But to deride these errors of idiom scarcely lies in the mouth of an Englishman.  A friend of mine, wishing to express his opinion that a Frenchman was an idiot, told him that he was a “cretonne.”  Lord R——­, preaching at the French Exhibition, implored his hearers to come and drink of the “eau de vie;” and a good-natured Cockney, complaining of the incivility of French drivers, said, “It is so uncalled for, because I always try to make things pleasant by beginning with ‘Bon jour, Cochon.’” Even in our own tongue Englishmen sometimes come to grief over an idiomatic proverb.  In a debate in Convocation at Oxford, Dr. Liddon, referring to a concession made by the opposite side, said, “It is proverbially ungracious to look a gift horse in the face.” And, though the undergraduates in the gallery roared “Mouth, sir; mouth!” till they were hoarse, the Angelic Doctor never perceived the unmeaningness of his proverb.

Some years ago a complaint of inefficiency was preferred against a workhouse-chaplain, and, when the Board of Guardians came to consider the case, one of the Guardians, defending the chaplain, observed that “Mr. P——­ was only fifty-two, and had a mother running about.”  Commenting on this line of defence, a newspaper, which took the view hostile to the chaplain, caustically remarked:—­“On this principle, the more athletic or restless were a clergyman’s relatives, the more valuable an acquisition would he himself be to the Church.  Supposing that some Embertide a bishop were fortunate enough to secure among his candidates for ordination a man who, in addition to ’a mother running about,’ had a brother who gained prizes at Lillie Bridge, and a cousin who pulled in the ’Varsity Eight, and a nephew who was in the School Eleven, to say nothing of a grandmother who had St. Vitus’s Dance, and an aunt in the country whose mind wandered, then surely Dr. Liddon himself would have to look out for his laurels.”

The “Things one would rather have expressed differently” for which reporters are responsible are of course legion.  I forbear to enlarge on such familiar instances as “the shattered libertine of debate,” applied to Mr. Bernal Osborne, and “the roaring loom of the Times” when Mr. Lowell had spoken of the “roaring loom of time.”  I content myself with two which occurred in my own immediate circle.  A clerical uncle of mine took the Pledge in his old age, and at a public meeting stated that his reason for so doing was that for thirty years he had been trying to cure drunkards by making them drink in moderation, but had never once succeeded.  He was thus reported:—­“The rev. gentleman stated that his reason for taking the Pledge was that for thirty years he had been trying to drink in moderation, but had never once succeeded.”  Another near relation of mine, protesting on a public platform against some misrepresentation by opponents, said:—­“The worst enemy that any cause can have to fight is a double lie in the shape of half a truth.”  The newspaper which reported the proceedings gave the sentiment thus:—­“The worst enemy that any cause can have to fight is a double eye in the shape of half a tooth.”  And, when an indignant remonstrance was addressed to the editor, he blandly said that he certainly had not understood the phrase, but imagined it must be “a quotation from an old writer.”