Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. 121 



rocks rising on one side nearly to the top, very steep, and 

 forming what is called the mountain. When I first ascended 

 this mound from the cave below, I was struck with a feeling 

 of awe more intense and deep than any thing I had ever 

 before experienced. I could only observe the narrow circle 

 which was illuminated immediately around me ; above and 

 beyond was apparently an unlimited space, in which the ear 

 could not catch the slightest sound, nor the eye find an ob- 

 ject to fasten upon. It was filled with silence and darkness ; 

 and yet I knew that I was beneath the earth, and that this 

 space, however large it might be, was externally bounded by 

 solid walls. My curiosity was rather excited than gratified. 

 In order that I might see the whole in one connected view, I 

 built my fires in many places of cane, which I found scattered 

 among the rocks. Then, taking my stand upon the mountain, a 

 scene was presented of surprising magnificence. On the op- 

 posite side, the strata of gray limestone breaking up by steps 

 from the bottom, could scarcely be discerned in the distance 

 by the glimmering. Above was the lofty dome, closed at the 

 top by a smooth oval slab, beautifully defined in the outline, 

 from which the walls slope away on the right and left into 

 thick darkness. Every one has heard of the dome of the 

 Mosque of St Sophia, of St Peter's, and St Paul's ; they are 

 never spoken of but in terms of admiration as the chief works 

 of architecture, and among the noblest and most stupendous 

 examples of what men can can do when aided by science ; 

 and yet when compared with the dome of this temple, they 

 sink into comparative insignificance." 



The River Hall descends like the slope of a mountain ; 

 the ceiling stretches away, away before you, vast and grand 

 as the firmament at midnight. Proceeding a short distance, 

 there is on the left a steep precipice, over which you can look 

 down by the aid of blazing missiles upon a broad, black sheet 

 of water, eighty feet below, called the Dead Sea. This is an 

 awfully impressive place, the sights and sounds of which do 

 not easily pass from memory. He who has seen it, will 

 have it vividly brought before him by Alfieri's description of 

 Filippo. Only a transient word or act gives us a short and 

 dubious glimmer that reveals to us the abysses of his being 



