_10th._ I left Trieste early this morning, with a guide, to visit the grotto. After a three hours' walk over two very long and steep hills, from which however the view over the Adriatic, with numberless white sails flitting across its waves, the two coasts, the harbour with its shipping, the town and the gardens surrounding it planted with cypresses and olives, was magnificent, we reached Corneale, a small and dirty village, and having here provided ourselves with a man carrying a large lamp, and some boys with candles, proceeded over some very rough and stony fields to the grotto. The entrance was not, as I had expected, in the side of a hill, but in the open fields, and surrounded by a wall. Having lighted our lamp and candles, I took off my coat, and we began the descent down some very slight wooden stairs, the steps and railing of which were, as I afterwards found to my cost, not only slippery, but quite rotten from the continual dripping. The entrance, or hall, is a fine lofty dark vault, supported in the middle by one enormous stalactite column. Beyond this the cave becomes narrower, and the numberless stalactites of all sizes present a greater variety of forms than it is possible to describe: immense cauliflowers, trunks of trees, fruits; rounds and ovals of all sizes, from that of a marble to globes of many feet in diameter; pyramids rising up from below, and whose bases are lost in profound darkness; myriads of peaks hanging from the roof, often invisible to the eye, are seen at every step.