Although we had a day’s rest yesterday, it being Sunday, my eldest daughter was not sufficiently recovered from the fatigues of Saturday to encounter another day’s journeying in the cave, which might perhaps be more fatiguing than any we had yet undergone, and so my youngest and myself sallied forth, both of us being very anxious to see the ferlies across the river. It has been doubtful for some days whether we should be able to cross the river, for, like all the rivers for a considerable time past, it has been so high that there has not been sufficient room for a boat to pass between the river and the rocky ceiling above. However, Green River, which flows at about half a mile’s distance from the mouth of the cave, has fallen considerably since last night, which affords some hope that the river in the cave may also have fallen, and Stephen assures us that he will get us to the other side some way or other, if we should go through Purgatory, which he suspects we shall have to do. We take an additional guide with us, named Alfred, in case his services may be required. We trudge along the Main (and at a pretty smart pace), till we reach the Giant’s Coffin, behind which we again descend, and go through the Deserted Chambers, pass the Bottomless Pit and again get into the Winding Way, through which having winded, we leave the Bacon Chamber on the right, and take the passage to the left, which leads to the Dead Sea, which may be seen by looking over a precipice, and sending a blazing piece of paper to the regions below. At eighty feet distance it reaches the still water of the Dead Sea. We journey on through avenues till we reach the River Styx, which we cross in a boat, then we walk a little farther till we get to Lethe. We sail along it in our frail bark till the water becomes so shallow that we can go no farther. Echo River is the great one we have to cross, and as the guides are uncertain about the state of it, they leave us till they ascertain by what means we are to get to the other side. It was no very delightful situation for solitary helpless individuals to be left alone in a boat in the middle of a river so far under the face of the earth, and with no sound of anything near us save the trickling of invisible waterfalls, and nothing with any sign of life but gnats that fluttered about our lamps, and now and then a large cricket with immense long legs, but there was no “hearth” for it to be on, nor did it chirp. In this river are the eyeless fish; there are two kinds of them, neither having the least resemblance of a place for an eye, for, of course, they have no need of eyes. The solitariness of such a scene can scarcely be conceived. However, we must not think of it; we sang and chatted. The echo was magnificent, and sounding chords afforded us some amusement. The four notes of the chord, sounded by one voice, continued to sound altogether for a very long time, and at length died away by almost inaudible sounds. After being in this lonely situation for an hour, we were cheered by hearing the voices of the guides, singing at a long distance from us. As they came nearer we discovered that it was “Auld lang syne” they were singing, and I am sure I never heard that favourite air with greater pleasure or satisfaction. At length the glimmer of the lamps is seen in the distant darkness, and the guides approach us, awakening the echoes with “Oh, Susanna,” “Old Uncle Ned,” and other negro ditties. We learn that we cannot embark at the usual place, but must go round by Purgatory Avenue. They have to carry us through the shallow water about fifty yards, till we come to walking ground, then we reach a ferry which we cross in a boat, and Alfred takes the boat through the archway at the usual place for embarking, to meet us at the end of the avenue; for we hear the water splashing against the ceiling, and we cannot go that way. He must lie down flat in the boat, and get through as he best can. We reach the point of the river where he had come to, and there is no sign of him. We wait patiently for a time, and at length the awful silence is broken by the sounds of his voice, singing to let us know he has got through in safety. The effect of the solitary lamp on the water is astounding. We now all embark, and sing our way down the Echo River for about a quarter of a mile, when we get out, and walk again for some distance, then cross the river again, on Stephen’s back, and at last we are fairly on the other side. The river was discovered in 1839, and first crossed in 1841. As we go along, although we are fifty or sixty feet above the river, marks of its recent rise are visible, for the sand is very wet, and our road very slippery. The avenue in which we now are must have been filled with water to the very ceiling, and our path is an awfully wild one, strewed with immense rocks that have fallen from above, and the ceiling is like a dark midnight sky. The walls are beautifully ornamented with rosettes, &c., of stalactite in great profusion. We are now in Lillyman’s Avenue, and have come to a bend, something like the Great Bend on the other side of the river. This bend resembles exactly the stern of a large ship, and we see it as if we were in the water looking up at it. It is called the Great Western. The avenue, which is two miles long, is terminated by an apartment called Ole Bull’s Concert Room, for here the great violinist discoursed eloquent music to a large party whom he accompanied into the cave some years ago. We now enter the Pass of El Ghor, which is two miles long, very narrow, that is, it averages a breadth of six or eight feet, and a height of about fifteen or eighteen. There is a singular-looking place in it called The Hanging Rocks, which are immense blocks of stone rent from the roof, and hanging as it were in air, ready to annihilate any half-hundred people that may venture under them, but fortunately they don’t. We leave the Pass, and enter Spring-side, when we ascend a ladder about fifteen feet into a place called Mary’s Vineyard, one of the most extraordinary freaks in the whole cave. It looks as if all the dark coloured grapes had been collected from half the vineyards on the Rhine and deposited here. The clusters are perfect, and the formations are still going on. It was lighted up with a Bengal, and the effect of it is indescribable. We pass on to Washington Hall, or the Spar Chamber, as it is sometimes called, a large and beautiful apartment, where the walls and roof are covered with beautiful ornaments, and by and by we reach the Snow-ball Room, which has the appearance of there having been a formidable battery of snow-balls directed against the roof, many of which are beautifully formed, like large white roses. We proceed to Cleveland’s Cabinet, which is about two miles in length, and filled with stalactite beauties, various parts of it being distinguished by particular names, such as Mary’s Bower, a beautiful part—St Cecilia’s Grotto, Charlotte’s Grotto, Mary Reedie’s Festoon, &c., the walls of the whole for several miles being covered with rosettes, Prince of Wales’ feathers, tulips, lilies, &c., and often we see a piece like a richly carved Corinthian capital. We must not forget the Diamond Grotto, where, by holding your lamp behind you, a never-ending profusion of sparkling diamonds is seen among the stalactite beauties. Many beautiful specimens have fallen on the ground, and many have been knocked from the place where Nature deposited them by the ruthless hand of some visitor. We brought away some specimens with us, but they are very brittle and very heavy, which makes it difficult to procure many. It is said there are rats in this part of the cave, though it is difficult to imagine what they can support themselves and their families upon, for they cannot exist on the beautiful ornaments by which they are surrounded any more than the California miner can live on the gold he finds; but sometimes they get a chance for food. It is not long since two young men came from New York with the determination of exploring the cave. They took provisions with them to last for three days, and had Stephen for their guide. They had their blankets with them, and after one day’s exploration, they fixed on Cleveland’s Cabinet for their sleeping chamber. When they got up in the morning, and went for their basket to breakfast before setting out on their travels, they found every particle of food gone, and they had a trudge of eight miles to the mouth of the cave for a breakfast. The rats are different from the usual species, they leap something like a rabbit, and are very seldom seen. Beyond Cleveland’s Avenue, we came to the Rocky Mountains, an exceedingly difficult place to travel over, then get to the Dismal Hall, a gloomy-looking place, about 100 feet high—Sereno’s Arbour, well worthy to be visited, and Medora’s Spring, are at the farthest extent of the explored part of the cave, and here we are nine miles from the mouth. We now returned, and saw on our way the Snow-ball Chamber lighted up with a Bengal, which, if possible, increased its beauty. We stopped to dine at a little spring not far from the foot of the ladder by which we descended from Mary’s Vineyard, and, after resting for a time, we entered once more the Pass of El Ghor, and continued our way looking with regret for the last time upon the many wonders we had already explored. As we approached the river we found the walking as bad as ever, but we got over safe. As Alfred was carrying me along the Styx on his back, he stepped upon a quicksand, and sank considerably, which I not liking, and being quite ignorant as to where he was likely to sink to, I jumped from his back, in spite of Stephen’s shouts to “hold on to him! hold on to him!” It afforded me a hearty laugh, for the water scarcely came to my knees, and the exertion of clambering over rocks, and walking along on the rough road, soon made all dry. Once on this side the river, we trudged on nimbly through the Fat Man’s Misery and the Valley of Humility, and getting into the Main Cave from behind the Giant’s Coffin again, we were not long in seeing the light of day. I nearly forgot to mention, that as we were sailing up the Echo River on our way home, Alfred, the guide, caught two of the eyeless fish. They are small, about a finger’s length, one of them like a minnow, and the other something like a shrimp. There is not the slightest appearance of eyes about them. We heard also the sound of a voice at some distance, which Stephen knew to be that of one of the guides, and when we got up on the walk about fifty feet above the river, we saw at a great distance three individuals standing beside the river, their lamps beside them. The effect was awfully sepulchral—they looked like beings of the nether regions. By the by, the place through which we traversed to the spot where we saw them, is called the Infernal Regions. The visitors soon joined us, and we left the cave together. They had only gone to the bank of the river. It will be long ere we forget our visit to the Mammoth Cave. The season not commencing till about the end of June, we had it all to ourselves, and enjoyed it much; but even when there is a crowd of people there, it must add to the amusement to meet parties as one rambles through the cave, though one would scarcely get into such a place for amusement. It fills the mind with thoughts something deeper than amusement. No accident of a serious nature has ever happened in the cave, for the guides are very careful, and every precaution is taken to prevent accidents. Very soon after the river was discovered two young gentlemen, accompanied by two young ladies, went to cross it. They were full of spirits and too full of fun, for despite the guide’s warning that the boat was very crazy, they, in getting into it, upset it. Their lamps were all extinguished, and their matches lost. Fortunately the guide got them out of the water, and placed them on some rocks, where they were obliged to remain for several hours, till the people in the hotel sent to see what detained them so long in the cave. They were in a terrible fright, and no wonder. Another gentleman who had left his party, in his ardour to examine some particular point, lost his way in attempting to rejoin them, and wandered about shouting till his lamp went out, when he sat down, and he was thirty hours alone before they found him. There is no danger if the parties keep together and with the guide, but to attempt to find the way oneself were a useless task.[2] We left the Mammoth Cave Hotel at six in the evening, and had a pleasant ride to Bell’s, at eight miles distance. The road is through the woods and very rough, but will be smoother by and by, when there is more traffic on it. Mr Bell has improved it very much this spring, at his own expense, for he has the conveying of all the visitors from the house to the cave, and very reasonably he does it. As I before mentioned, he is an obliging and attentive old man, Mr Bell, and if you get into his good graces, he will not be sparing of his peach brandy and honey, though he very wisely takes none of it himself; and perhaps he may take you into the garden, where he will show you something that will strike you as being very singular, if you are an Englishman. In a corner of the garden, under a quiet tree, you will see a neat tombstone, which will tell you that there the old man’s son lies, and two of that son’s children, and perhaps he may tell you himself that he is conducting the house and farm for the benefit of that son’s widow and surviving child, whom he wishes to see comfortably provided for before he be laid in the quiet corner beside his son. After spending five hours at Bell’s we got the stage for Louisville, ninety miles distant, over a road that is not of the best, and to make it worse there is a storm brewing, the lightning is flashing, the thunder is roaring, the rain is coming down in torrents, and the fire flies are whirling in the air in myriads.

P.S.—This description of the Mammoth Cave, if it may be called so, was written to a private friend, and not intended for public perusal—therefore, gentle reader, be not disappointed at not having discovered finely rounded periods, or any attempt at high-flown language—be contented with a plain chat about one of the greatest wonders of the world, and if you can manage to come across the Atlantic to see it, do so—you will not then be disappointed, I promise you, however imperfect may be my description.