On referring to our copy of Winstanley’s “Book of Knowledge,” edition of 1685, to find out how far he confirms these wondrous cures of insanity, impecuniosity, and ophthalmia, we find that he does not even recognize their existence, but supplies in their place other facts equally striking. “Take a Swallow on the Wednesday,” he writes, “and bind him with a silken thread by the foot, then cut him in the midst, and thou shalt find three stones, a white, a red, and a green; take the white and put it into thy mouth, and it shall make thee fair; put into thy mouth the red, and thou shalt have favour from her thou lovest; put the green into thy mouth, and thou shalt never be in peril.” If none of these inducements prevail or appeal to the reader, the author can supply another recipe of equal value. “Take a swallow in the moneth of August, look in her breast, and you shall find there a stone of the bignesse of a pease: take it and put it under your tongue, and you shall have such eloquence that no man shall have power to deny thy request.” Such a gift would often be invaluable, and it seems distinctly unfortunate for the legal profession that it can only be utilised during the Long Vacation, unless, indeed, this wondrous stone can be in some way preserved without losing its efficacy; but of this the recipe gives no hint. In an old receipt book before us oil of swallows is pronounced “exceeding soveraign” for broken bones, or “any grief in the sinews.” It is procured by pounding the swallows in a mortar, and adding thereto divers herbs. For one that is, or will be, drunken, it is well to have at hand some preparation that may be deterrent, and here is the very thing! “Take swallowes and burne them, and make a powder of them; and give the dronken man thereof to drinke, and he shall never be dronken hereafter.” There is a certain sense of incompleteness here, as one does not quite realize how this powder becomes drinkable. The ill-luck that attended those who hurt the robin or the wren was an article of faith with our forefathers, and probably still remains so in rural districts. In the “Six Pastorals,” written in the year 1770, we find the belief very clearly expressed in the lines:— “I found a robin’s nest within our shed, And in the barn a wren has young ones bred: I never take away their nest, nor try To catch the old ones, lest a friend should die. Dick took a wren’s nest from the cottage side, And ere a twelvemonth pass’d his mother dy’d.” The belief that they, “with leaves and flowers, do cover the friendless bodies of unburied men” has no doubt had much to do with the kindly feeling extended to them. As Drayton hath it:— “Covering with moss the dead’s unclosed eye The little red-breast teacheth charity.”