si grida mai al lupo, che é non sia in paese
—one never cries wolf, but he is out in the
country, say the Italians. One good turn
deserves another, is our way of recommending
gratitude; Amore con amor si paga—love
is paid by love, is the pretty equivalent of
Italy. Chi ha arte, ha parte—he who has
skill has estate, is said by the Italians, and
it is doubtful whether there is any close
English counterpart; and they say also
(with significance that puzzles us until we
consider it closely), Ognuno ha buona
moglie e cattiv' arte—every one has a
good wife but a poor business, to which
again there does not seem to be an English
parallel. But so many touches of nature
have proved us all akin so often, that one
or two little absences of this kind cannot
sever us; and, indeed, we have but to go
further on and further features strike us
instantly with all the old resemblance.
We find an equivalent, for instance, for our
Born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
The Italians call it Nascer vestito—to be
born clothed. We find, too, that instead
of trying to pacify a person with fair words,
they give one another a hint to Pascer di
vento—feed him with wind; and, instead
of declaring such an one to be very two-
faced, they say, E più doppio d'una cipolla
—he is more double than an onion. Then
a scowl is described by Italian malcontents
as Un viso di matrigna—a mother-in-law's
look (poor mothers-in-law enjoying their
accustomed unpopularity under the
shadows of the Appenines); and for having a
man under their thumb, they say they have
their hands in his hair (whence there must
be small chance of escape, indeed!); and
for being tête-a-tête with anybody they put
it that they are bocca a bocca—mouth to
mouth; whilst for throwing an insult in a
person's face, they convey the same idea
by declaring that they fling it at his
moustache.

Of course it is not only from Italy
that these picturesque suggestions can be
drawn. They come from everywhere;
for Tanti paesi, tante usanze—so many
countries, so many customs, the people we
have quoted truly and comprehensively
say; but we are mindful of our readers'
goodwill and patience, and we will not
trench upon them any more. We are
loth, however, to omit a short addendum
from French proverbial lore. In that
country, there are some sayings so pithy
and so pretty, and so illustrative of those
that have been familiar in our British
mouths for centuries, it would be a pity to
leave them out. The first shall be, Every
one has his hobby. This becomes, in French,
A chaque fou son marotte—to every fool
his bauble. Then, Put the cart before the
horse, is (very descriptively, and with
a sharp reminiscence of Rosa Bonheur)
Mettre la charrue devant les bœufs—put
the plough before the oxen. Let well
alone, is developed figuratively (and
perhaps so figuratively some may dispute the
application) into N'éveillez pas le chat qui
dort—don't wake the sleeping cat. Birds
of a feather flock together, is widened out
into Qui se ressemble, s'assemble. Teach
your grandmother to suck eggs, becomes,
C'est Gros Jean qui en remontre a son
curé—it is Hodge (let us say) instilling
theology into his rector; and it is
very effective with such a reading.
Possession is nine points of the law, is turned
into, or has been turned by us, from
La raison du plus fort est toujours la
meilleure—the judgment of the strongest
is always the best. Civility costs
nothing, becomes, more bitingly, Bien parler
n'ecorche la langue—to speak well does
not flay the tongue. No song, no supper,
or, as it was with us formerly under papal
authority, No penny, no paternoster, wears
the form with martial allusion enough,
Point d'argent, point de Suisse—no money,
no Swiss-guard. Fore-warned, fore-armed,
is, again keeping to the military, Un
averti en vaut deux—one cautioned man
is worth two. A whet is no let (that is,
hindrance), is, Ou ne perd point de temps
quand on aiguise ses outils—one loses no
time when sharpening tools; and though
the French gives significance to the English
that at first would not be perceived, the
peculiar power of our language to express
much by little is in this well exemplified.
The English, You can't make a silk purse
from a sow's ear, is in French, On ne saurait
faire d'une buse un épervier—you cannot
make a sparrow hawk from a buzzard.
Cut your coat according to your cloth, is
altered into Selon ta bourse, gouverne ta
bouche—according to thy purse, govern
thy mouth; and a hint at fitting modesty is
very well given by it. A. man who does
not do this, but is improvident, is said,
Manger son blé en herbe—to eat his wheat
while growing; and one who opens his
mouth too widely another way, who is, in
short, what we call a braggart, is laughed
at for making Une longue litanie de ses
exploits. Another mode of exaggeration—
the mountain and mole-hill metamorphosis
—is Faire d'une mouche un éléphant—to