Oh, night and Dian who with true And friendly eyes my purpose view, And guardian silence keep whilst I My secret orgies safely ply, Assist me now, now on my foes With all your wrath celestial close. In the same ode Horace details many witch-customs, which serve to mirror the witch superstitions of the time:-- Canidia with dishevelled hair, And short crisp vipers coiling there Beside a fire of Colchos stands And her attendant hags commands. For her fire she makes use of fig-trees torn from dead men's sepulchres, cypress, eggs rubbed over with the envenomed gore of "filthy toads," screech-owl's plumes, evil herbs, and fleshless bones snatched by a witch from the jaws of starving dogs. The smell from such cookery must have been deadly enough in itself to kill any number of victims, even though it does not altogether explain why she bites her long, sharp, unpared thumb-nail while brewing her deadly potion. However universal in its appeal, love was by no means the only disease for which witchcraft provided its remedy. According to Cato, for example, dislocation of a joint could be cured by the utterance of the following charm:-- Motas, danata, daries, dardaries, astataries. To which Pliny adds that it must be used in conjunction with split reeds, a prudent suggestion enough. From him also we may learn particulars of other charms in common use. Love-philtres were composed of wild parsnip or mandrake, while the external application of asses' fat mixed with gander grease was a means of making certainty more sure. Amateur gardeners with a taste for early rising may be interested to know of a cure for the caterpillar pest:--A woman (presumably the gardener's wife) is to walk at a particular season round the tree affected before sunrise, ungirt and barefoot. And so on, a remedy being provided for all the ills that flesh is heir to.