Health, in which he treated of all the maladies
of the human body, from the crown of
the head to the sole of the foot. Nothing
better has since been invented than his
regimen to ward off sea-sickness, which he
prescribed to his patron; namely, To drink
for several days at his meals, before embarking,
sea water either pure or mixed with his
wine, three spoonfuls a day, one fasting
before breakfast, one at noon before dinner,
and one at night before going to bed; to
make several excursions out to sea, before
embarking for a long voyage; to carry a
stock of quince marmalade and jelly, the
same of currants, lemons, apples, and other
acid fruits; to apply a moistened sheet of
paper to the stomach, which should never be
empty; to eat frequently during the passage,
so as not to have to strain for nothing.

This Almanach-Manuel treats of the health
of people belonging to different professions.
Listen, reader, to the complicated dangers to
which we authors expose ourselves for your
edification and amusement!

Literary people are even more liable to
complaints than other sedentary folk. Few
are to be seen who are strong and healthy,
and who live to an advanced age. Continued
study has often ruined the best constitution
in less than a month. To think constantly
is, as they say, the way not to think for long.
Literary persons are subject to the gout, the
consequence of bad digestion and checked
perspiration. Liver diseases, such as obstructions
of that viscus, schirrus, jaundice, indigestion,
loss of appetite, the destruction of the
whole body, are the consequences of the
sedentary life to which literary people are
constrained. Consumption, so common amongst
them, is the result of the position, leaning
against a desk, in which they labour. Too
great application leads to headaches,
apoplexy, giddiness, madness, paralysis, diseases
of the eyes, all sorts of fevers, especially
those of the nervous class, dropsy, and the
hypochondriacal affection, the most sad and
desperate of all maladies. Liège in Belgium,
and Rouen in Normandy, also supply
the French market with almanacs. Both
give sundry almanacs called Mathieu
Laensberg's,—a veritable one, a double one,
a new one, and a triple one—of which
learned author more anon. He occupies too
important a place in the history of almanacs,
to be passed over with the simple mention of
his name.

The first almanacs were nothing but
calendars; before the invention of printing,
they were simple catalogues, or fasti, giving
the names of the saints held in general
esteem, as well as of those whom the Church
delighted particularly to honour. It is stated
that there existed, at the end of the last
century, in the library of a monastery in the
Angumois, a manuscript calendar of the
Roman Church, which had been drawn up
about the middle of the fourth century, and
which was the most ancient calendar known.
In sixteen hundred and thirty-four, Father
Gilles Boucher, a Jesuit belonging to the
House at Arras, printed it at Antwerp in
his commentaries on the Paschal cycle.

It was scarcely before the twelfth or
thirteenth century that they began to annex to
the calendars remarks on the different days
of the year, on the seasons, and on the rules
to be observed for the maintenance of health
and the cure of diseases. From this epoch,
therefore, dates the actual beginning of the
armonach, the armanach, the halmanach, or
the almanac properly so called. The
orthographical variations of the word almanac
have made it the subject of numerous
etymological explanations. When Molière's
Bourgeois Gentleman wished his master of
philosophy to teach him the almanac, he
expressed only a very reasonable desire; but
many, who laugh at Monsieur Jourdain,
would be puzzled to answer the most
elementary questions on the same subject.
Monsieur Jourdain was greatly mistaken, if
he thought that the lessons he asked for
would be easy and simple. The explanation
of the almanac touches the most delicate
and thorny points of science and erudition.
Almanac, according to some, is derived from
the Persian, or the Greek, or the Hebrew,
or the Arabic. According to Nicot, it is a
Chaldaic word; al is the definite article,
and manah signifies number, reckoning; and
in the calendar, the days and the months are
reckoned. Others will have it, that the
origin of the almanac must be sought for
amongst the Egyptians. Arago tells us that
almanach comes from the word man, which,
amongst the Orientals, signifies moon.
Cornelius Killian, believes that almanac is
composed of two German roots, al, and
monaht, all, and moons, because it contains
all the lunations of the year.

An almanac of the thirteenth century,
drawn up in a sort of patois French, is
enriched with some very curious medical and
domestic precepts. In May, you ought to
take hot drinks; in June, you should bleed,
take tepid draughts, and make provision of
the dried blossoms of the vine; in July, you
ought not to bleed, but to eat roast meat, and
to drink tepid drinks fasting. It appears that
besides the manuscript calendars on parchment,
wooden ones were made, which were
worn about the person, fastened to the
owner's clothes. Probably others existed,
made of various hard materials.

Printed almanacs were known in France
from the commencement of the fifteenth
century. The first, which appeared in fourteen
hundred and seventy, thirty-four years after
the invention of printing, is attributed to a
Breton monk, Guinklam by name. It was a
calendar drawn up in Latin, containing the
names of the saints, and marking the
fete-days and the changes of the moon. There
were also the calendars of the celebrated