to wander in advance of the head guide or linger behind the
one in the rear.

Within the cabin the immediate entrance to the cave is securely closed,
and in order that the door may not be forced from its fastenings by the
roaring wind which shakes it threateningly, it opens in, instead of out.
This wind suggested the name Wind Cave, and will probably be utilized,
at no very distant time, to generate electricity for lighting the
cavern.

The wind is strongest at the surface, and a guide goes down first to
place lights in sheltered nooks where the force has begun to diminish,
about fifty feet below the entrance; and here we light our candles
which, if guarded somewhat, are not extinguished unless the current is
unusually severe. The balance of the descent of one hundred and
fifty-five feet from the surface to the first chamber is easily
accomplished.

This would be the least interesting room in the cave if it were not the
Bride's Chamber, on account of having once been the scene of a marriage
ceremony. But no others are in need of assistance of such romantic
nature, as all are curiously and handsomely decorated, with such a
charming variety of deposits, artistically massed, combined or
contrasted, that every step brings fresh pleasure, and monotony is
nowhere.

Passing from this room by a long, narrow passage, in the walls of which
are observed many beautiful little pockets of crystals, attention is
presently called to Lincoln's Fireplace, a perfectly natural specimen of
the old-fashioned design broadly open in the chimney; doubtless just
such an one as Mr. Lincoln's good mother hung the crane in and set the
Dutch oven before. A little beyond and on the opposite side of the
crevice is Prairie-dog town, not a very extensive town, to be sure, but
so true a copy that one unfamiliar with the small animal and his style
of architecture would afterwards easily recognize both. At one time his
dogship was carried away by a too eager collector, but a letter to the
suspected visitor brought him home by the next freight.

The Dutch Clock occupies a position on a shelf near by, and all southern
visitors greet the Alligator as a familiar friend, as all of us joyfully
meet any acquaintance from home.

A long narrow passage, formerly a "tight crawl," but later opened up by
heavy blasting, must be traversed before we come to the Snow Ball Room,
beautiful with round spots of untinted carbonate of lime, as if fresh
soft snow had bee