Having been so long away from England, everything peculiarly English struck me with almost as much force as it would a native American. Hence, my feelings revolted at the sight of the innumerable beggars and vagrants, who crowded the streets. Italians, with their organs, white mice, or monkeys; poor barefooted children, with their baskets of matches; and, worse than either, houseless families imploring a crust for their half-naked little ones, with many a tale of sorrow and woe, were sights which greeted my eye and pained my heart every day. A sad spectacle indeed, and one which robs the lustre of the British crown of many a brilliant ray. The true glory of a people is their internal prosperity, and not the extension of their territory. The fifth of July renewed the excitement of the day I arrived. It was the time appointed for the _county_ election. Similar scenes to those before described took place, accompanied with excessive drunkenness. Every tavern, and the number seemed endless, was crowded, mostly with the laboring classes, who were spending their hard-earned pence, for foaming tankards of English ale, the favorite beverage of John Bull, and one of the greatest hindrances to the progress of the temperance cause in that country; though it is hoped that the triumphs of tee-totalism will ultimately overcome this national love for John Barleycorn, as beer is humorously called in the old song. After spending an extremely pleasant week in Stafford, we bade adieu to my affectionate sister and her husband, and, aided by omnipotent steam, we soon reached the great manufactory of Britain--Birmingham. From thence we took stage for Woodstock, subject, however, to the incessant exactions of the host of waiters, guards and coachmen, that constantly assail the traveller in England, with a request to be “remembered” for every little service rendered. The country through which we rode was delightful; all nature wore her greenest, brightest garments; the roads were level, and as smooth as the most thorough Macadamizing could make them. Soon after seven in the evening, the stage drew up at the Marlborough Arms, the very hotel from whence I started thirty years since to go to sea. The first object that arrested my eye, was the revered form of my mother, waiting on the sidewalk, eager to embrace her much-loved, but long-absent son. Springing to the ground, I felt myself locked in her fond embrace. That was a moment of exquisite enjoyment, both to me and to my mother. Though deeply moved, she maintained a calm dignity of manner. In a few moments, she was showing the way, with the agility of a young woman, leading a new-found grand-child in each hand, to her residence, which was close at hand. Very soon we were all seated round the well-loaded board, the happiest family party in the world.