THE home life of England has ever been a favorite topic with American writers. The first thing that strikes an American travelling through England is the age of everything he sees, the roots by which every existing institution, Custom, or pleasure is intimately connected with its real. tangible prototype in the past. He sees, too, how the people live a thoroughly characteristic life-that which onsists in identification with everything that is national. No one is No unadaptive as the pure-bred Briton, and it has truly been said that an Englishman carries his ountry with him wherever he zoes. You never see an Englishnan to advantage except at home; out, once enthroned amid his local urroundings, there is a sturdy naive dignity in him which none can elp admiring. He is no politician n the mercenary, personal, busiLess-like sense of the word, but he akes a pride in following the ourse of his country's progress, in earing a hand in all reforms, › exercising his right of censure r, as some foreigners plainly call . "grumbling"-and especially in atching closely over the well-beg of his own county and neighorhood. By this minute division labor every county becomes, as were, a self-governed little nation, alous and tenacious of its rights, enly alive to its interests, intensevigorous, and occasionally aggres

Political and social life are sely intermingled, and personal >.nterestedness is almost everyVOL. XX.—34

where the rule. The varied traditions of different neighborhoods and the strong individuality shown by the different sections of the country, contribute a picturesque element to modern life, and often make the most inherently prosaic actions. take on a mask of romance.

Elections to Parliament afford a multiplicity of such scenes, and form one of the greatest periodical excitements that stir up country towns. The candidate is generally one of the sons of some family well known in the county, or sometimes the chief proprietor of the neighborhood, if he be still under fifty. The county constituencies almost always return a member of this class; the commercial representatives come from the great manufacturing towns, where they have slowly toiled to make their fortunes, and risen, by earnest application to business, from the rank of a vestryman to that of lord mayor. The country town in which the hustings and polling-booths are erected is as animated as it would have been at a great fair of the middle ages or an extraordinary sale of wool, which in Gloucestershire, Warwickshire, and Worcestershire was a great article of trade in the XIVth century. Everything in the shape of bunting, evergreens, allegorical pictures, flaming posters, and unlimited ale has been done by both sides to enhance their popularity with the electors and non-electors. Indeed, the latter are quite as important as the former, for from their ranks are recruited the bands

of music and the array of stalwart supporters, ready to fight, if required, and to shout at the top of their lungs, so as to bewilder the voters and claim or surprise their votes. The canvassing that goes before an English election is neither a pleasant nor a creditable thing to dwell on; when subjected to the analysis of uncompromising morality, it resolves itself into deliberate and organized "humbug"; for it includes every species of flattery under the sun, not to speak of direct bribery. Very funny incidents sometimes occur to break the monotony of the usual routine. For instance, in canvassing a large seaport town, the Liberal candidate bethinks himself of his yacht-a gem in every way-and organizes a large party, to which are invited the voting citizens and their wives and daughters. A splendid luncheon is provided, and each dame and damsel goes home with the conviction that her smiles have won the heart of the candidate, and that he has sworn them by a tacit but flattering contract to further his claims with their all-powerful husbands and fathers. "Honi soit qui mal y pense." The latter are as proud of the expectant M.P.'s notice of the female members of their households as the ladies themselves, and the issue is trembling in the balance, when an announcement goes forth that the Conservative candidate has had his drag and four horses sent down from London, and proposes parading the young ladies and the more fearless married women on the roof of this ultra-fashionable vehicle. The invitations are of course more limited than those for the yacht, but promises of repeating them, until all the free electors' families have been included, cheer up the spirits of those not asked

the first day. The Liberal pits Li yacht against his rival's drag, an invites the maids and matrons to another sail. Apparently, Neptun does not intend to vote for him, for a slight breeze arises, and the waves roll more than landsmen find pleasant. The cabin fills rapidly, and faces once rosy and saucy, tur pale and shrunken; the retur against wind and tide is a wretched journey. The poor candidate, in despair, tries to become nurse and doctor, as well as consoler; but he too, feels his cheeks blanch, not at the lurching of the vessel, but at the fear of the effect of this accident upon the votes which he was already reckoning up so confidently. A the forlorn party lands, the drag sweeps by, drawn by its four fier horses, the whip cracking, the smart grooms grinning at the win dows (in these carriages, made like a mail-coach, the servants sit instal and the master drives, while h guests are packed on the outsid seats at the top), the women huddling under cloaks and umbrellas. but all giggling with delight at the adventure, neither damped nor dis mayed by water that cannot drown them, and wind that cannot make them sea-sick. The next day those who have recovered from their marine excursion are invited to try the drag, and the Liberal candidate's chances fall as visibly as the barometer did yesterday When the great day comes, te drag has done its work, and the Conservative is returned by a tre umphant majority.

To return to our country t in its holiday attire. No great arts are resorted to here; the commu kind of canvassing will do for these quiet, agricultural people, and the only day that is worth mentioning is that of the election itself. T

festive look of the place does not portend any very desperate contest, although there is a free display of the two opposite colors blue (Conservative) and yellow (Liberal). The rivals come down from their neighboring seats in gay carriages full of the ladies of their families, wearing their respective colors. The horses and postilions wear bunches of blue or yellow ribbon; even the whip has its conspicuous knot of color. Brass bands clash forth a whole host of discords; the hired partisans good-humoredly shout for one or the other party; an air of great good-will prevails. The whole thing looks more like the welcoming home of a bride than a serious political gathering. The candidates ascend the hustings, or platform for speeches, and cordially shake hands with one another. They think it fun to be opposed to each other in public, whereas in private they are friends, companions, and neighbors; they have had the same training, the same education, the same associations, the same local interests, and the question that will decide their election will more likely be their reputation as farmers and their popularity as landlords than their political opinions as to the affairs of the nation at large. Talking of bribery and undue influence in elections, there is a law yet in force (though, of course, its effect is mereiv nominal) which forbids any peer to be present at an election. His presence is, by a legal fiction, suposed to hamper the freedom of the .oters, and the law thus provides gainst the appearance of coercion or intimidation. The candidates or the counties are almost invaribly the sons, brothers, or nephews f peers; but, however near the retionship, no member of the House

of Lords is allowed to infringe on this rule. A contested election, one in which party spirit runs high and the passions of the people are artfully fanned and excited on both sides, is a scene worth witnessing once; but the excitement is of too rough a sort to make one wish for a second edition of it. A foreigner once said that the two best sights which England had to offer to a stranger were an Oxford "commemoration" and a contested election. The latter seldom takes place in the peaceful neighborhoods of the midland counties, and the only other species of elections, as distinguished from the festive one which we have just sketched, is, as a remnant of old-time indifferentism, a curiosity in its way. There are no longer what were called "rotten boroughs" and "pocket boroughs," the former representing what had once been a populous town or large village, now reduced to half a dozen ruinous tenements and an old, disused parish church, but still retaining the right to return one or more members to Parliament; the second being a village still worthy of the name, but from time immemorial voting strictly in accordance with the wishes of the "lord of the manor," whether peer or comThese were also called "close boroughs." The Reform Bill of 1830 did away with all such transparent abuses, but family influence, exerted in a milder form, still remains an important element in all agricultural counties; and it sometimes happens that for a whole generation, no one will think it worth his while to oppose a candidate whose good working qualities are recognized by friend and foe, and whose personal popularity, joined with his powerful connec

moner.