revolutionary era, had a prominent and expansive nose, which gave a sonorous emphasis to his voice. In these, and like instances, the feature assimilates with character, and harmonizes with the whole form and physiognomy. But there are cases, sometimes irresistibly comic, where the reverse is the case. Some people have noses which look as if they did not belong to their wearers, and seem always trying to be got rid of. Incomplete, one sided, eccentric individuals thus give an uneasy or ludicrous impression by tho shape or relation of their noses.

The physiognomists are more confident in their speculations on this than in regard to all the other features; and although many discrepancies occur, they agree on certain points — as, for instance, that a large nose usually marks superiority. Bavater calls the nose the " seat of derision." He says a beautiful one is never found in a countenance otherwise ugly; and it is with him " an abutment of the brain," and, like the arch in Gothic buildings, the essential feature. When the curve begins near the forehead, as in Wellington's, ability to command is indicated; the rectilinear belong to those who can both act and suffer well. "I have never," declares this writer, "seen a nose with a broad back that did not belong to an extraordinary man, such as Swift, Ceasar Borgia, Titian, etc. Small nostrils are an indubitable sign of unenterprising timidity; the open, breathing nostrils of sensibility. The Dutch arc seldom blessed with handsome noses;" and he adds, that " all ugly, turned-up ones do not denote folly:" of which latter truth Socrates and Boerhave are notable illustrations.

A later and more analytic writer* finds infinite shades of meaning in the shape and size of the nose. The first ridge, just above the top, according to his observation, is the sign of self defense, and is large in controversial men, and in the horse and rhinoceros. By the length of the nose, from the root downward at a right angle, he estimates the tendency to suspicion; and imitation, correspondence, and comparison are, in his theory, illustrated by the nose. Whether we acquiesce in such details of nasal language or not, there is no doubt that general force of character is associated with a certain strength in this feature; a broad arch, so common among the Jews, is a well-established sign of acquisitiveness; even in Franklin it illustrates the economical instinct so famously embodied in " Poor Richard." There is something irresistibly piquant in a pretty woman's nose when slightly retroussez. How much of the classic beauty of young Augustus is derived from the straight line and delicate proportions of the nose in the favorite classic bust so like Napoleon! In those minute portraits which modern historians and novelists love to draw, the description of this feature is made significant and more distinct, because less complex than that of any other.

We take up an instant and decided impression from this item in the catalogue raisonee of the face; identifying the Roman and aquiline nose with high birth or intellectual Tigor, the snub with plebeians, the Bardolph with grossness, the retroussez with fun, the flexible nostril with feeling, the broad with courage, and the indented with sensitiveness; a bottle nose is inevitably attached to a sot, a sharp-pointed one with a keen lawyer, and a Wellingtonian with aristocracy. Who ever thinks of Thackeray without in his mind's eye beholding what one of his admirers calls his "dear old nose?" The chivalric temper of Clay was evident in his nose, and so was that of Hamilton; Voltaire's looks as if turned up at all creation and snuffing a paradox; in the Aztec children one could trace the transition between the animal snout and the human nasal organ; Judge Hopkinson's quick and cool apprehension, so hound-like, was foreshadowed in his nose. A pug is the certain mark of low humor or a privileged butt. Tom Paine's grossness as well as mental vigor were symbolized in his nose, and so were the strong but unrefined proclivities of Gilbert Stuart. Washington's finest feature was his nose; in Wright's portrait especially, which is remarkable for its literal fidelity, a physiognomical artist will find the highest indication of character. There is infinitely more expression in the nose than common observers appreciate. It is marvelous how much its form and relation to the other features may hint. From the nostrils "spiritually thin," and the graceful long arch that makes the beautiful profile, to the thick, flat proboscis of the African, what extremes of natural language! I knew a buffo singer who could interchange ideas with his friends by certain movements of his nose—which were expressive of humor, likes, dislikes, force of purpose, indifference, ridicule, and gravity —to a degree which one could hardly believe possible.

There is no more startling effect of human expression than earnest eyes and a nose indicative of levity. Audubon's nose was shaped like a hawk's bill, as if to stamp his ornithological passion on his face; the Grecian and Italian straight nose is universally considered the assurance of refinement. An acute writer says, in woman a large nose is "an uncertain angury."' Perpendicular noses intimate rare capacity for endurance; and "when the basal line forms an acute angle with the lip," gaiety and cheerfulness are constitutional; when a morbidly sensitive person is annoyed, it is common for the inmost edge of the nostril to shrink.

These traits illustrate the emphasis which the nose gives to human expression. A French novelist felicitously recognizes this in describing a personage: '' Ses sourcils bien accuses et son ncz proeminent naccentuaient fortemente sa physionomie."

Mozart once defied a rival composer to play a piece of his composition; and when the baffled musician found a note designated in the centre of the piano while every finger was in requisition at the ends, and declared the feat impossible, Mozart turned the laugh on him by striking it with his nose. Indifferent as people are in the general estimate of noses, they are sensitive enough when the subject becomes personal. How will your "snub," "pug," and "scoop" contest the term applied to their nasal organ in a passport, insisting upon a kindly adjective to designate the shape thereof, although it may cast a doubt of identity!

Perhaps it is because busts, coins, and engravings arc so much more widely distributed than oil-pictures that we have such a distinct idea of the noses of celebrities; while the expression of the eyes and the color of the hair are problematical. Thus every one recognizes Michael Angelo's head, on seal, medal, and plaster cast, by the indentation of his nose inflicted by Torrigiano; and the elongated nose of Dante gives the stem melancholy to his profile which even those unacquainted with his muse instinctively associate with the very name of the Tuscan bard. Human character became complex with the advance of civilization, and noses, in the same ratio, grew eclectic; instead of the arching Roman and the beautiful Greek—one symbolizing power and the other refinement— these traits blended, and were farther modified by the spirited nostril, the broad and the sharp end, and where courage and intellectuality, the sense of beauty and reflective energy, developed in the individual, their noses became more versatile in expression and less identified with the original type. You too can trace in reformers like Luther, in thinkers like Hobbs, in modern bards like Byron, elements of each kind of nose. Chatham and Andrew Jackson had tho nasal sign of authority not less than Casar; but it was essentially modified by the various qualities incident to modern life. It grows more and more difficult to nomenclate noses as it docs to classify character: tables of the length of noses in distinguished men hare been collated, and the average fixed at two and fire-eighths inches. It is easy, at a glance, to note the unimpressive nose of a Chinaman compared with an English scholar of high birth; and a good observer will indicate a Greek trait in Addison's nose and a beastly one in Swift's; show the zest of the hunter in the quivering nostril, and a high repose in the thin texture and graceful curve of the Anglo Saxon dowager. These and other obvious distinctions arc patent; but the refinements of the subject baffle ingenuity as much as when the bridge was made for Tristam Shandy's crushed nose, and Sterne humorously discoursed of Hafen Slawkenbergius de Nasis and the Promontory of Noses.

If we turn from tho beauty to the function, from form to use, we find somewhat of the same depreciatory estimate of the nose. To smell out a thing is a figure of speech which savors of indignity; it hath none of the noble perspicacity of vision or tho delicate significance of touch. Smell is a sense wherein the animals are often our superiors, which may, in a degree, account for this comparative disrespect. If a small nose, and especially a flat or snub, is the facial sign of sensualism or undeveloped intellectuality, as in children and negroes; if turned up and easily inflated nostrils betoken a kindred emptiness of mind; if naivete often coincides with it slight retroussez shape, and a high Roman arch with high perception and vigorous will—these characteristic traits of the nose are leveled by the sense, of which they are incidental accompaniments. This is a common attribute, yet the least vaunted as a distinction of humanity. Even Shylock appeals to eyes and hands, but is silent about noses, whereby his nationality and that of his brethren is so absolutely proclaimed, let as a mere faculty, scent, as in the hound and the savage, is wonderful; in hnman beings, as a warning and a luxury, its office is scarcely appreciated. Acute sensibility to odors is a curious law of some organizations. London beggars snuff up the vapor of kitchens as a nutritive Process; the fragrance of herbs and flowers, of pines and broom, hawthorn and mignionette, is one of the most exquisite phases of that enjoyment which Nature yields her lovers; it is capable of stimulating the brain and blood to delicious consciousness, so that poets and botanists are exhilarated as by rare alchemy, and inhale the aerial wine of life in forests, gardens, and by the sea.

Far nearer to the mind are the latent affinities of this sense than the vulgar know. "The use of incense and perfume in churches," says Montaigne, "so universally received in all nations and religions, was intended to cheer us and to rouse and purify the senses, the better to fit us for contemplation." He also notes as an idiosyncrasy, "Tis not to be believed how all sorts of odors cleave to me." Yet the comparative disregard of this sense is evinced by the subordinate metaphorical rank assigned it. Sydney Smith, in his Moral Philosophy, speaking of the word taste as applied to the feeling of beauty, remarks, "There is no reason that I know of, why it should be compared to sensation excited by taste rather than by smell or touch; one metaphor has established itself, the others have not. We have begun though, of late years, to use the word tact; we say of such a man that he has a good tact in manner, that he has a fine tact, exactly as we would say he has a good taste. We might, in familiar style, extend the metaphor to the sense of smelling, and say of a man that he has a good nose for the ridiculous."

Next to exquisite or profound associations of an individual kind, the greatest ravishment derivable from this sense is when land odors greet the sea-worn voyager. Even the smell of loam wafted over the brine is ecstatic to one famished for a breath of terra firma; but when the drear monotony of a long voyage is broken by its fragrance—such as comes from the spice-groves of Ceylon—sense and soul are transported with a delight only to be realized through long deprivation.

The blind alone appreciate the significance of scent; by it they can distinguish places, persons, and seasons with marvelous accuracy. A patient of Sir Hans Sloane knew persons, fabrics, and almost the succession of time, by smell alone. Even those blessed with perfect vision, if of sensitive temperament, have in this sense a prompter to memory more instant than sight or touch. What dreams of vernal pleasure, youth, love, and sorrow come with the odor of a violet! what dreary, blank reminiscence of tempestuous voyages with the smell of bilge-water! How diverse the sensation awakened by tho air of a boudoir and a hospital! Sandal-wood takes us to the Orient, lavender to the rural households of Old England, frankincense to the temple of prayer, musk to the oppressive salon of fashion, and pine-balsam to the green and grateful forest. A pharmacy and a book-store, glove-shops and upholstery, tan-yards and curriers, pastry-cooks and India rubber, the market and the cobbler's stall—every scene and vocation of human life is as certainly identified by the blind beggar as if he saw their insignia. To the mariner, briny air is magnetic; to the farmer, the scent of kine and hay congenial; in the dandy, artificial perfume, the avant-covrrier of effeminate manners and dainty raiment. The Romans have an inveterate dislike of flowers within doors, as detrimental to health; and the most salubrious of odors are those exhaled in the open air, where the benign chemistry of nature and the purifying ministry of the winds winnow, diffuse, and modify the aerial particles. A French traveler declared that the diverse odors of the London docks enabled him most perfectly to realize the greatness of British commerce, successively inhaling the drugs and perfumes of the East, the saccharine odors of the tropics, the scent of tea, coffee, leather, logwood, rum, corn, indigo, hemp, sulphur, cedar, rhubarb, camphor, coal, rice, cotton, tobacco, etc.—he seemed transported from clime to clime, from argosy to argosy, while wandering over a segment of the banks of the Thames.

With the advent of tobacco the nose attained new consideration; around it curled the fragrant incense of the precious weed, and " pungent grains of titillating dust"' were constantly offered as tribute, and enjoyed as a resource in perplexity, a stimulus when dull, and a medium the most available to start an acquaintance or interchange by-way civilities. Sterne's adventure with the monk at Calais derives its zest from a snuff-box; and old-fashioned politeness found one the means of no little demonstration in salon, diligence, and park. "A nez camard," says Balzac, "grosse tubatierc, est tine hi presqui sans exception." The image of Sir Joshua is not more associated with his portraits of contemporaries than that of himself in Goldsmith's line, as

"he shifted his trumpet and only took snuff" It is difficult to imagine what gift royalty could substitute for jeweled snuff-boxes.
"Who would have thought it.
Noses could have bought it?"
was the tobacconist's motto on his carriage panel. What touches of characterization were derived by Cooke from his Jewish nose in Shylock, and his snuff-taking in Sir Pertinax! As a bridge for spectacles this contemned feature also gained importance; but Art and Character are the normal bases whereby, from the Elgin marbles to Lavater, and from Cromwell to Punch, it gradually rose to legitimate significance.

That fine description of the horse in the Book of Job declares, "the glory of his nostrils is terrible;" and it is no accidental coincidence that the most sagacious of quadrupeds is furnished with the most adaptive and remarkable proboscis. The Lord Hamlet spoke of nosing old Polonius after having spitted him behind the arras; Jacques describes the tears running down "the innocent nose" of the stag. "Your nose says no" retorts another Shakspearian character. "Bloody noses" and "cracked crowns" were the insignia of a row, and "spectacles on nose" a badge of senile justice. Seldom in the early drama does the nose figure with dignity; poetic terms expend themselves on eyes, lips, and hair, on form and complexion; and commonplace, or comic ideas are usually blended with every reference to the nose. It is curious that the only two famous Swedish women who have visited our shores—Jenny Lind and Miss Bremer—have peculiarly ugly noses. In regard to the former, however, physiologists declare that the broad nostril and flat ridge are favorable to the high notes of a soprano voice.

An English banker had a favorite terrier who daily accompanied him to the office and remained coiled up on a mat near the desk until the dinner hour, when he jogged home at his master's heels. At a certain hour, one morning, the banker observed that his dog had disappeared, and, after a while, returned to his post; and this happened regularly for weeks. Prompted by a wish to ascertain the occasion of this sudden and periodical change in the dog's habits, he one day followed him cautiously at a distance. No man of business threaded the bustling streets with a more determined aim than the terrier; he looked neither to the right nor to the left, but made his way by the most direct route to Hyde Park; and there, under a certain tree, met a dozen other dogs, of all sizes and species, who appeared to roach the rendezvous nearly simultaneously. After smelling at and round each other for twenty minutes, they, as if by mutual consent, dispersed, each apparently as intent on reaching his domicile as the terrier. The banker used to tell this anecdote as a satire on clubs, declaring these canine meetings were as punctually held, and to as little obvious purpose, as the conclaves of modern philosophers.

Civilization might be not inaptly mapped by odors; from the exquisite perfumeries of the French capital, and the aroma of Eastern bazaars, to the nauseous exhalations of an Irish cabin, there is, the same difference of olfactory impressions as the scenes produce on the visual nerves. "What favorable impression," asks Dr. Kane, in describing the Esquimaux, '' that the mind gets through other channels can contend against the information of the nose ?—organ of the aristocracy; critic and magistcr morum of all civilization; censor that needs neither argument nor remonstrance — the nose, alas! bids me record that, to all their possible godliness, cleanliness is not added." Local associations are, indeed, linked most intimately with sound and vision. A familiar aria, or an engraved copy of a famous picture, and especially photographic views of buildings and landscapes, revive our memories of travel with extraordinary minuteness. Still the associations connected with odors are more personal and vivid. There is a peculiar incense which lingers in Roman churches; a certain piny fragrance exhaled from the room-doors in Florence; a musky perfume that floats from shops in the Palais Royal; a smell of garlic about peasants, of snuff about priests, of flowers on a spring day in the Campagna, of apple-blossoms and burning brush, magnolias or new-mown hay in New England rural places; and other identical odors peculiar to the spots where we have dwelt that cling to memory, and blend with subtle power in our reminiscence—which a recurrence of the scent instantly awakens.

So aware were the Paris beauties of this law of association, that they sought and used a peculiar perfume the better to separate themselves, and make distinct their personal charms to the memory of their lovers. Well says a native hard—
"Strong in some natures In the nasal sense;
To them each odor hath its eloquence;
With some Remembrance holds her secret reign
In the proboscis rather than the brain;
While in more stolid ones, of ruder make,
Scarcely could onions an emotion wake."

Whoever has descended into the clean hold of a clipper ship fresh from China inhales such an aroma of tea and sandal-wood that a vision of the whole Celestial Empire — its pagodas, silks, lanterns, flowers, boats, and mandarins— is stamped on the brain. Attar of rose breathes of the Arabian Nights; and scented amulets of the gardens of Damascus; and Cologne abroad is a synonym for refreshing perfume, and at home of the exhalations of filthy streets; the odor of the pine, the violet, geraniums, immortels, orange-blossoms, and sea-weed are so many talismans of nationality, pilgrimage, and love to earth's sensitive vagabonds.

Peppermints by Walter Prichard Eaton

Peppermints by Walter Prichard Eaton

The Redolent World by Ellen Burns Sherman

The Redolent World by Ellen Burns Sherman

Strewing Herbs, Flowers and Rushes

Strewing Herbs, Flowers and Rushes

Lilacs by N. Hudson Moore

Lilacs by N. Huson Moore

The Herb Gatherer by A. Nicol Simpson

The Herb Gatherer by A. Nicol Simpson

"O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities."

—Shakespeare.

HOME say that the earth gives an herb for every ill that flesh is heir to, but that the treatment and application is to a great extent a sealed art. The herbalist who walks the shires on foot, plucking the stems and flowers, and digging the rootlets of wayside weeds, believes that this is an unconfuted fact. No man knows the countryside better, from a botanical point of view, than does this collector of herbs. Few can discourse with deeper earnestness on the virtues of the flowers of the Held. He knows little of bird-life outside the fact that some of them feed on groundsel. When walking, bent in body and hands full of hemlock and dandelion, he often starts a company of finches by the roadway, and presently observes a long strip of groundsel running by the base of the feal dyke. This herb he formerly sold as a remedy against chickenpox, but in modern times the town's folk seem to be somewhat suspicious of its virtues, and prefer the shop-prescriptions. Woodruff and ashbark essence, tones the disordered stomach, while woodbine works a certain cure on the liver when sluggish and feeble. It is well known that the juice of the dandelion is good for the blood, but it is also a help in many external troubles. The herbalist will carry marsh-mallows home for his patients vexed by gravel disorders, and the pimpernel for restoring impaired eyesight and such delicate purposes.

Long ago dropsy was said to give way under the influence of the foxglove cure, but the herbalist affirms that the proper manipulation of the plant was only known to a few. Many of our older matrons still apply hemlock poultices to stiff joints and rheumatic portions of the human body. In such cases as influenza and diseases of the lungs great benefit may be gained from the common coltsfoot weed. Those facts I learned from this wanderer, this searcher after the medicinal properties of vegetation.

The herb-gatherer is more than a mere collector of plants for financial gain. How much of tradition and legend can he traced backwards from the old man searching the footpaths and byeways? How much of the modern physician's art dates from a worm-eaten herbal, that can only be found now in some cottage remote from civilization? But medicine goes beyond the issue of that herbal, and the botanist, riding his shanks-naigie through the countrysides, is but a remnant of an older reign of things. What of the old lady's lotion as an eyecure, the old gardener's secret ointment for cuts and bruises, and the schoolboy's dockleafs rubbed on the blisters from a stinging nettle? That is older than herbalist and herbal. One thinks of goat's milk and wine, saffron, rosewater and fine herbs, when the renowned spring—down the scaur—exactly thirteen paces from the kirk-door, was as the pool of Siloam. The sages, seers, and rulers of the middle ages possessed wonderful knowledge, and judging them as they stand afar off, we confess to their comparatively deep understanding. There was no lack of imaginative genius, while the penetrative vision was intensely acute. Yet in our modern day we shun them if we could; we despise the men who struggled with things and thoughts in primitive times. We even distrust the weed-gatherer to-day. Yet we know not why. Granted he may in some instances be wrong in his contentions regarding the curative properties of his favourite flowers, yet we should do him the justice that he is honest in his intentions.

In one of his antique books on herbs there is this romantic myth: "Pluck up lettuce with the left hand before the sun rising and lay it under the covering of a sick man's bed, he not knowing thereof, to cause him to sleep." hut the herbalist of to-day does not give credence to the old world adage. His faith is pinned to modern science, and he worships the human frame as the very groundwork of his studies.

His predecessors had no books to guide them, no newspaper jottings to cut and present in fresher robes, no halls wherein they might sit and listen to the wisdom of the hour. Their sole reliance was self, and their individual sympathies were drawn out towards the weeds and grasses. They culled their lessons by the ditch-side and upon the hill-face—alone. They looked for no reward save the cure of human disease and the heart-healing that was their own.

We do not accord the herbalist the credit due unto his name. Ask a gamekeeper, a farmer, a forester, a gardener, or any toiler in the fields, about the flora of their districts, and it will be found the knowledge is not in them. The farmer will likely say his grandmother andd a queer notion of gathering some herb by the burnside for some ideal remedy, but he forgets the name of the flower and the ailment too. The gardener sees the kine plucking the alder leaves, and he eats the hawthorn in a disinterested fashion himself. The haymakers suck the lower portions of the grasses, and the reapers nibble at the wheat-stems. Yet there is no thought flashing through the brain that the act is beneficial even in the smallest degree. The man who passes down the fields, climbing the palings and peering into the corners of the woods, bent on herb-gathering, draws a handful of sorrel leaves, and, chewing them, realizes the medicinal value instantly. There is thought in the latter-—the brain is idle in the former. Many a rural dweller would imagine it a form of insanity to speak of the disused lime-kiln being the nursery of a weed that a city pharmacist would gloat over. A lime-kiln is simply a vast heap of stones built into the hill-side but the weeds on the mound and the ferns in the riven walls have no special attraction to the ploughman. If you reach his level and conjecture why a lime-kiln should be placed in such a desolate region, far from quarry and railway, his brain immediately acts. There has been labour involved, carts have gone down the slope, men have sat at dinner-time to eat their bread and bannocks and drink their flaskfuls of milk. There has been human life once— human hands—wages earned. This grasp of the subject comes readily to the labourer. The ploughman uses shanks-naigie more than any individual in the shires, and yet, generally speaking, he sees less of actual beauty than the weaver on a brief rural holiday. Strange although it seems, I can point to men of outstanding ability as rearers of stock, contractors, and the like, who have spent sixty years outside village, town, and city, yet who would decline to take any interest in a beautiful bud fallen from an over-hanging branch. Their world is an iron-bound one—stern and real and all-important. They don't walk like the herbalist up the ditch-sides and through the woods. Life cannot be wasted by such frivolous strolls and country walks. They rush down the turnpikes, from farm to farm to markets and trysts, with a golden image seen dimly in the distant haze. The herbalist need not tell them that licorice-root chewed, will relieve their heart-burn. Perhaps they would try its effect with a stoical distrust. If they do, it is taken merely to enable them to get away from an irritating trouble and allow their minds to grapple more freely with the problems of commerce. There is no halting, no considering, no analyzing of the herb with hopes of future relief to themselves and others. It is no matter to them whether sages praised almonds, figs, horehound, ivy, lavender, or apples. Custom furnishes their tables, and they regulate their stomachs— not from Nature, but from the code written in the latest work on culinary art. Many people keep an apple and a biscuit in their pockets when out for a lengthened time. It is the ordinary thing to do. Apples are easily thrown in the pocket with a biscuit, and if they are not needed they can be given to a herd-boy. Few stop to reason the matter out like the herbalist. They know that existence is based on passing a certain amount of nourishing food into the body, and they have heard that apples are a good lunch, but they are densely ignorant of the craving wants of muscular life, or the balms spread over the surface of the earth. They might believe you, but as readily not, that astringent, sourish pippins will cool an over-heated stomach. They simply devour them because they are hungry, nnd when hunger is upon them apples are as good as anything else.

The majority of Scotsmen do not value leeks, lettuce, watercress, mushrooms, and other growths, as they might with advantage to bodily health. There is much more in vegetarianism than people imagine. It is not considered on its merits—indeed, it is the want of this consideration that makes us a highly carnivorous nation. Look on the bright side of nature, where the sun shines. Renew the blood with a freshness from the juice of the lettuce. Find sound sleep under the influence of the tonic, and keep the mind open in the broad acres of the shires. Worry kills the internal machinery, damages the brain, and wrecks the nervous system. It kills thousands, but work cannot slay. The herbalist strives hard five-and-a-half days a week to earn a living: the other portions of the week are free and given over to contemplation on his shanks-naigie. The healing balm of his leisure hours covers the sores and cuts of a week's toil. Yet when he dismounts his nag he will have done more actual, lasting service to his kind than many a man who later will have honours cut upon his tombstone. He lives a life of pleasure, and works every waking moment of his existence. He is not killed by worry, hates, jealousies, and fears. Work only chisels out its years upon his brow to mark the time he breathes.

Strolling weekly through the fields, he lives a life of health. The bloom of his cheek is vigorous, painted by nature with the blood-tints of sturdy manhood. It is over a score of years since I saw this man, but he is as present to me now as he was when I conversed with him by the roadside. I can walk down a lane, sit down at the dyke-side, and write its life-history. Twenty years will make no difference. In my sketches I have rewritten what I can rewrite to-day. A moving figure, a bairn paddling in the burn, a beggar, a landscape—all and everything I have seen comes to me fresh and fair as on the day I looked at it. I have no memory, either. I would forget to buy a bootlace, but I see that old weed gatherer that gave me the notes on medicinal flowers. I loved the flowers then, and I do so still, but no matter how much I write about them, I feel I have failed to paint the primrose in ink. That is it! A primrose is soft yellow, clear as the outward rays of early morn. Ink is dark, and is so patent in its realness. A flower sways on its stalk, but it will not bend although painted in oils. The sun forms an oasis of beauty round the mayflower, and there is the stamp of originality instantly. I look upon ic and it wastes its loveliness again and again, but I cannot say in earthly language where the loveliness exists. It blooms there as I repass, but in a different mood, for the hour is when the sun is sinking. There is an inexpressible delicacy about the flowers that leaves much to be written or painted. Write a year, and it will remain unsaid. Paint a lifetime, and the feebleness of the representation will he in the signature, if nor. on the broader canvas. It is undeniable. Man cannot move the heavens, nor find out the magic secret of earth. There is so much—the space is so wide—it is boundless on either side, beneath and above. The whole universe, working diligently from the hour of birth until death, would not record the simple outline of one field. Thus it is I write and write, and must too, for the spirit moves me, and with my love-pen scroll petals only—seeds merely—in the vast plain. 1 have birds and beasts and human beings moving before me. My mind is fixed upon a countryside, and I see in the shadow of my hand, under the lamp-light, the lovely insects on the grass-stems, the swallows high in the clear noon-sky, the rooks and the heron by the wood. I see them all and many more, and could write on and on until the shadows ceased their march and the morning streaks again cut up the landscape in light. My hero the herb-gatherer I see moving over the further hill, a dim mark upon the distant grass-lands. I can call him back to life and speak with him again, but he will not answer. The notes I got then are the only items he will favour me with, but still I know his gait, his face, the garments he wore, and the man's individuality. He is before me until I drop this sheet upon the floor to dry. When it floats and settles, my mind leaves the herbalist whom the boys nicknamed " Shanks-naigie." My mind draws a screen between, and looks again upon that mayflower in the ditch.

Sense of Smell References

Anatomy Coloring Workbook
By I. Edward Alcamo, Princeton Review, John Bergdahl



Follow Your Nose: Discover Your Sense of Smell
By Vicki Cobb, Cynthia Lewis


The five senses of man
By Julius Bernstein


The Sense of Smell Institute

The Sense of Smell



The Smell Report
The human sense of smell



The Mystery of Smell:
The Vivid World of Odors


General Anatomy and Physiology


smelling video



Smell Receptors



Incense in Christianity

A history of the use of incense in divine worship
By Edward Godfrey Cuthbert Frederic Atchley



The new Westminster dictionary of liturgy and worship
By Paul Bradshaw



Scenting salvation: ancient Christianity and ..., Volume 978, Issues 520-24143
By Susan Ashbrook Harvey


The Offering of the Morning & Evening Incense

Signs of Life: 40 Catholic Customs and Their Biblical Roots
By Scott Hahn


The Encyclopedia of Eastern Orthodox Christianity, Volume 1
By John Anthony McGuckin



The case for incense
By Henry Westall



Incense in Ante-Nicene
Christianity



Liturgy and Life: The Use of Incense in Church
by Rev. Fr. Theodore Ziton

Incense in Buddhism


 The Blue Medicine Buddha

Buddhist Incense in Japan

Khandro Net

Ultimate Chill Out Buddha Video - Buddhism and Incense - Ludovico Einaudi

Chinese Buddhist monastic chants
edited by Pi-Yen Chen


The Book of Incense: Enjoying the Traditional Art of Japanese Scents
By Kiyoko Morita


The impact of Buddhism on Chinese material culture
By John Kieschnick



Chinese Buddhism: a volume of sketches, historical, descriptive and critical
By Joseph Edkins


Buddhism in the Sung
edited by Peter N. Gregory, Daniel Aaron Getz


The Silk Road in World History
By Xinru Liu



The handbook of Tibetan Buddhist symbols
By Robert Beer


Zen ritual: studies of Zen Buddhist theory in practice
By Steven Heine, Dale Stuart Wright



Tibetan Buddhist medicine and psychiatry: the diamond healing
By Terry Clifford


Notes on the ethnology of Tibet: based on the collections in the U.S ... By William Woodville Rockhill


Tibetan ritual
By José Ignacio Cabezón


The origins of Buddhist monastic codes in China: an annotated translation ...
By Yifa, Zongze


The Practice of Chinese Buddhism, 1900-1950
By Holmes Welch


Japanese Rinzai Zen Buddhism: Myōshinji, a living religion
By Jørn Borup



Buddhist Art in Its Relation to Buddhist Ideals
By M Anesaki


H.H. the 14th Dalai Lama about Incense Offering

Can the Sustainable Harvesting and Marketing of Incense Plants Contribute to Livelihood of the Laya People/Bhutan

Can the Sustainable Harvesting and Marketing of Incense Plants Contribute to Livelihood of the Laya People/Bhutan

Nutmeg and mace

Nutmeg and mace

Nutmeg and mace are two different parts of the same fruit of the nutmeg tree, Myristica
fragrans Houtt. (Myristicaceae). The nutmeg tree is indigenous to the Banda islands in
the Moluccas. The species of the genus Myristica are distributed from India and South-
East Asia to North Australia and the Pacific Islands. Sinclair (1958) listed a total of 72
species distributed in these areas. The major nutmeg growing areas are Indonesia and
Grenada (West Indies). It is also grown on a smaller scale in Sri Lanka, India, China,
Malaysia, Western Sumatra, Zanzibar, Mauritius and the Solomon Islands.

Incense in Japan in old literature-Part 1

Japanese art motives
By Maude Rex Allen


The living age, Volume 201
By Eliakim Littell, Robert S. Littell


The Magazine of art, Volume 5
edited by Marion Harry Spielmann


Japanese women
By Japan. Japanese Woman's Commission for the World's Columbian Exposition


The theosophist, Volume 22
By Theosophical Society (Madras, India)



Romance of old Japan
By Elizabeth Williams Champney, Frère Champney


Current literature, Volume 21

Tales of old Japan, Volume 1
By Baron Algernon Bertram Freeman-Mitford Redesdale


Japan and her people, Volume 2
By Anna C. Hartshorne



Japan, its history, arts and literature, Volume 3
By Frank Brinkley



Japan as seen and described by famous writers
edited by Esther Singleton


Japan day by day, 1877, 1878-79, 1882-83, Volume 2
By Edward Sylvester Morse


The floral art of Japan: being a second and revised edition of the flowers ...
By Josiah Conder



The way of the gods in Japan
By Hope Huntly



Unbeaten tracks in Japan: an account of travels in the interior ..., Volume 1
By Isabella Lucy Bird


Jinrikisha days in Japan
By Eliza Ruhamah Scidmore

Incense and Incense Plants in the Native American Tradition

Handbook of American Indians north of Mexico, Volume 1
edited by Frederick Webb Hodge


The religious spirit of the American Indian
By Hartley Burr Alexander



North American Indians: being letters and notes on their manners ..., Volume 1
By George Catlin


The Quarterly journal of the Society of American Indians, Volume 2
By Society of American Indians


To the American Indian
By Lucy Thompson


American Indian life
edited by Elsie Worthington Clews Parsons


Ceremonial bundles of the Blackfoot Indians
By Clark Wissler



Uses of plants by the Indians of the Missouri River region
By Melvin Randolph Gilmore


The Old North trail: or, Life, legends and religion of the Blackfeet Indians
By Walter McClintock



The religion of the Crow Indians
By Robert Harry Lowie



Societies of the Plains Indians
edited by Clark Wissler


North American Indian by Edward S. Curtis

Sweetgrass, Cedar and Sage


Smudge Herbs


Desert Sage – Sage Smudging and History

The Smudging Ceremony


Use of Sweetgrass in Medicine and Ceremony

Smudging and the Four Sacred Medicines

Making Sense of Smell: Manufacturing of Incense in Japan

Making Sense of Smell: Manufacturing of Incense in Japan

JOSS STICK MANUFACTURING: A STUDY OF A TRADITIONAL INDUSTRY IN HONG KONG

JOSS STICK MANUFACTURING: A STUDY OF A TRADITIONAL INDUSTRY IN HONG KONG

Star Anise-Essential Oil Extended Profile

Star Anise(Illicium verum)-Essential Oil Extended Profile

The essential oil of Star Anise (Illicium verum) is a clear white to pale yellow liquid with a intensely sweet, spicy-aromatic, licorice-like bouquet with good tenacity.

In natural perfumery it can be used in apothecary perfumes, aryurvedic creations, culinary notes and in trace amounts can add an excellent fresh, spicy(licorice) sweetness to amber accords, musk notes, earthy accords, chypre, fougere, colognes, spice accords, incense notes

It is a valued constituent in traditional Chinese and Japanese incense

China and Vietnam are the main producers of star anise essence.
Incense Making

Blends well with:
amber eo
amyris wood eo
angelica root eo, co2 and abs
aruacaria eo
balsam peru eo and abs
basil eo, co2 and abs
benzoin absolute
birch sweet eo
birch tar eo
bois de rose/rosewood eo
bucchu leaf eo
cabreuva eo
cade eo
cananga eo
cedarwood eo and abs
champaca absolute
choya loban
choya nakh
choya ral
copaiba balsam eo
caraway seed eo and co2
carrot seed eo, co2 and abs
cascarilla eo
cassia bark eo and co2
cinnamon bark eo, co2 and abs
clove bud eo, co2 and abs
davana eo and abs
dill eo and co2
elemi eo
eucalyptus eo's
fennel sweet eo and co2
fenugreek eo, co2 and abs
fir balsam abs
galangal eo and co2
ginger eo, co2 and abs
gurjun balsam eo
hop eo and co2
howood eo
ho leaf eo
hyssop eo
kewda ruh
laurel leaf eo and abs
lavender eo, co2 and abs
lemongrass eo
lovage eo and co2
lime eo
litsea cubeba eo
mace eo, co2 and abs
muhuhu eo
myrrh eo and co2
myrtle eo
naiouli eo
nutmeg eo, co2 and abs
opoponax eo and abs
orange sweet eo
orange bitter eo
osmanthus abs
siam woood eo
spikenar eo
styrax eo and abs
tarragon eo and abs
tumeric eo and co2
vanilla bean abs
verbena eo and abs
vetiver eo, co2 and abs
violet leaf abs
wintergreen eo
ylang eo, co2 and abs

Specific Gravity : 0.97800 to 0.98800 @ 25.00 °C.
Pounds per Gallon - (est). : 8.138 to 8.221
Refractive Index : 1.54820 to 1.56220 @ 20.00 °C.
Optical Rotation : -2.00 to +1.00
Flash Point : 182.00 °F. TCC ( 83.33 °C. )


Perfumes with Anise Scent in them

Allspice/Pimento Berry Field Report

Allspice/Pimento Berry Field Report

On a recent early morning in Kingston, I met up with one of Jamaica’s major allspice collectors, who works directly with the local farmers. He brought me to the parish of Portland to see the crop firsthand. Allspice grows wild in all 14 parishes of Jamaica, with St. Ann, St. Elizabeth and Portland being the largest growers. We traveled over two-lane roads, following the coastline. To our left, we could see the deep green color of the lush Blue Mountains. To our right were the clear aqua waters of the Caribbean Sea....

Classification of odours and odorants

Classification of odours and odorants

Orris Root from Sketches on the old road through France to Florence By Alexander Henry Hallam Murray

Orris Root from Sketches on the old road through France to Florence By Alexander Henry Hallam Murray
ORRIS-ROOT


One of the beauties of these Florentine hills is the orris, and it is not only beautiful, but the country gentlemen aforesaid find it very profitable in a good season. It is the root of this plant which forms the basis of all scents, and "the trade" cannot get on without it. Why, I know not; but "the trade" has elected to quote this featherweight article by the ton. A fair average price for a ton of orris-root is jC5°- ^n 1892 as much as ^120 a ton was paid; in 1898—a bad year—as little as £26. But it will be seen that the orris can be a very important flower to the dwellers in this part of the Garden of Italy. The only orris which is in any way serviceable in the manufacture of perfumery grows in the neighbourhood of Florence and the neighbourhood of Verona. It is odd that two districts, so dissimilar and so far apart, should produce the like rare treasure. I cannot account for it, but that the districts are dissimilar in appearance let the accompanying sketch of the country round Verona suffice to demonstrate without further comment.

The orris is the Iris Florentina, called by the Italians Giaggiolo. Of course there are plenty of other irises in the world: they are pretty to look at and pleasant to smell, but quite useless to "the trade." It is therefore necessary to distinguish between iris and orris; all orris is iris, but notall iris is orris. The flower of the Iris Florentina is white and sweet-smelling. It flourishes to greatest advantage in a stony soil, limestone by preference, and has a natural fancy for being planted upon the low, rough stone walls with which these hills are terraced. It takes two years and even three years —all depends upon the nature of the soil—for theroot tocome to the size andconditionrequired by "the trade." When the root or rhizome is dug up, four or five fresh-looking shoots are found growing out of it. These are detached and planted so as to form the new orris beds. The root itself is peeled and dried in the sun, when it becomes white, and is found to emit an odour of sweetest violets. The usual harvesting time is in the latter half of June.

Human ingenuity has fashioned a number of curious articles out of the root. I have made no secret of my fondness for prying into Tuscan industries: as there is not a scrap of literature on this subject except an official report, will the reader bear with me if I place on record some account of it in this volume?

I need say nothing of the fine, soft, white powder into which orris-root is ground, for that is done all the world over, but have you ever heard of orris-root beads? That, as you will see, is a sufficiently surprising industry. In Italian the beads are called palline, and in French boules (firis. These beads have nothing to do with bracelets or necklaces. The medical men of France and Italy a hundred years ago were of the opinion that the best means of curing certain diseases of the blood was to keep a constant open wound in the body of the sufferer, usually in the arm, but sometimes also in the leg. A small cut was lanced, say in the arm; a small ivory ball was forced into it so as to make a rounded hole, and into this hole one of these orris-root beads was daily inserted so as to keep the wound constantly open. Orris-root dilates in a liquid substance: that seems to have been the reason for its adoption in this singular branch of surgery. The wound was then covered with a raised wire-grated bandage, so as to prevent irritation from the patient's clothes. An heroic remedy truly, and many an arm is said to have been perpetually withered by this drastic treatment. The beads are made in about twenty-two different sizes, and not so many years ago something like twenty millions of them were exported every year from Leghorn. Even now the annual export is quite four millions. Modern science has, of course,entirely condemned the system, but the figure of export is evidence that it still prevails, and largely too. Allot 365 beads to each sufferer, and the Leghorn export shows that about eleven thousand people in the year are still submitted to the treatment. More than this, at Paris, the centre of civilisation, there is also a workshop for the manufacture of these beads with a large output, so that probably twenty thousand patients every year still undergo this old-fashioned heroic remedy. Almost the whole of the Leghorn export goes to Lyons, and it must therefore be by French peasants that the treatment is mainly adopted. The practice has died out in Italy, but it is still not uncommon to meet old people who have been subjected to it in their childhood and youth.

Another curious article made from the root is the dentaruolo, or orris-root "finger" (French, hochet pour dentition]. These fingers are flat and oval-shaped, and vary in length from two and a half to four inches. They are simply used in place of the old-fashioned coral. Not only do they serve the purpose of assisting teething, but the very slight quantity of juice absorbed in the process of sucking is said to be an excellent digestive. The idea is German, "fingers" having first been made at Ebingen in Wurtemberg about twenty years ago. I do not know who the originator was, or whether the idea has obtained the approval of any of the great German doctors, but the manufacture is considerable. Quite half a million are sent from Leghorn every year to Germany, France, and even to the enlightened United States of America. England alone holds back, but some day, perhaps, we shall see the coral disappear from our nurseries, and the orris-root finger take its time-honoured place.

Then orris-root reduced to fine grains also has its uses. These grains are prettily coloured blue, red, green or purple, simply to look nice, and sent away to Germany and Austria, where it is the custom to throw them in handfuls upon the fire so as to give an agreeable odour to salons and entrance halls. Now that the system of flats is coming so much into vogue in England, this form of orrisroot might be found very useful. Some people, in their London flats, burn cedar-wood to take away the smell of cooking. Surely the orris-root, which simply suggests sweet-smelling flowers, would be the preferable of the two?

Orris-root in the form of tiny chips (Italian, ritagli; French, dockets) also serves a practical purpose. The South German and Austrian, and, I think, the Russian gentry, make their servants and dependants chew it so as to remove the smell of tobacco or garlic. It is only another form of the United States practice of chewing odoriferous gums. One of the trials of foreign travel to the unseasoned Englishman is to be shaved by a barber who has been eating garlic. I recommend him to travel with a supply of orris-root ddchets, and he will always be in a position to offer a remedy.

Finally, all the filings and shavings of the orrisroot (Italian, raspature; French, rapures) which are produced in making these articles also have a use.

They are converted into a strong liquid essence. Three tons of shavings will make about two pounds of essence. The essence is responsible for the bouquet in much wine, the bitter in some beer, and the savour of several syrups. When wine is made from grapes which have grown alongside the orrisbeds, it has a flavour that many palates find delicious: the powerful scent of the rhizomes has entered the sap of the vines and perfumed it. But it is said that a few drops of the manufactured essence will produce a precisely similar effect.

I have thought that it might interest the reader to know how many and how curious are the uses to which the root of the white flower that he has admired so often on these hills is put. But if he desire to see these things in the making he must turn aside for a space from the old road through France to Florence, and visit the great harbour of the Tyrrhenian sea. There was once a workshop in Florence; the only one now left in Tuscany is that of Madame Felice Loraux, at Leghorn. Here, too, he will see the industry to the best advantage. The beads are made at Paris, the "fingers" in Wurtemberg, the root is ground to powder all the world over; but it is only in Madame Loraux' workshop in Leghorn where all the various forms of worked orris-root may be seen in full activity under the roof of one and the same establishment.*