some
miles south of the camp when this occurred. They did not see the
alligator, but the dog suddenly disappeared, and was not to be found
after a long search. Morris felt so much disgusted by the loss of this
valuable dog that he wished to return to the yacht and go down towards
the Keys. So we started the next morning, and arrived at the inlet on
the 23d. The weather had been delightful, as is usually the case in
Florida in winter, but the day we arrived at the inlet we encountered
the beginning of the equinoctial storm, which lasted two days and was
very violent.

IN THE MAMMOTH CAVE.

THERESE YELVERTON.

[Among the many marvels of nature in the United States the
Mammoth Cave holds a prominent position, and we feel it
incumbent on us to accompany some of our company of travellers
into its depths. The "Teresina in America" of Therese Yelverton
(Viscountess Avonmore) affords us the opportunity, of which we
avail ourselves in the following selection.]

We arrived at the Mammoth Cave on one of those heavenly days which
earthly words fail to depict. It was the second week in November, the
"Indian summer," the most charming season in America. If anything were
necessary to convince me that a future beatitude is no fiction, it would
be this foretaste of bliss in such days as these, when the whole
being--mind and body--seems lapped in a state of peace and beatitude
combined. Anxieties and worldly cares seem to float away into the dim
distance; our love is free from feverish excitement, and hate has lost
its gall and sting. The golden light which floats around mellows our
soul to repose. There is that exhilarating, yet balmy nourishment in the
atmosphere which lifts the weary spirit from its damp and earthly coil,
and makes it glad, and light, and gleesome. The heavy "heart bowed down
by weight of woe" suddenly imbibes some of the joyous elasticity which
fills the insect tribe,--the bees and grasshoppers, the golden fly,
glittering and humming in pure ecstasies, and the merry little beetles
revelling in one continuous contra-dance. Rarely, indeed, can we
overcharged human beings feel as blithesome as the insect world; we seek
to taste the apples of delight which turn to ashes in our mouth, and
neglect to sip with them the nectar in the breeze. What can we do? these
breezes come so seldom. The insect sparkles to-day in the sunshine and
to-morrow it dies. We of the superior race have t