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Updated: May 9, 2025
I asked, watching the ruddy old face peering into the sack. "I guess it might, if Cliff told 'em they'd have to lay or eat it, judgin' from the smell that sample's put in my bag." "Not as sweet as this?" I suggested, and leaned across to lay the pomander in his gnarled hand. The familiar expression of acute, almost greedy pleasure flowed into his face.
But one evening a pedlar woman came to the castle and was selling trinkets to the maids. She had no heart for trinkets, but she stood looking on while the women made their choice. And then, she did not know how, but the pedlar coaxed her into buying for herself an odd pear-shaped pomander with a strong scent in it she had once seen something of the kind on a gypsy woman.
And without more ado, the courtier in lace seized the manuscript pages, placed them in his breast with his ruffled hand over his heart, executed a most gracious wave of the hat with the disengaged hand, and smiled and bowed out of the room, leaving an odor of pomander behind him.
Here diplomacy was not policy, for, as my sagacious reader has perhaps divined, Sir Charles Pomander was after her himself. YES, Sir Charles was after Mrs. Woffington. I use that phrase because it is a fine generic one, suitable to different kinds of love-making. Mr. Vane's sentiments were an inexplicable compound; but respect, enthusiasm, and deep admiration were the uppermost.
All at once, by no means to Maude's gratification, the lady chose to rise and walk across the room to her corner. "And what name hast thou, little maid?" she asked, with a light swing of her golden pomander the vinaigrette of the Middle Ages. Maude had become very tired of being asked her name, the more so since it was the manner in which strangers usually opened negotiations with her.
"'Captain Penfeather, says he, 'Your most dutiful, humble ha, let me parish but here is curst reek o' tar! with which, Martin, he claps a jewelled pomander to the delicate nose of him.
Vane the good, the decent, the churchgoer Mr. Vane, whom Mrs. Woffington had selected to improve her morals Mr. Vane was a married man! As soon as Pomander had drawn his breath and realized this discovery, he darted upstairs, and with all the demure calmness he could assume, told Mr.
To make a sweet Smell. Take the Maste of a sweet Apple-tree, being gathered betwixt the two Lady-dayes, and put to it a quarter of Damask Rose-water, & dry it in a dish in an Oven; wet in drying two or three times with Rose-water, then put to it an ounce of Benjamin, an ounce of Storax Calamintæ: these Gums being beaten to powder, with a few leaves of Roses, then you may put what cost of Smells you will bestow, as much Civet or Ambergreese, and beat it altogether in a Pomander or a Bracelet.
From the pomander box smaller receptacles were evolved, and more elaborately prepared scents were kept in them. Some of the preparations consisted of camphor, mint, rosemary, and lavender in vinegar, a piece of sponge being saturated with the liquid. Then came the use of aromatic vinegar, and gradually beautiful little silver vinaigrettes were introduced.
These things would be monstrous, if they were not common; incredible, if we did not see them every day. But this poor fellow, whom probably she deceives as well as you, is not to be sacrificed like a dog to your unjust wrath; he is as superior to her as you are to him." "I will commit no violence," said Vane. "I still hope she is innocent." Pomander smiled, and said he hoped so too.
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