heart of the earth, through damp and chilly air and profound darkness,
broken only by the glimmer of the friendly lamps. Then we cease
descending, and emerge in a cavern where the lights are flashed upon
thousands of fossilised insects, and on into the 'Hall of the Foxes,'
where countless generations of their species lived, died, and were
buried. After this the great caverns succeed each other rapidly, each
with some special interest of its own, until we find ourselves in the
'Hall of the Trophies,' where electric light is installed to exhibit the
marvels of the roof. A thick fringe of stalactites, many of immense
size, descend to meet the columns of stalagmite ascending from the
floor.

Right through the caverns, a distance of nearly two miles, a rough path
has been made which is fairly dry and clean, but on either side are
rivers and banks of mud, so that it is well to be careful and watch the
way. Once as we went along we heard behind us a splashing thud, and,
turning, beheld a portly Belgian floundering on his back in the mire,
whence he presently emerged, coated with mud, looking rather like a
hippopotamus. No rule of silence could avail to stifle the peals of
laughter that rang through the grotto, and we had the less scruple in
enjoying the fun because any one of us might at any moment have the
happiness of similarly amusing his or her fellow-creatures.

Our merriment ended before the wonders of the 'Hall of Mystery,' where
the electric light travelled round to show 'The Mosque,' standing out in
glittering points of light; 'The Curtain,' a veil of gleaming lacework
in stone; and 'The Alhambra,' furnished royally with every combination
of diamond-like crystals. It would be easy to invent names for most of
the objects, for shrines, pulpits, thrones, and such-like are everywhere
carved, of dazzling whiteness and richness of design.

Next we enter the gloomy magnificence of the 'Hall of the Dome,' where
the roof towers up two hundred feet into the darkness. As we ascend the
steep path we turn and see below the gleam of water. This is the
subterranean river Lesse, the architect of these gloomy grottoes, which
until some forty years ago had heard no voice save that of the water
hammering and chiselling the rocks at its own sweet will. Legend
declares these stately halls to be the palaces of the little Brown
Dwarfs, who, issuing from their homes at night, by counsel and more
practical aid enabled the early builders to