4, 8. All that you can. 1, 2, 7. Lost labour. 9. What you desire. 3, 5, 6. On the losing side. 13, 14. Both heart and hand. 10, 11, 12. All for your harm. 17, 18. A fast friend. 21, 22, 23. Well ventured. 15, 16. Nothing to your purpose. 28, 29. Through the briers. 19, 20. But hard hap. 30, 31. Past hope of recovery. 24, 25, 26, 27. Unfit for thy purpose. Early in the reign of Charles I., the first commercial almanac was published. It may be called the first _Poor Richard_. It contained tables of interest, necessary tables of expenses, pithy proverbs inculcating frugality and industry, and the usual melange of astrology and medicine. About the same time the religious almanac appeared. A rigid Puritan called Ranger was its editor. It is a gloomy production. In Cromwell’s time, the almanacs are of a religious character; all receipts and directions end ‘sermonwise.’ The famous William Lilly was at this time the prince of astrologists and almanac-makers. At first, he prophesied for the king. But he was shrewd enough to see, without casting any horoscope, whose star was in the ascendant; and very soon all the stars in their courses fought against Charles. As a matter of statecraft, James did a wise thing when he legalised astrology. Almanacs have always had a great influence with the mass; and it was a subtle device to give the liberty of prophesying after that legitimate fashion which should gloss with superstition ‘the divine right of kings.’ But the universities finally grew ashamed of their connection with the almanac, and sold their rights to the Stationers’ Company. This Company was always on the side of the ruling power. It had prophesied for Charles, and it had prophesied for Cromwell. It sang Te Deum for the Restoration, as it had done for the Protectorate. It dated its little books from the year ‘of our deliverance by King William from popery and arbitrary government;’ and it invoked the blessing of the planets on the last of the Stuarts.