Di quel che non ti cale,
           Non dir nè ben nè male;

a very free translation of which might
run:

     On things that not to thee belong,
     Utter no judgment, right or wrong.

The individual we call a meddlesome Matty
is stigmatised as Chi entra tra carne e ugua
—one who gets in between the flesh and
the nail; an indication of sharp, but petty
annoyance, that has force enough decidedly.
Short reckonings make long friends, is a
vital item in English dealing. So it is of
Italian. Patto chiaro, amicizia lunga, is the
variation of it; a clear agreement, a long
friendship. Another mercantile belief of
ours is that we have one county in which
we may expect sharper dealing than the
rest. The Italians keep pace with us, even
here. Tuscany is their sharp country, as
Yorkshire is ours, and they say:

           Chi ha a fare con Tosco
           Non vuol esser losco;

which may be, as another specimen of free
translation:

       From a Tuscan would you buy?
       Go not with a purblind eye!

Better a bird in hand than two in the bush,
we say cautiously. E meglio oggi l'uovo, che
non domain la gallina—better the egg
today than the hen to-morrow, is the same
wisdom with the Italians; and they have
another reading of it in Meglio è pincione
in man, che tordo in frasca—better a
chaffinch in the hand than a thrush on the
bough. Time works wonders, is English
shortly expressed experience. Col tempo
e colla paglia si maturan le nespole—with
time and straw one may even ripen
medlars, is said to impatient folks in Italy.
Curses, like young chickens, come home to
roost, says Lord Lytton in his Lady of
Lyons. Le bestemmie fanno come le
processioni—blasphemies do the same as
processions, that is, come back again to the
place whence they start, is an old saying
in Italy, there being an older one still,
corresponding to it, in Latin, In proprium
redeunt impia dicta caput.

Great cry and little wool, is our comment
when we find people over fussy; or we scoff
at a mole-hill made into a mountain, or at
much ado about nothing. The Italians kick
at the infliction quite as angrily. Ogui bruscolo
ti pare una trave—every straw-chip
seems a plank to thee, they mutter; or
Fa d'una bolla un canchero—make a
waterblister into a cancer. To carry coals to
Newcastle, means to be guilty of
unnecessary labour in collier England. The
Italians have many ways of expressing the
absurdity. Dar l'incenso a' morti—give
incense to the dead, is one of them;
Lavar la testa all' asino—wash a donkey's
head, is another; Preach to leeks, is a
third; a fourth is, Sell sun in July; and
then there follow, Mostrare altrui lucciole
per lanterne—show glowworms by lanternlight;
Gittar la treggea a' porci—throw a
sugar-—plum to the pigs; Fish, for the
proconsul (whatever the sly meaning of that
may be); Make an almanack for the past
year; and Pound water in a mortar. Old
birds are not caught with chaff, we
declare. Volpe vecchia non cade nella rete
-—an old fox does not get into the snare,
is the equally early version of the Italians.
Every rose has a thorn, say we of rose-
bearing England; and Every bean has
its black; and No sweet without sweat;
and, in another vein, There is a skeleton
in every house. Chi ha capre ha corna
-—have a goat have a horn, has the same
pictorial meaning in Italy; and so has
Non c'è  mele senza le pecchie-—there is
no honey without flies; and Ognuno ha'l
suo impiccato all' uscio-—every one has his
rogue at the door. Call a spade a spade, is
our way of expressing a preference for plain
statements. Chiama la gatta gatta-—call the
cat cat, is the same idea expressed by an
Italian. Every crow thinks her own young
one white, is our acknowledgment of self-
exaltation. In Italy it runs, Ogni cencio
vuol entrare in bucato-—every rag wishes
to get into the wash-bucket.

To be hand-in-glove with one, is a mode
we have of describing familiarity. The
Italians say, Esser di casa più che la
granata—to be more in the house than
the broom is; they say, also, To be as
close as bread and cheese. Fine feathers
do not make fine birds, say we ornithologically;
Freno d'oro non fa miglior cavallo—
a golden bit does not make a better horse,
is the richer dictum of the Italians,
inherited, doubtless, direct from imperial and
pagan Rome. To be between two stools,
means with us to be in an unenviable
situation; it used to run, to be between
hawk and buzzard (when a clawing by one
or the other would be inevitable); Esser
un cacio fra due grattuge—to be the cheese
between two graters, denotes the same
miserable plight in Italy. The same
graters (or presses, perhaps, would be a
better word), furnish the Italians with
another illustration. Grattugia con grattugia
non fa cacio—press to press makes no