Atramentum, quo scribimus, e fuligine taedarum collecta conficitur. In singulas gummi uncias ternae fuliginis unciae adjiciuntur. Fit etiam e resinae fuligine et pictoria illa modo dicta. Hujus fuliginis autem sumi oportet minam unam, gummi sesquilibram, taurini glutinis et chalcanthi singulorum sesquiunciam. Idoneum est ad septica; et confert ambustis ex aqua paullo crassius inunctum et tamdiu dimissum, donec cicatrix obducatur, sanatis nimirum ulceribus sponte sua excidit. Atque jam, carissime Aree, tum pro operis modo, quem proposueramus, tum pro materiae auxiliorumque copia, quam colligere licuit, hucusque dicta sufficiant. Libri quinti et ultimi de Materia Medica finis. Pedanii Dioscoridis Anazarbei De Materia Medica. [TRANSLATION.] [The] “INK with which we write is composed of the soot of torches, collected. “To each ounce of gum, add three of soot. “It is also made of the soot of resin and of that lately called ‘painters’ black.’ Of this soot, however,—take one MINA,—of gum, half a pound,—of ox-glue and of copperas, each, half an ounce. “It is a good application in cases of gangrene, and is useful in scalds, if a little thickened and employed as a salve, and permitted to remain until a new cuticle is formed, when it will spontaneously fall off from the healed sore. “And now, my very dear Areas, in due proportion to the work which we had undertaken, and the quantity of the materials and contributions which we could gather, what we have thus far said must suffice. “End of the fifth and last book on The Materia Medica. “[The book] of Pedanius Dioscorides on the Materia Medica.” We have followed the text of Karl Gotleib Kuhn. _Medicorum Graecorum, opera quae extant._ Leipzig, 1829. Among the fantastic trifles with which DEAN SWIFT was accustomed to amuse his leisure, is a little string of verses on this subject which are appended, not as being of any poetic merit, but as a “curiosity of literature”—not out of place here:— On Ink. _I am jet black, as you may see, The son of pitch and gloomy night; Yet all who know me will agree I’m dead, except I live in light._ _Sometimes in panegyric high, Like lofty Pindar, I can soar, And raise a virgin to the sky, Or her to a * * * * *_ _My blood this day is very sweet, To-morrow of a bitter juice; Like milk, ’tis cried about the street And so applied to different use._ _Most wondrous is my magic power: For with one color I can paint. I’ll make the devil a saint this hour, Next make a devil of a saint._