xygen in the atmosphere operates like moderate doses
of exhilarating gas. The traveller feels a buoyant sensation, which
tempts him to run and jump, and leap from crag to crag, and bound over
the stones in his path. The mind, moreover, sustains the body, being
kept in a state of delightful activity, by continual new discoveries and
startling revelations.

The wide entrance to the cavern soon contracts, so that but two can pass
abreast. At this place, called the Narrows, the air from dark depths
beyond blows out fiercely, as if the spirits of the cave had mustered
there, to drive intruders back to the realms of day. This path continues
about fourteen or fifteen rods, and emerges into a wider avenue, floored
with saltpetre earth, from which the stones have been removed. This
leads directly into the Rotunda, a vast hall, comprising a surface of
eight acres, arched with a dome a hundred feet high, without a single
pillar to support it. It rests on irregular ribs of dark gray rock, in
massive oval rings, smaller and smaller, one seen within another, till
they terminate at the top. Perhaps this apartment impresses the
traveller as much as any portion of the cave; because from it he
receives his first idea of its gigantic proportions. The vastness, the
gloom, the impossibility of taking in the boundaries by the light of
lamps--all these produce a deep sensation of awe and wonder.

From the Rotunda, you pass into Audubon's Avenue, from eighty to a
hundred feet high, with galleries of rock on each side, jutting out
farther and father, till they nearly meet at top. This avenue branches
out into a vast half-oval hall, called the Church. This contains several
projecting galleries, one of them resembling a cathedral choir. There is
a gap in the gallery, and at the point of interruption, immediately
above, is a rostrum, or pulpit, the rocky canopy of which juts over. The
guide leads up from the adjoining galleries, and places a lamp each side
of the pulpit, on flat rocks, which seem made for the purpose. There has
been preaching from this pulpit; but unless it was superior to most
theological teaching, it must have been pitifully discordant with the
sublimity of the place. Five thousand people could stand in this
subterranean temple with ease.

So far, all is irregular, jagged rocks, thrown together in fantastic
masses, without any particular style; but now begins a series of
imitations, which grow more and more perfect, in gradual