THE GEOGRAPHY OF WITCHCRAFT

beach, and in its light she twirls her charmed wheel, adjuring it to bring false Delphis to her home.

Turn, magic wheel, and bring that man to my house.

Thestylis, her attendant, muffled in a mantle and shuddering from the chilly air or from fear, casts meal upon the flames—meal that symbolizes the bones of Delphis; a green laurel bough that crackles in the heat and represents his supple young limbs; and pure wax which melts as his strength shall fade and fail. The girl hesitates for a moment, and Simaetha upbraids her with cold and cruel words. New ingredients are brought: bran, and spurge which sets mares on heat. The border of the recreant’s mantle is torn into shreds and scattered into the glowing heart of the fire. Presently, Thestylis is dispatched in hot haste to smear the doors of Delphis with a sympathetic ointment, and thrice she is to spit and say, "I anoint the bones of Delphis." Simaetha, all alone, turns to the silver disc of the Moon, clear and calm above her, journeying in majestic state through the Sicilian skies, and to her she pours forth the story of her love.

Tell me, Lady Moon, from where my love came.

About the middle of the road, just where Lycon’s house stands, she first saw Delphis. He was walking with his friend Eudamippos. Fair were their locks in the sunlight; they moved with the immortal grace of gods. Then follows a tale of hot southern passion; gladly she yields him her virginity—all too soon, for satiety and neglect follow on the one side, and mistrust and bitter revenge on the other. Once he scarce could bear to be an hour from her; now, twelve days have passed and he has not crossed her threshold. Can it be he loves another? And will her incantations prevail? If not, there are at any rate poisons swift and sure, there are phials which she keeps in a box, drugs an Assyrian stranger once taught her to brew—a quick dispatch to the gate of hell, potions such as were wont to be distilled by Circe, or Medea, or Perimede of the golden hair.

With the exception of a few minor circumstances, all the terrible and loathsome rites of ancient magic rehearsed in this magnificent dramatic monologue may be closely and immediately paralleled in the lore of modern witchcraft. We have