﻿THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 



11 



cotta ; a splendid variety of silver ware ; perfumery, soaps, wigs, 

 piano-fortes, and a multitude of other things, which, as the auction- 

 eers say in their advertisements, are too numerous to mention. 



By this time, you feel almost as tired as a soldier after a day's hard 

 fighting. So you walk down stairs with a somewhat heavy step. Tak- 

 ing your cane or parasol from the young lady at the door, you walk out 

 and jump into the first omnibus which runs near your home, or your 

 hotel. And when you get seated cosily in the softest corner of the 

 sofa at home, you say in the spirit of the renowned Sancho Panza, 

 of glorious memory, " Blessed be the man who invented sofas." 

 Presently, a cup of tea, a plate of nice cold beef, with some delicate 

 slices of fresh bread and butter, restore your spirits. You talk over 

 the sights of the day, and at an early hour seek your bed, where 

 you fell asleep almost as soon as your cheek touches the pillow 

 if you have any dreams, they are filled with pictures of what you 

 saw at the Crystal Palace. And, it may be, if you should live to be 

 as aged as Mark Forrester, you may one day shoulder your walk- 

 ing stick, and tell your little curly-headed grandchildren of the pleas- 

 ant day you spent at the Crystal Palace. 



