was by a projection of a similar nature, spreading out from the wall several feet above it. The sides of the arches forming the roof did not quite meet at the top, but looked like the crests of two immense foaming waves, between which were seen the extremities of numbers of pendants of a like flowery form. There was nothing rough or uncertain about the place; every part seemed as if it were elaborately finished, and in strict harmony with the whole; and as the rays of the setting sun fell on the water within the entrance, and reflected a subdued light over the brilliant hues of the interior, it looked like a gorgeous temple, which no art could improve, and such as no human imagination could have designed. At the other end of the tunnel the water emerged from a much smaller cave, which was so low as not to admit of a man crawling in. The caves, at each end of the other tunnel, were also very small, though the architecture was of the same flowery style. The faces of it, however, were extremely beautiful. To the height of fifty or sixty feet they presented a succession of irregular overhanging projections, bulging out like immense mushrooms, of which the prevailing hue was a delicate pink, with occasional patches of bright green. In any part of the Old World such a place would be the object of a pilgrimage; and even where it was, it attracted many visitors, numbers of whom had, according to the established custom of snobhood, acknowledged their own insignificance, and had sought a little immortality for their wretched names by scratching them on a large smooth surface by the side of the entrance to the cave. While I was there, an old Yankee miner came to see the place. He paid a very hurried visit--he had not even time to scratch his initials; but he was enthusiastic in his admiration of this beautiful object of nature, which, however, he thought was quite thrown away in such an out-of-the-way part of creation. It distressed him to think that such a valuable piece of property could not be turned to any profitable account. “Now,” said he, “if I had this here thing jist about ten miles from New York City, I’d show it to the folks at twenty-five cents a head, and make an everlastin’ pile of money out of it.” CHAPTER XXVI FRENCHMEN IN THE MINES The only miners on the Creek were Frenchmen, two or three of whom lived in a very neat log cabin, close to the tunnel. Behind it was a small kitchen-garden in a high state of cultivation, and alongside was a very diminutive fac-simile of the cabin itself, which was tenanted by a knowing-looking little terrier-dog. The whole establishment had a finished and civilized air about it, and was got up with a regard to appearances which was quite unusual.