Passing now to the second account of a visit to the cave, to which we have already alluded, we find the visitor saying, that the cave is every way so wonderful, that it is impossible to give more than a faint idea of its magnificence and splendor. “As in exploring the cave,” he continues, “there are three rivers to cross and a great deal of climbing over rocks and crawling through narrow places, ladies adopt the Bloomer costume from necessity, and gentlemen are provided with dresses according to their fancy, so that a party starting out for a trip through the cave, present a most grotesque and comical appearance. On arriving at the mouth, the visitor is provided with a lamp, and makes an abrupt, though comparatively easy descent of some seventy or eighty feet. Here he enters a dark avenue, about five rods wide, called the Narrows, and soon finds himself far beyond where daylight ever shone. At the distance of about six hundred yards from the mouth, this avenue expands and forms a large circular room, called the Rotunda, or Great Vestibule. The guide stops here, and ignites a light, a compound of sulphur, saltpeter and antimony, prepared for illuminating the various points of special interest through the cave. This forms a most brilliant light, and reveals a room some two or three hundred feet wide, and forty-seven feet high. The view revealed by this first illumination is most imposing and sublime. I told my guide that he was certainly right in his ideas about describing the cave. As he saw me getting my paper and pencil ready at the mouth, he began laughing very significantly, and said, ‘Writin ’bout the cave aint no use, sir. Most everybody that goes in writes, but they gin’ally throws it away when they comes out. Writin don’t do no good. If anybody wants to know ’bout the cave, they must come and see it.’ Although I had barely commenced my journey through it, I told my guide that I could heartily subscribe to the whole of his speech on this subject.