Major Oldschool got but little rest that night, for he kept thinking over and over again of all that had occurred,—muttering to himself, half unconsciously, when he _did_ doze off, what Elcy had said in admiration of the change that had taken place in him. Nor were the slumbers of Elcy and Jobby more profound; they both ran over in their minds the several wonders they had read of in the Exhibition, and longed for the daylight that was to reveal to them all the marvels of the Crystal Palace. Mr. and Mrs. Sandboys themselves were up with the sparrows the next morning, alive with the conviction that at last the eventful day which was to consummate their hopes and wishes had really arrived; and in a short time they would be back again to Cumberland in their quiet mountain home, talking over the many wonders they had seen, and laughing with their neighbours over the perplexing adventures they had gone through. When the party were assembled, Major Oldschool propounded the order of the day’s amusements, as he had mentally arranged them previously to rising that morning. He had crammed the day, he said, as full of sights and shows as he possibly could. He proposed that they should first, as it was a lovely morning, go by the steamer up to the New Houses of Parliament, and having viewed them, and looked in at the Courts of Law, they were to step over to the Abbey and take a peep at the Poet’s Corner. Then they could have a beautiful stroll through the parks, past Buckingham Palace, and along Constitution Hill, to the Wellington Statue; after which they could just drop in at the St. George’s Gallery, and see the splendid Diorama of the Holy Land, and Cumming’s African Hunter’s Exhibition; which done, they could step along to the Chinese Collection, and look at the lady who had only two inches to stand upon, instead of a foot; and after that, just to fortify them against the fatigues of the day, they could drop into M. Mouflet’s restaurant, and have a nice little luncheon, for the Major said it was whispered that the tepid ices, and soupy jellies, and Bath buns—strongly resembling their hard and dry relations the Bath bricks—which were to be had at the Exhibition, could not be included among the _chef-d’œuvres_ of the Crystal Palace. After luncheon, Major Oldschool told them they would be ready for a good four-hours’ feast of their eyes at the Grand Show; and this over, he proposed they should retire to M. Soyer’s Imposium and have a nice little dinner of cold meat and pickles in the Baronial Hall, at the small charge of half-a-guinea a head; and in the evening, he said, they could take a cab, and drive to Leicester-square, and have a turn round the Great Globe, and be nearly broiled by the gas up among the Polar Regions; next, they might step across to M. Cantelo’s Incubator, and see the process of hatching chickens, which was remarkably curious, for he _had_ been informed by one of the first