the form of rich clusters of grapes, transparent to the
light, hard as marble, and round and polished, as if done by a
sculptor's hand. This is called Mary's Vineyard; and from it, an
entrance to the right brings you into a perfectly naked cave, whence you
suddenly pass into a large hall, with magnificent columns, and rich
festoons of stalactite, in various forms of beautiful combination. In
the centre of this chamber, between columns of stalactite, stands a mass
of stalagmite, shaped like a sarcophagus, in which is an opening like a
grave. A Roman Catholic priest first discovered this, about a year ago,
and with fervent enthusiasm exclaimed, "The Holy Sepulchre!" a name
which it has since borne.

To the left of Mary's Vineyard, is an inclosure like an arbor, the
ceiling and sides of which are studded with snow-white crystallized
gypsum, in the form of all sorts of flowers. It is impossible to convey
an idea of the exquisite beauty and infinite variety of these delicate
formations. In some places, roses and lilies seem cut on the rock, in
bas-relief; in others, a graceful bell rises on a long stalk, so slender
that it bends at a breath. One is an admirable imitation of Indian corn
in tassel, the silky fibres as fine and flexile as can be imagined;
another is a group of ostrich plumes, so downy that a zephyr waves it.
In some nooks were little parks of trees, in others, gracefully curled
leaves like the Acanthus, rose from the very bosom of the rock. Near
this room is the Snow Chamber, the roof and sides of which are covered
with particles of brilliant white gypsum, as if snowballs had been
dashed all over the walls. In another apartment the crystals are all in
the form of rosettes. In another, called Rebecca's Garland, the flowers
have all arranged themselves into wreaths. Each seems to have a style of
formations peculiar to itself, though of infinite variety. Days might be
spent in these superb grottoes, without becoming familiar with half
their hidden glories. One could imagine that some antediluvian giant had
here imprisoned some fair daughter of earth, and then in pity for her
loneliness, had employed fairies to deck her bowers with all the
splendor of earth and ocean. Like poor Amy Robsart, in the solitary
halls of Cumnor. Bengal Lights, kindled in these beautiful retreats,
produce an effect more gorgeous than any theatrical representation of
fairyland; but they smoke the pure white incrustations, and the guide
is