"It now becomes my duty to inform you that this is one of the stages in our journey that can only be passed by the exercise of the greatest will force. Owing to our former surroundings upon the surface of the earth, and to your inheritance of a so-called instinctive education, you would naturally suppose that we are now on the brink of an impassable chasm. This sphere of material vacuity extends beneath us to a depth that I am sure you will be astonished to learn is over six thousand miles. We may now look straight into the earth cavity, and this streaming light is the reflected purity of the space below. The opposite side of this crevice, out of sight by reason of its distance, but horizontally across from where we stand, is precipitous and comparatively solid, extending upward to the material that forms the earth's surface. We have, during our journey, traversed an oblique, tortuous natural passage, that extends from the spot at which you entered the cave in Kentucky, diagonally down into the crust of the globe, terminating in this shelving bluff. I would recall to your mind that your journey up to this time has been of your own free will and accord. At each period of vacillation--and you could not help but waver occasionally--you have been at liberty to return to surface earth again, but each time you decided wisely to continue your course. You can now return if your courage is not sufficient to overcome your fear, but this is the last opportunity you will have to reconsider, while in my company." "Have others overcome the instinctive terrors to which you allude?" "Yes; but usually the dread of death, or an unbearable uncertainty, compels the traveler to give up in despair before reaching this spot, and the opportunity of a lifetime is lost. Yes; an opportunity that occurs only in the lifetime of one person out of millions, of but few in our brotherhood." "Then I can return if I so elect?" "Certainly." "Will you inform me concerning the nature of the obstacle I have to overcome, that you indicate by your vague references?" "We must descend from this cliff." "You can not be in earnest." "Why?" "Do you not see that the stone recedes from beneath us, that we stand on the edge of a wedge overhanging bottomless space?" "That I understand." "There is no ladder," and then the foolish remark abashed me as I thought of a ladder six thousand miles in length. "Go on." He made no reference to my confusion. "There is practically no bottom," I asserted, "if I can believe your words; you told me so." "And that I reiterate." "The feat is impracticable, impossible, and only a madman would think of trying to descend into such a depth of space." Then an idea came over me; perhaps there existed a route at some other point of the earth's crevice by which we could reach the under side of the stone shelf, and I intimated as much to the guide. "No; we must descend from this point, for it is the only entrance to the hollow beneath."