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.'"