Meanwhile the potent drug boiled in the bronze kettle and leapt and whitened in the swelling froth. She threw in roots cut in Thessalian valley and seeds and blossoms and pungent spices. She added pebbles secured from the remote East and sands washed by the refluent Ocean stream. She added too the frost caught in the full moon and the baleful wings of a screech-owl together with the flesh itself, and the entrails of a werewolf wont to change its animal form into a man. Nor was there lacking the scaly skin of a water-serpent, the liver of a living stag. In addition, she threw in the head of a crow nine centuries old. By these and a thousand other unspeakable means she planned to delay the destined function of Tartarus. With a dry twig of long softened olive she stirred all the ingredients together, turning them over from top to bottom. Behold now the old twig stirring in the boiling kettle first turned green, and presently put forth leaves, and suddenly became loaded with heavy olives. But wherever the fire belched out foam from the hollow kettle and the drops fell hot on the ground, the soil grew fresh, and flowers and soft grass sprang up. As soon as she beheld this sight, with drawn sword Medea pierced the aged man’s throat and, allowing the old blood to exude, filled the spot with juices. After Aeson had drunk them, either with his lips or through his wound, his beard and hair, shedding their greyness, quickly assumed a dark color. The emaciation vanished, and the pallor and decay disappeared, and the hollow wrinkles were filled up in the fresh body, and the limbs grew rapidly. Aeson stood amazed, recalling that this was how he was forty years back. * * * * * Petronius, who belongs in the first century A.D., produced a remarkable novel entitled _The Satyricon_, in which he describes an instance of renewed virility by means of witchcraft: “This is the custom, Sir,” said she, “and chiefly of this City, where the women are skill’d in Magick-charms, enough to make the Moon confess their power, therefore the recovery of any useful Instrument of Love becomes their care; ’tis only writing some soft tender things to my Lady, and you make her happy in a kind return. For ’tis confest, since her Disappointment, she has not been her self.” I readily consented, and calling for Paper, thus addrest myself: