Father Gottlieb said that the name of the stranger was Johann Gutenberg, and that he was tall and dark, and spoke with a northern tongue. He promised Frau Gensfleisch, however, that she should see him and question him herself about her son, as soon as the stranger returned from the palace of the Archbishop, where had gone to exhibit his wonderful book, and he left her in his cell, promising to return and fetch her when the stranger should arrive.

Frau Gensfleisch sat in silence and alone for two heavy hours. She heard bell after bell rung, which summoned the monks to their prayers or to their meals. And many a passing footstep made her cheeks flush and her pulse quicken, as she said to herself, "Now, I shall hear about my son;" and she repeated over to herself all the questions that she would ask and the messages she would send, in case the stranger really knew her Hans; when at last the door of the cell was unlocked and the Father Gottlieb came.

He said he would take her to the apartment of the Superior, to which the traveller had been summoned on his return from the Archbishop, and there she could wait until he had time enough to speak with her about her son. When Frau Gensfleisch entered the room of the Superior, a crowd of monks was so gathered round the stranger that she could see neither his face nor form. He was opening out his wonderful volume, and the curious monks pressed eagerly round him. Loud and long were their exclamations of surprise as the book was opened, and page after page displayed. It was wonderful—it was marvellous—It was not like the work of hands, they said no scribe or copyist would write each letter so like another, and they said it must be done by magic, for that no mortal hands could write so wonderfully plain and exact and regular; and they questioned the stranger about his method of imprinting but he replied to all their questioning, "It is not magic, holy fathers, but it is patience which hath done it."

Scarcely had these words been uttered, when catching the ear of Frau Gensfleisch, she started from her seat, and pushing aside the monks, who stood around the stranger, she made her way up to him, and she said, as she laid hold of his cloak and looked him in the face, "Stranger, what is thy name—what is thy true name? Is it not Hans Gensfleisch—wert thou not born here—art thou not my son?" And as she spoke she grasped eagerly both his hands.

The stranger paused, and a pang as if of sorrow seemed to pass across his brow, as he saw the weakness and infirmity of her who stood trembling before him. The years which had passed over his own head and had changed him from the slender youth into the strong and healthy man, had indeed laid a sore and heavy hand on her, who all this time had been left alone and unprotected, bowed down with sorrow and infirmity. He reproached himself for his long absence and neglect. Then falling on her neck, he embraced her long and tenderly, and he said, "Mother, I am indeed thy Hans!" and then turning to the wondering monks, "Yes, holy fathers, I am the Hans Gensfleisch, who was in this convent taught to read and write. When but a child, it was chance which first gave me the thought of thus imprinting books, but long years of patience and industry have been needed ere I could bring it to perfection." Then to his mother, he said, "I will leave thee no more. Too much of my life has been passed away from thee—but now shalt thou have thy son again to cheer thy last days and to make thee happy."

And happy indeed was Frau Gensfleisch, and she needed no promises from her son to assure her of the joy and comfort which his care would secure her for the few remaining years of her life. One thing alone displeased her, which was that he should have adopted a name different from that by which he had been known in childhood, but when he told her of the ridicule which had followed him wherever he went, when his strange name of Gensfleisch[3] was heard, she was reconciled; especially when he reminded her too, that the name which he had taken, was one which belonged to his family and to which he had some claim; and when in future she would hear her son called by his name of Gutenberg, and was told that that name was become known not only all over Germany, but in strange and distant lands, she would say, "Yes, Gutenberg—it soundeth well. It is a goodly name,—but he is still my Hans, my own son Hans!"



And Father Gottlieb, too, when they talked to him of the fame which his nephew had gained, and how that his native town felt proud that one of her citizens should had discovered and made perfect so wonderful and useful an art, so that he was looked upon as a great and famous man—the good Father would thank God that the fame and the greatness he had gained stood not in the way of his being likewise a duteous, loving son, and a good and pious man.

* * * * *

And thus our story ends—but we will venture to add something of the history of Johann or John Gutenberg. Nothing, we believe, in the foregoing story is contrary to what is known of the real history of the first inventor of printing, and it is certain that after his return from Strasburg to his native city in the year 1438, he established a printing-press in Mainz, and produced from it many printed books, principally in Latin. He had for some time as a kind of partner in his art, a man of the name of Faust, or Fust, the son of a goldsmith of Mainz, who afterwards separating from Gutenberg went to Paris, where he printed books, and in consequence was persecuted as a magician or sorcerer; so wonderful was it thought to produce books so easily, and so much like each other.

Gutenberg was afterwards assisted in the carrying on of his printing by a rich burgher of Mainz of the name of Conrad Hammer, whom we may suppose to have been the early friend through defence of whom he was obliged to fly from home.

Shortly after the invention of printing, it would appear that paper was made in sufficient perfection to be employed instead of parchment in the formation of books. A celebrated Latin Bible, printed by Gutenberg in 1450, of which a very perfect copy is to be seen in the public library at Frankfort, is beautifully printed on paper: and it must strike every one with astonishment that such great perfection could have been attained in so short a time in so difficult an art—especially when we call to mind that each of the little letters with which it was printed, had to be carved separately out of wood, since metal letters or type were not used till a few years later. The printing, too, is remarkably clear, distinct, and regular, and is a striking proof of the extraordinary skill and industry—and as he himself says in our story, patience—which must have been employed over it.

The great superiority of printing over writing was so generally felt and acknowledged, that before the end of the century in which Gutenberg lived, printed books began to be common, and in the year 1471, an Englishman of the name of Caxton, introduced the art into England, and set up a printing press in Westminster.

We have alluded to the advantages we enjoy in our days from the commonness of books, and from the knowledge which by their means is spread all over the world; and the sense of this advantage has led people to feel a great interest in all that concerned the inventor or discoverer of printing.

The city of Mainz especially, has always felt proud that he was born there, and, about two hundred years after his death, erected a statue to him in one of their streets. In 1837, however, another and a finer statue in bronze was erected, and the people of the town celebrated the event with all kinds of rejoicings and festivities. They liked to do honor to their ingenious and useful citizen, even though he had been dead nearly four hundred years, and they hung garlands of flowers on his statue, and had music and processions and illuminations—all to celebrate the memory of the son of the poor widow Gensfleisch.

No one who then looked upon the beautiful bronze statue of Gutenberg, or sees it now as it stands in the middle of the city of Mainz, can doubt for a moment that such a patient, persevering, and ingenious man, the inventor of such a great and useful an art, deserves better to have a statue raised to his memory, than any hero, king, or conqueror, that has ever yet existed.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The German for Mistress]

[Footnote 2: The style was a pointed instrument made of metal, and used for writing with by the ancients. Pens made of reeds were also used.]

[Footnote 3: In English Gooseflesh.]



THE CRYSTAL PALACE

A Story for Boys and Girls



CHAPTER I.

"I wish the holidays, were here!" said Frank Grey, to his school-fellow, George Grant, "for I want so much to see 'The Crystal Palace;' and I know Grandma will take me, if I ask her."

"Ah! it must be a jolly place, I'm sure," said George; "but I shall never see it, I dare say."

"Why not?" asked Frank; "just tell your Grandmother, and she will take you, too."

"But I have no Grandmother," said George, despondingly; "I never had, as long as I can recollect."

"Oh! then I don't know what you are to do, I'm sure," said Frank; "unless you have an aunt or uncle who will take you: for you have no mother, have you?"

"Why, certainly, I have," replied George, laughing, "and a father, too; but then he is always busy in the factory; and mother, she is mostly poorly, or shut up in the nursery with the little children, and often says, she's sorry that she has neither time nor strength to take me sight-seeing."

"That's rather vexing, though," said Frank, shaking his curly head. "I think I should not like to change with you; but that's not bragging, is it."

"Why, no; what made, you think of that?" asked George, astonished.

"Because grandma has often told me, that to boast is rude, unkind, and wicked," replied Frank.

"Ha, ha! how very odd!" cried George; "whatever could she mean?"

"I know," said Frank.

"Then, tell me; do."

"No, no; for you will only laugh, and then I shall feel vexed; so, say no more about it," returned Frank.

"But I will not laugh, upon my word," said George, who felt his curiosity excited.

"Well, then," said Frank, looking a little shy; "she says, that it is rude, because it seems as if I thought myself above my schoolfellows; and it is unkind, because, by doing so, I pain their feelings; and it is wicked, because God expects us to be humbly thankful for all the good things He gives us; and not to bride ourselves upon them, in the least."

"I can't see any good in it," said George. "I know, that I am very proud to show my presents, when I get any; and I see no harm in it, I'm sure."

"But my grandma knows more than you about it, a great deal," said Frank; "and so she shall tell you, when you see her; for I mean to ask her, if you may go with us, to see 'The Crystal Palace.'"

"Oh no; I think you had better not; she might be angry if you did," said George, with a look that plainly contradicted what he said.

"Why, bless you, grandma's never angry," said Frank, laughing at the very thought; "for she's the very kindest, dearest grandma in the world, I do believe; and says, she never likes to disappoint me, when I ask for what is right"

"I wish I had a grandma like her," said George, pouting; "for then I should see every sight in London; I would teaze her till I did. I often try to do so now; but mother looks as if she soon would cry, and bids me say no more about it; for that she has neither time nor strength to take me out."

"Dear me; I would not ask her then," said little Frank: "because fatigue might make her worse, you know; and then, how very sorry you would feel!"

George gave a little kind of cough, that seemed to say, lie should not feel for anything so much as his own pleasures.

"Besides," continued Frank, "I am always told, that only naughty children teaze; and I should never be rewarded for impatience."

"Ah! that's all very fine," cried George; "but how is one to get one's way without? I suppose that you would have me stay at home, and mope with mother all the holidays, and never go outside the door. But that is not the way I manage, I can tell you; for I often slip away, and run out on the sly, and have a game with any boys I meet."

"What! without asking leave?" inquired Frank, looking at him sorrowfully.

"To be sure I do," said George.

"Well; I should be quite frightened," replied Frank. "And the thought that my mother might miss me, and be made uneasy, would be sure to spoil my sport."

"I never think about it," answered George; "for when I get a thing into my head, nothing will turn me, as nurse often says to mother. I dare say I shall see 'The Crystal Palace' in this way, at least, if I can find it out alone."

"Now, promise me that you will not attempt it," cried Frank, affectionately; "and I will promise you that you shall go with me, in grandma's carriage, which will be far more proper, and nice, you know. Do you not think so?"

"Of course I do," said George. "And shall I really go? and will your grandma take me? and shall you fetch me, the first day after go home, do you suppose?"

"No; for the first day will be Sunday," replied Frank; "and then we never even talk about such things."

"Well, Monday, then. Will it be Monday?"

"Monday, perhaps, or Tuesday; for we shall have so much to talk about on Saturday, when I go home, that grandma may not have the time to settle it. I often wish the holidays began upon a Thursday, or a Friday at the latest, that I might have my chatter out before the Sunday comes."

"I never thought of such a thing before," said George. But the writer fully sympathises with her little friend, and wishes that all pious teachers would profit by his hint.

During the previous conversation, the two boys had been kneeling up, upon a form, with their arms extended on the table, on which "The Illustrated London News" was spread before them. It was often purchased by their kind schoolmistress for their amusement and instruction. And greatly did the pictures please them; though, for the present, they profited but little by the printed news.

"Ten more horrid days before this half is over," said George, peevishly. "It seems an age. I count the very hours. But you think that we are sure to go on Monday, don't you?"

"Not sure," said Frank. "We must not be too sure of anything, my grandma says."

"Well, then, I dare say I shan't wait for you," said the impatient George; "I do hate waiting, above all things."

"But you must try to be more patient," said Frank gently. "Does not your poor mamma say so, to you?"

"Ah! very often; almost every day," cried George; "but what's the good of that? for I keep hammering on, for anything I want. Oh! how I wish the holidays were here just now; I am so wretched!"

"Dear me! and instead of that, I feel so happy," said dear Frank. "Ten days will soon be gone, I think, and then—O then—Grandma will come, and see my prize, and look so very pleased, and take me home with her!"



CHAPTER II.

And Frank was right, my dear young reader, for the ten days soon passed away, and very pleasurably too, as even George confessed. There were so many extra sports provided—a magic lantern, and dissolving views for the last evening, with cakes and crackers, and amusing recitations, and all went very merrily to bed, looking forward to the following day, when they should see their friends and homes once more.

Frank felt a little sorry when the carriage came, without grandma to fetch him. He fairly jumped about within it, as though to make it carry him the faster to her. He bounded from it when it reached the door, and ran with outstretched arms into the drawing-room, where she was waiting to embrace him, and to listen fondly to all he had to tell. She gazed with tears of pleasure in her eyes, upon the handsome volume he presented, as a proof of his good conduct and improvement; and wiped her spectacles with care, to read the nice inscription on the title-page, and told him, "in return for his attention and obedience, it would give her pleasure to grant him many treats throughout the holidays."

Frank thought at once about the Crystal Palace: but looking up, he saw his grandmother was pale and delicate, and therefore would not name it, until she should seem to him a little better; for already had he learnt, in some degree, to follow Him "who pleased not himself."

George Grant was rather glad to learn, that he was to go home by railway, for having an indifferent character, and no prize whatever, he did not long to see his mother's face, at least at school, lest painful questions should be asked as to his conduct. Still he was happy when he saw her, and made more noise about it, far, than Frank.

When asked, "if he had gained a prize," he looked a little sheepish; and speaking in a sullen tone, began to make complaints about "unfairness in the teachers," and said his "schoolmistress had favorites, he was very sure," with many other things, equally untrue.

His mother listened to his list of troubles, and told him, that she feared the fault lay nearer home, and that he had not taken all the pains he ought, nor sought to profit by her kind instructions.

George strove to justify himself, but failed in his endeavors to convince his mother that he had been dutiful and diligent; but as her strength was small, she gave up the debate, and listened languidly, whilst he talked on unceasingly about "The Crystal Palace," and wondered whether Frank would ever think about his promise, and listened for the sound of every carriage wheel that rumbled in the distance and rushed up to the window, whenever any vehicle came down the quiet street, and wearied both himself and all around him, by his useless lamentations.

Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday too, thus passed away. But on Wednesday he had grown quite insupportable, and his mother was compelled to banish him from her own bedroom, and giving him a puzzle she had purchased, requested him to go into the dining-room, and put them all together. But George rejected all amusements but the very one he wanted, and went instead into the nursery, where he plagued the younger children, took away their little toys, played with them so roughly, that he threw them on the floor, made them all fretful, and the maid so vexed, that she told him he had grown quite tiresome, and "that she panted for the time when he would be packed off to school again." Whereupon he flew into a passion, which ended in a fit of sobbing and crying: the noise awoke the baby, nurse grew very angry, and pushed him out into the dining-room, bidding him stay there alone, and come no more near her.

Just at this very time Frank saw his dear Grandma appeared much better, coughed much less frequently, spoke much more easily, and moved about more freely. So he thought the time was come to talk about "The Crystal Palace." He said "how much he wished to see it, when it was convenient, and that he should also like to show it to George Grant, if she had no objection, for that his parents had no time to take him to it."

Pleased with his consideration, his grandmamma immediately complied with his request, and, as the day was very fine for winter, ordered the carriage to be ready in two hours, and promised to go round and take up his young friend.

Frank ran to smother her with kisses, and looking lovingly upon him she exclaimed—"God grant that I may live to see my own dear boy a Crystal Palace!"

"Now, Granny dear, that is a funny wish," cried Frank, "for why should I be made of glass, instead of flesh and bones, I wonder?"

"Let us take a little time to talk about it, dear; fancy yourself at school again, going to take an object lesson," she replied.

"No, thank you, no!" said Frank, cutting a caper; "I would rather think myself at home instead."

"Well, then, at home, but tell me the properties of Crystal."

Frank seated himself beside her on the sofa, looked up wisely into the corner of the ceiling, and said, after a pause, "Is crystal glass, Grandma?"

"Why, not exactly, yet they have so many qualities in common, that you may almost think of them as one."

"Glass, then, is clear, transparent, bright; what else, Grandma?"

"It is pellucid, that is, not opaque, or dark—it gives admission to the light, and reflects it back again in all its beauty, brilliancy, and purity. I do not wish to see my little boy a green-house, or a glass-house merely, for then he would be brittle, and not strong—easily damaged, if not broken up. But crystals are hard bodies; they resist all injuries, they can bear a beating without breaking; for they are regularly formed, and complete in all their parts. And crystal glass is the firmest and the best, has fewest flaws and imperfections, and can best sustain a storm."

"And so, for all these reasons, they call the great building we are soon to see, a Crystal Palace, I suppose?"

"Exactly so. What more have you to add, my Frank?"

"Why, that for the same reason you wish to see me like it, I suppose, that I may be transparent, pure, and strong, and have the light of Goodness shining through me."

"It is indeed my earnest wish, and daily prayer, my dear; and doubtless you can tell me, Who alone can cause you to resemble this beautiful and useful building? I know your Governess agrees with Dr. Johnson, who once said that 'the end of all learning should be piety,' and therefore I feel certain she has taught you how true wisdom can be found."

"Oh yes, Grandma, she often tells us God alone can bless our learning, and make it really useful to us, and that therefore we should ask Him for the teaching of His Holy Spirit many times a day."

"And does my Frank attend to this advice?"

"Sometimes I do, and then I feel quite light and happy like; but when I grow careless, and forget it, I am sure to get into some scrape or other soon. So then, I am glad enough to go back to my old ways, and ask that God would help me in the future."

"A safe and blessed practice, dear, and one that will preserve you from all dangers. Prayer is our strength, our safety; and when we ask the aid of God with all our hearts, we shall never ask in vain, you may be sure."

After a little pause, Frank broke into a peal of merry laughter.

"What is it that amuses you so much?" said Mrs. Grey.

"Why, Grandma, I was thinking," said he, colouring, and looking shy, "what an enormous-looking fellow I should be, if I were like 'The Crystal Palace.'"

"Yes; then you would be 1800 feet in length, and 450 feet in breadth, and noble trees would be sheltered by your arms, and you would be a kind of modern Atlas, that the fables tell us could support the globe."

"I would rather be a little boy, than anything made of bricks and mortar, though," said Frank, complacently.

"But there is no brick, or stone, or mortar, in the whole;—but all is iron, wood, and glass—and the vast building is composed of very many parts, each only eight feet square, but so great in number, that it is longer than any street you know, for it covers 18 acres of ground, which is nine times larger than your garden at the school, and all is supported upon iron pillars of the same size and pattern. Yet this immense erection is all formed of complete and distinct parts, not half as large as the room we are now sitting in. Let this teach you, that mere size is not necessary to completeness; but that a number of beautiful and little parts, put well together, form a noble, grand, and most effective whole."

"I see, Grandma," said Frank, smiling archly; "so you mean, that though I am but very little, and all that, yet I may be complete and useful too."

"You understand me thoroughly, my dear; for were any of these parts defective, the whole would be incomplete, and we might never have the pleasure of walking for miles, on a wet day, under the cover of 'The Crystal Palace,' as I hope we shall do during the next Christmas holidays. So you see, that small things are of great importance, after all."

"I thought it was to be a great bazaar, and not a garden, Grandmama," said Frank.

"And you are right, for in the first instance it is destined to receive specimens of the industry of the whole world and a novel and a grand idea it is,—for which we have to thank Prince Albert, who is not only almost the highest person in the land, but also one of the wisest and the best; and often should we thank God for giving us so good a Queen and Prince, so very different to many that you read about in history."

"Yes, Grandma, I read in 'Peter Parley' of many wicked kings;—but will this bazaar be larger than the Pantheon?"

"Very much larger than I can make you comprehend, until you see it; for it will be twenty miles to walk over, and when the great 'Exposition,' as it is called, is ended, it will be filled, perhaps, with graceful shrubs and lovely flowers, flourishing all through the winter, where we may enjoy ourselves for hours daily, and quite forget the frost and snow outside."

"It is quite delightful to think of, I declare, Grandma. I believe that I shall like it better then, than now."

"Both will be very charming, dear. But, perhaps the first will be the most instructive; for there will be goods from every country in the world—specimens of natural productions,—the arts and manufactures,—of every invention that the ingenuity of man has constructed; and of almost all the glorious things that God has given us, in this lovely world."

"Why, Grandma, there never was anything so grand and beautiful before!"

"Nothing, upon so large a scale; but bazaars are not a novelty. They have long been common in the Eastern countries, such as Egypt, Persia, India, and Turkey. In these countries, the shops are not spread abroad through many streets, as we now see them, but are collected in one spot, and are arranged in heads or classes, according to the various kinds of trades, or articles for sale.

"In fact, the word 'Bazaar' means market; and these markets are usually built with high brick roofs, and cupolas, that will admit but little light. They have their passages all lined with shops on each side, and each exactly like the other. All of them are raised above the path on which the customers are standing, and are open to the air, having no walls, but such as separate the various shops. This plan was found convenient, in climates where the heat forbids exertion. It saved the purchasers much trouble and fatigue; for exercise is not as pleasant, or as healthy there, as here."

"I fancy that I should not like such places very much, Grandma," said Frank; "for I do love a walk with you uncommonly, and more especially when you are going shopping, as you sometimes do, one sees so many pretty things, that one never heard or thought about before."

"And I am pleased to take you, Frank, because you never trouble me to purchase what may be too expensive or unsuitable;—neither do you stand looking on the toys and pretty things, with greedy, longing eyes, that tell as plainly your desires as words could do." "Because, Grandma, I know that you will give me all that you think proper, and so the sight quite satisfies me. But I may not be so quiet on the matter when we see the Great Bazaar;—I wonder that they only have them in the East, though."

"They do, at times, my dear—and the first Bazaar in Europe, or 'Exhibition of Industry,' as it was called, took place in France, and was held in the Palace of St. Cloud, a beautiful and royal residence, which was emptied for the purpose."

"A second and a larger followed, the next year, and displayed all the manufactures and the curiosities then known in Paris—and these excited so much interest that Bonaparte, who then reigned in France, had a building erected expressly for the purpose, in the Champs de Mars. It was made of wood, and lined with the old flags that he had just brought home from his war in Italy, and decorated with his banners,—and so these sad trophies of the wickedness of man, and of his anger, hatred, and revenge, were turned to a good purpose at the last.

"Then some years afterwards, there were wooden galleries placed around the quadrangle of the Palace of the Louvre, to receive similar contributions; and people were still so pleased by them, that a fourth succeeded.

"The fourth was on a larger scale, for Bonaparte had then become an Emperor, and wished all things he did to be Imperial, or very grand.

"A building, therefore, was erected for the purpose, by the side of the river that runs through Paris. Can you recollect its name?"

"The Seine, Grandma."

"Yes. It was built beside the Seine, facing the Champs Elysee, and was then considered very beautiful.

"A fifth, a sixth, and seventh followed, in the course of time; but I will not dwell upon them now, but only add that—

"The eighth was held by Louis Phillippe, who then reigned in France—for Bonaparte had died in St. Helena—banished from his throne and his adopted country, and brought to see the folly of his mad ambition; and this Bazaar was held in the Place de la Concorde, a suitable locality for such an object,—for Concorde, you know, means peace and harmony, instead of war and fighting."

"A pleasanter and better thing is peace than war, I think, Grandma," said Frank. "I wish there was no quarreling at all."

"I join you heartily, my dear, and hope the time will shortly come when wars shall cease for ever. But the building raised by Louis Phillippe in La Place de la Concorde, consisted of four pavilions, joined by galleries together; and as many as 2500 persons sent in their contributions.

"But the ninth surpassed all former ones,—covered 120,000 feet of ground—consisted of eight large apartments, with a noble hall, and spacious galleries. It cost nearly L15,000, and had 3300 exhibitors this time.

"All this success at length induced the men of Manchester to make a similar display—and their example was soon followed by the men of Leeds, and many other of our largest towns.

"And then, once more, in the year 1844, the French announced another 'L'Exposition de l'Industrie Francaise'—which gained great praise from all who visited it.

"Next, 'The Free-Trade Bazaar' excited universal interest, and was held in Covent Garden Theatre, in the year 1845, when tens of thousands went to see and purchase the beautiful commodities displayed.

"And last of all was the Exhibition held a year ago in Paris, which exceeded all that had ever been attempted. The area of the former building was increased so much, that it now amounted to 221,000 feet, making it about one-third as large as the enormous Crystal Palace now erected in Hyde Park.

"It was formed of wood and zinc, and cost L16,000; but will speedily be eclipsed by the one we are about to look at. And so you have a little history of these various plans, which will give you a greater interest in our own, I think."

"It will, indeed, Grandma," said Frank; "for, like a stupid fellow, I thought that this was the beginning of the whole."

"And very natural, my dear; for distant objects never impress the mind like what is visible and present. But other nations soon followed France and England, and Belgium and Bavaria were among the earliest, and Munich had the honor of completing the first permanent or lasting building, devoted only to the purposes of an industrial exhibition for native goods, in 1845."

"But ours is for all the world, I think you said, Grandma?"

"Yes, dear, for every nation; and a wonderful assemblage there will be of all things useful, beautiful, and curious. Rare carvings from China, splendid shawls from India, gorgeous carpets from Persia, all elegant and tasteful things from France, all native manufactures from Russia and the North, all specimens from New Zealand, California, and the Countries of the South. In fact, all the nations of the earth, and the islands of the sea, will unite with our own dear countrymen in making a display of their talents and their treasures."

"And of them all, what shall I like the best, Grandma?" said Frank, bewildered by the catalogue.

"It is not possible that I can know your taste, my dear," said Mrs. Grey, smiling at the simple question; "and yet I can imagine that an enormous globe will interest you most. It is to be made by Mr. Wyld, and will be fifty-six feet in diameter, so tell me how great will its circumference be?"

"One hundred and sixty-eight, Grandma," said Frank so readily, that he had a kiss in consequence.

"Well, this great globe will cost L5000, which is more money than you can comprehend at present; but you can fancy how beautiful it will look, with all the mountains raised upon it, and all the seas and rivers clearly marked, and all the nations seen distinctly, and with no mistake about their boundaries, which sometimes puzzle little folks to find, and all the cities and large places plainly visible, without the need of looking for them long and carefully; in short, a year or two of the study of Geography mastered in an hour."

"But how shall I get at it?" asked Frank, with an air of disappointment. "It will be so far above my head: look here, Grandma, I only reach as high as this," said he, posting himself against the wall, "and this globe will be higher than the ceiling, I should think?"

"It will be higher than the house, my dear, but, to remedy the difficulty, there will be galleries all round it, and staircases to mount them, so that there will be no danger, and nothing to prevent the sight, and I think you will find it a great treat."

"Grandma!" said Frank, drawing a deep breath, "it seems too much to think about, it will be so very grand and lovely. I really must be very, very good next half, or else perhaps you will not let me see it, after all?"

"Fear not, my child; you will be good, if you ask of God to make you so, for Jesus' sake, as many times a day as you are told to do at school. And now I see the carriage waits, so let us go."



CHAPTER III.

"I really think you are a perfect Crystal Palace, dearest Grandmama," said Frank, when Mrs. Grey had given orders to the coachman to drive round and call for Master Grant, "for you are always good, and kind, and happy."

"Alas! my child, my defects are most deplorable, and my faults are very many, and I daily have to say, as well as you, 'O Lord! make haste to help me.'"

"I cannot fancy it, I do assure you," said the little doubter; "you seem to me so very, very good."

"And so I may, and yet never be a Crystal Palace, Frank; for only the child of God, and the believer in Jesus, can be really one. Many, I fear, mistake in this great matter, and are thought true Christians by others and themselves, when they only seek the praise of men, and not the favor and the love of God. We must try ourselves by this test, dear, and alter everything that is not done to please our kind and heavenly Father. Besides, you know, there never has been more than one 'perfect' Crystal Palace in this world, from the beginning. Can you tell me who it was?"

"Adam, I suppose, Grandma."

"Well, Adam truly was a Crystal Palace when he was first created, but he soon became opaque, and lost his purity, transparency, and beauty, all at once. How did he do this, dear?"

"By disobedience."

"Yes, by wilful disobedience. He did not try to keep the one command of God, nor did he ask for help to do so, but indulged his foolish, wicked wish instead; and so, because he pleased his greedy eye, his whole body became full of darkness (Matt. vi. 23), and he was no longer the temple of the living God." (2 Cor. vi. 16.)

"Jesus was the only perfect Crystal Palace, then, Grandma? I should have thought of that before."

"Yes, Jesus was God, and God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all. (1 John i. 5.) Jesus was the light of the world, and He promised all His children that they should not walk in darkness, but should have the light of life." (John viii. 12.)

"So, then, Grandma, the real followers of Jesus are Crystal Palaces, but not perfect Crystal Palaces;—that is what you mean, I think?"

"It is, my dear. But is this the house where George Grant lives? I see that James has stopped the horses."

"I do not know, indeed, Grandma; he only came to school at Michaelmas, and I know but little of him; yet, as he wished so very much to see the Crystal Palace, I thought that you would take him."

"You thought right, Frank, and James shall ask his mother's leave, or rather, perhaps, it will seem kinder if we alight ourselves and do so."

"Thank you, Grandma," cried Frank, "I am sure that he will not be disappointed now, as he expected, for no one can refuse you, when you ask a favor."

Mrs. Grey smiled at his affectionate enthusiasm, and bade him follow her.



CHAPTER IV.

Mrs. Grey inquired for Mrs. Grant, and learnt with sorrow that she was too unwell to be seen by any visitors; she therefore sent a kind and civil message, requesting her permission to convey her little son to see the Crystal Palace, and promising to bring him home quite safely in two hours. The servant left them in the drawing-room, which, though not shabby, looked dusty and uncomfortable, and seemed to want the care and presence of a mistress, and to prove, besides, that those who served had not the fear of God within their hearts, or they would have done their duty faithfully, and kept it in far better order, though their poor lady was laid aside by illness.

The maid returned in a few minutes, and brought the grateful thanks of Mrs. Grant, with regret that she could not come down to see her guests, and then left the room to get her little master ready.

Mrs. Grey sat waiting long and patiently, whilst Frank trotted round the room, tried every chair and sofa,—examined every ornament about it,—and placed himself at last before the window, to watch the passers-by, for his amusement, saying at the time, "It seems as if George never meant to come, Grandma."

"I must confess that they are very long in bringing him, my dear," said Mrs. Grey; "but sickness in a house occasions often much confusion, and therefore we must have more patience."

"How long have we been here, Grandma?" said Frank, after a long silence, as Mrs. Grey had taken up a book, and he would not interrupt her reading: "it seems almost a day to me."

"It is almost an hour, indeed," replied his Grandmama, looking at her watch; "and as the horses are more restive and impatient than my little Frank, and cannot so easily be taught their duty, I will ring, and ask the reason of so much delay."

The maid appeared all fright and bustle, and said that, from the attic to the kitchen, she had sought for Master George, in vain.

Mrs. Grey was quite concerned, and said, "She feared some dreadful mischief had befallen him, and hoped his poor mamma would not be told."

The girl then changed her tone, and appeared more angry than alarmed, and said, "It was only one of his old tricks," and that "she wished he might be flogged when he was found."

Frank felt his eyes brimful of tears, and looked beseechingly at Mrs. Grey, as if to ask her powerful mediation. She read his thoughts, and said:—

"Beating will do but little good, unless he can be first convinced of its necessity, which does not often happen."

"There's no one here can take that trouble, ma'am," said the maid, peevishly; "I do assure you, Master George teazes us all, beyond endurance. I'm sure I wish the time were come for him to be sent back to school—for there is no peace within the house whilst he is in it."

"Dear me," thought Frank, "how very sorry I should he if Grandma's servants said the same of me;—but they are all so very kind, instead—and seem so glad to see me, and so pleased at all my treats. I think this maid is rather cross, and feel afraid she often scolds poor George."

"I fear that waiting longer will be useless, then," said Mrs. Grey; "but I wish that you would bring the little truant up to me, when he returns, for I should like to have some conversation with him."

"He will not like to show his face to you, ma'am, I should think," said Mary; "he will be mad enough when he comes back, let him be where he may—and it just serves him right," she added, as if rejoicing in his disappointment. "I declare I cannot say that I am sorry, for he has led me such a life about this 'Crystal Palace,' that, what with the illness of my missus, and the noise of the children, added to my usual work, I'm driven almost wild. I wonder who would ever have the plague of them—not I, if I could help it!"

"Then suffer me to say, that you act a most dishonest part in taking such a situation," said Mrs. Grey, with dignity.

Mary bridled up, and "hoped she always did her duty—and was sure that her character could bear the strictest scrutiny—and that she had had the care of twenty times more property in many of her former places."

"I bring no charge against you as a thief," said Mrs. Grey; "you quite misunderstand my meaning. You may be very careful of the tea and sugar—you may never waste your master's money—you may keep the children clean, and neatly mend their clothes—you may even make them say their prayers each night and morning—but if they do not see you love them—if you take no pleasure in their sports—feel no delight in their society—no joy when they are good—no pain when they are naughty—you will never gain a proper influence, and should not enter into a situation that you cannot fitly occupy. This is the dishonesty I spoke of, and not purloining goods or money."

"I did not rightly understand you ma'am," said Mary, still looking hot and angry.

"But now you do. I think you feel the force of what I said?"

"Perhaps so, ma'am," said Mary, with reluctance.

"When, formerly, I had to hire a nurse," said Mrs. Grey, "my first inquiries were—

"Are you very, very fond of children? Do you love them tenderly and constantly? Have you patience with their provoking little ways? Are you calm and gentle, when you must rebuke or punish them? And do you strive to make them good, as well as merry?

"These were my questions," she continued; "and those who could not conscientiously say Yes, ought not, I said, to take the charge of children. For love alone will lead us to make sacrifices, and children constantly require us to give up our own ease and self-indulgence, and devote ourselves unceasingly to all their wants. A nurse should feel herself a temporary mother, and should make her every thought tend to her children's welfare. It is a high and honorable post, and has a rich reward, when well sustained. You must excuse me, therefore, if, with such opinions, I spoke, as you might think, too freely on the subject."

Mary was mollified by so much condescension, and, curtseying, said:—

"Oh, never mind, ma'am; no doubt you said it for my good; but could you have to do with Master George, I do believe that he would even try your patience. There is no rest or quiet in him; he never will be satisfied with what he has, but is always worrying for what he has not got. Nothing will pacify him; and we often are obliged to shut him up alone for hours together, he is so very troublesome."

"You had better, far, employ him," said Mrs. Grey, "and so keep him out of mischief, for solitude is only useful to the thoughtful and the happy."

"But he does not love his book, ma'am, and is only pleased with rioting," said Mary. "So what is to be done with such a boy?"

"No doubt he is a very troublesome and trying child," said Mrs. Grey; "and I hope that God will give you grace and strength to bear with him, and set before him quietly his numerous faults. I have always found this plan the most successful, and I advise you to begin it."

Just at this moment Mrs. Grant appeared. Surprised at hearing so much conversation in the drawing-room, she had left her easy chair, and having reached the landing-place, she leant against the banisters, and listened to the conversation we have just recorded.

Delighted with the wisdom and the kindness of the observations, she felt obliged to make a desperate effort and go to thank the visitor who gave such good advice.

She looked so weak and delicate, that it was evident she had no power to contend with her unruly son, and much less to inflict upon him the needful discipline.

Frank stood before her, wondering in his little heart how any boy could vex or tease so gentle and so sweet a mother.

"I should like to sit upon a stool beside her," said he to himself, "and read some pretty book, and talk it over afterwards, and put her pillows smooth, and watch when she seemed tired, and then hold my tongue awhile, and let her fall asleep. I would walk on tip-toe in her room, and never talk too loud to make her head ache, and run of all her errands, and so try to save the servants trouble. Mary would not grumble then, I hope. I must persuade poor George to turn over a new leaf, and see if he is not more happy by it."

Mrs. Grant spoke very nicely to him; told him her little boy was very fond of him, and gave him a good character, and that she hoped he would be like him very soon. She regretted that her own ill-health prevented her from giving him the indulgences he wanted, and that his father was too busy in providing for his welfare, to spare him any time. She bade him prize his own more happy lot, and seemed to wish to make all possible excuses for the unkindness and undutifulness of her only son.

Fearing she would suffer from fatigue, Mrs. Grey took leave, promising to come again and give her little boy some other treat, if he improved his conduct.

Frank felt dull and disappointed just at first, but when he reached the lively, bustling scene, where stood the Crystal Palace, he soon forgot his short-lived troubles in astonishment and joy.

His Grandmama explained the use of every part, showed him the columns and their sockets, the girders and the ribs, the sheets of glass, all four feet long, the gutters and the water-pipes, the frames and ventilators, the bolts, the rivets, and the nuts; the central aisle and transept, each seventy-two feet wide, and more than sixty high, running along the length and breadth of the whole building; the galleries, running too along the sides, with the ingenious plans adopted to keep the whole well aired, and have it neither hot nor cold. But as we hope to have a very full account prepared for the use of our young friends, by the time that they come home again at mid-summer—when the whole will be completed, and filled with all its varied stores—we will say no more at present on the subject, but reserve it for their study, just before they make their visit to the Crystal Palace, in their next holidays.

Frank and his Grandma were highly gratified; and having both expressed their thanks to the kind friend who had given them an order of admission, they were walking back towards the carriage, when a rush, a hubbub, and a frightful screaming, stopped them in their way. Frank turned very pale, for he fancied that he knew the voice. Alas! it was too true—poor George had fallen down from off a scaffolding, and had put out his collarbone, and broken several ribs!

He had slily left his home, according to his threat at school; had asked his way at last to Kensington—all weary, hot, and frightened—and then had found, too late, that there was "no admission but on business" allowed.

Determined not to be defeated in his plans, he contrived to climb over the fencing at a private corner, by the help of some loose stones that lay beside it, caught his jacket on a nail, and tore it from the shoulder to the wrist, and looking all around in great alarm, beheld Frank Grey, a little way before him, walking with a lady and a gentleman, switching his little cane, and looking up delighted in their faces.

He took another glance at his torn coat, saw that his shoes were muddy, and his hands all dirt, and blood, and scratches, and remembered—worse than all—oh! far, far worse!—that he was there by stealth—a naughty, wilful, disobedient boy, who dared not look upon his friends, because his conscience told him how he was degraded. So, anxious to avoid his little play-mate, he rushed up a ladder leading to the scaffolding, to hide himself—missed his footing in his hurry, and fell down on to the ground from a great height.

Oh! how his shrieks and groans did wound the heart of our dear Frank! He wanted to push through the crowd, and get to him; but he was ordered back by a wise doctor, who had just arrived, and who had his patient placed upon a plank, and carried to the hospital hard by.

Mrs. Grey begged that her carriage might be used; but the doctor civilly declined, and said that "it was most important that the little fellow should be given up to him; but that his mother had been sent for, just before, and was the only person who might see him."

Oh! how dear Frank sobbed, as the shrieks rent the air!—- and as they grew fainter and fainter in the distance, his Grandmama ordered the servant to lift him to the carriage, that he might be taken quickly home.

Frank snoozed up close beside his Grandmama, and sat so silent that she hoped he slept, exhausted by his tears and pity; but, lifting up his eyes, at length he said—

"Grandma, I fear poor George is not a 'Crystal Palace.' Is he?"

"Not now, my dear, but he may yet be one; and if he live to come again to school, you must never tell him of this day's disgrace; for neither boys nor men are goaded into goodness; but you must try, and pray, to win him back to Jesus, and make him love and wish to imitate that gracious Saviour, who, when himself a little boy, was said to grow in favor both with God and man (Luke ii. 52)."

"I will, indeed; indeed, I will!" said Frank, weeping afresh; and so, to turn his thoughts, his Grandmama proposed that they should call on Mrs. Scott, and ask after her health.

Frank willingly agreed, for Harry Scott had always been a favorite with him, though many years his senior. He was a noble, generous, and condescending lad, who liked to play with little fellows, and not to teaze and banter them, as too many of them do. Frank never was more happy than when he was allowed to have a game with Harry. But now he had not seen him for six months, and then only once or twice, as Harry and his mother were going to the sea for change of air.

What, then, was his surprise and sorrow, to be told, that he had now been very ill five months, and that it was not at all expected that he ever would be better, until he went to dwell in the New Jerusalem—that 'Noblest Crystal Palace',—"descending out of heaven from God, having the glory of God: and whose light is like unto a stone most precious, even like a jasper stone, clear as crystal; with gates of pearl, and angels for the porters; with streets of gold, and a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb."—Rev. xxi. and xxii.

Poor Frank began to cry again, and think that he could hardly bear this second trial. But Mrs. Scott looked cheerful, to his great astonishment, and begged that they would walk up stairs, and see her son, who knew of their arrival, and would be glad to see them.

Frank had mixed feelings as he listened to the invitation. He longed to see dear Harry, and yet he was afraid of a sick chamber, and pictured it all darkness and distress; and feared that he might hear again such groans and shrieks as George had uttered.

He held his Grandma's hand quite tight, as he went with her along the hall, and felt disposed to ask her not to go further, when they got to the first landing; but then, remembering that Harry had expressed a wish to see them, he thought it would be selfish and cruel to refuse; and so he walked on bravely, though his little heart went pit-a-pat, and sometimes seemed about to jump into his throat!

But when the door was opened, all his dread had gone! The room was light and cheerful, the shutters were unclosed, and the blinds were up. A cheerful fire blazed and crackled, and dear Harry lay beside it on a sofa, looking lovely and lovingly as ever on him!

He put out both his hands to welcome him, and Frank saw that they were very, very, very thin! Indeed, they looked almost transparent, they were so white, and small, and delicate. Frank gave a little cough to stop a sob, and stooped down to kiss him tenderly. But Harry gently put him back, for he knew his cough was coming, caused by the opening of the door. Long, long it lasted: the perspiration poured from his pale forehead, and was dried upon his burning cheek; and the phlegm was rattling in his throat, and yet would not come higher, and Frank really feared he would be choked!

But soon the coughing ceased, and, smiling sweetly, he lay awhile quiet and exhausted. Frank never took his eyes from off his face, and thought it looked more beautiful than ever he had known it; and whilst he stood and wondered what could make him look so calm amidst such suffering, Harry once more opened his sweet soft hazel eyes, and said:—

"I hope, dear little Frank, I have not frightened you. I tried to stop my cough on your account, and it made it worse than usual."

Poor Frank now stooped again to kiss him, but could not restrain his tears another moment, yet kept repeating, "Oh! pray forgive me, Harry! I do not mean to fret you; but indeed I cannot help it. Do forgive me; do forgive me, Harry dear!"

It was now Harry's turn to be affected, and he could scarcely refrain from weeping, with his feeling little friend; but resolutely mastering his emotion, he began:—

"I asked you up to see me, dearest Frank, not to distress you, but to comfort you, and cheer you, and prepare you for my death, which will very shortly happen. I know you love me, and will grieve to lose me: and I feel sorry too, sometimes, to leave all those I love so well—but then I go to others dearer still, even to God and Jesus, my own own Saviour!"

Little Frank began to dry his tears, and smile upon his happy friend.

"I have been to see 'The Crystal Palace,' Harry, and it is so large and grand!" said he, hoping to amuse him.

"No doubt it will be, when completed, quite like a scene in fairy-land," said Harry, calmly; "but before that time arrives, angels will have fetched me to one of the 'many mansions' that Jesus has prepared for all who love him. (John xiv. 1, 2.) And think what palaces of light and glory they will be, dear Frank!"

"No doubt they will," said Frank, but looked as if he had no wish to see them either, for the present.

Harry read his little thoughts, and said, "You are glad you are not in my condition too. You would rather stay on earth with Grandmama, and all the nice things that surround you here."

"Why, yes, I must confess I would," said Frank; "but I hope that is not wrong? Is it anything against me, Harry?"

"By no means, Frank. And when I was in health like you, I felt the same."

"Oh! I am glad of that" said Frank, relieved.

"But now that this earthly house of my tabernacle is dissolving, it is very sweet to feel that I have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens, (2 Cor. v. 1); and I want to tell you how you may have one too."

"I should like to know, I'm sure," said Frank.

"Yes. It is the one thing needful, dear; and all the time, and trouble, and labor, spent in getting ready to take possession of it, will be well repaid, the very moment that we see it. And however fair that house may be I shall be fitted to inhabit it, which is another comfort; for Jesus will present me faultless before his presence, with exceeding joy. (Jude, 24.) He has loved me—suffered for me—saved me, and preserved me to this hour; and now he is going to take me to himself. There I shall see his glory; there I shall love him, and obey him, and adore him, as all the blessed spirits do who are already there."

"I can hardly wonder that you wish to go," said Frank, catching the inspiration of his friend.

"No; it is far more wonderful that so many wish to stay."

"And yet this is a very pleasant place," said Frank. "I always feel it so when I am good."

"And God means it for a very pleasant place, my dear. He has given us the mountain and the glen, the forest and the grove, the lake and the waterfall, the fruits and the flowers, the beasts and the birds, and all that is beautiful and good for us! And when I think of these, I repeat my favorite verse, and say—

"O God! O Good beyond compare! If thus thy meaner works are fair— If thus thy bounty gilds the span Of ruined earth and sinful man, How glorious must the mansion be Where thy redeemed shall dwell with thee!"

"I am glad that it is proper to be happy," said Frank, thoughtfully; "I used to tell George Grant at school I thought it was; but he said that all good people must be dull and sad, and called them 'spoonies.'"

"Then you must show him his mistake, dear, and let him see you always cheerful; because you are obedient, industrious, affectionate, and grateful."

"I wish I was a Crystal Palace, I am sure, from the bottom of my heart," said Frank.

"A what! my dear?" asked Henry in surprise.

"Tell him what I mean, Grandma; you can explain it better, far, than I can do," said Frank.

"No; try yourself, instead."

"I really can't, Grandma, though I do quite understand it; so tell him, if you please."

Mrs. Grey explained the previous conversations, with which the reader is acquainted, and at the conclusion, Frank exclaimed:—

"And, Harry dear, it is delightful to see that God has made of you a 'Crystal Palace,' I am sure."

Poor Harry shook his head at first, and said, "A very little palace, dear, I am afraid."

"But Grandma says, that little things may be complete, and beautiful, and luminous," said Frank.

"Well, shall I tell you, then, how it has been formed?" said Harry.

"Oh, do!" said Frank; "that will be kind."

"Then tell me what is all glass made of?"

"Of flint and sand," said Frank.

"Exactly; and how are they melted down to glass?"

"By a great fire, called a furnace," replied Frank.

"Just so; and in this very furnace of affliction has my heart of flint, and my loose sand of character, that would not fix itself to any good, been melted down by God, to what you see. Let Him have all the praise, dear boy."

Harry now laid back his head, and looked fatigued.

Frank turned towards his grandmama, to see if she observed it, and would take her leave.

Harry watched them both, and stretching out his arms, embraced Frank tenderly, and said:—"You will live to be a 'Crystal Palace,' darling. Only promise me one thing, before you go, that you will never, never cease to pray about it."

Mrs. Scott now rose, and wished them hastily to leave the room, for she saw her son was very faint; and before Frank and Mrs. Grey had left the house, Harry had gone to take possession of his mansion!

His Grandmama did not inform him, for she thought it would too much excite him; but after sitting silent in the carriage for a time, Frank said:—

"Grandma! I never will forget one word that dearest Harry said to me; nor will I cease to pray that both George Grant and I may each become a living 'Crystal Palace.'"

THE END