An old heraldic author tells us “how that the wolfe procureth all other beasts to fight and contention. He seeketh to deuour the sheepe, that beaste which is of all others the most hurtlesse, simple, and void of guile, thirsting continually after their blood. Yea, Nature hath planted so inveterate an hatred atweene the wolfe and the sheepe, that being dead, yet in the secrete operation of nature appeareth there a sufficient trial of their discording natures, so that the enimity betweene them seemeth not to dye with their bodies; for if there be put vpon a harp or any such like instrument strings made of the intrailles of a sheepe, and amongst them but onely one made of the intraills of a wolfe, be the musician never so cuning in his skil, yet can he not reconcile them to an vnity and concorde of sounds, so discording alwayes is that string of the wolfe.” The inveterate enmity between the two creatures is scarcely in accordance with the facts, for the wolf, from its appreciation of mutton as an article of diet, is really partial to the sheep, and is always glad to make its acquaintance. Another old herald tells us that “the wolfe loveth to plaie with a child, and will not hurt it till it be extreme hungrie, what time he will not spare to devour it.” He dwells also upon some of the animal’s prejudices, as that “he watcheth much, and feareth fier and stones to be wherled at him,” a feeling that one finds no difficulty in sympathizing with, and adds that “there is nothing that he hateth so much as the knocking togither of two flint stones, the which he feareth more than the hunters.” He also mentions the curious physiological fact that “the wolf may not bend his neck backward in no moneth of the yere but in May,” but gives us no inkling as to the reason for this. The wearing of wolf-skin was held to be a valuable preservative against epilepsy, but those who were unable to procure this, found an equally serviceable remedy in wearing a small portion of an ass’s hoof in a ring. The wolf-skin coat also was in request as a preservative against hydrophobia, and there was nothing better in the good old times than a wolfs head under the pillow to secure a good night’s rest. Albertus Magnus, in his work “De Virtutibus Herbarum,” tells us that if we wrap the tooth of a wolf in a bay leaf and carry it about with us no one will have the power to vex or annoy us. According to Porta—and he, we have seen, professes to have gone into the secrets of nature as deeply as most men who pose as authorities[53]—the rook is killed by eating “the reliques of flesh the wolf hath fed on.” This would appear to be a discovery of Porta’s own: we do not find any suggestion of it, so far as we are aware, in any other author.