Old Bell is a venerable specimen of seventy odd years of age, and has been here, I believe, half a century nearly.  One of his daughters, I am told, is very pretty.  She is married to a senator of the United States, and keeps one of the most agreeable houses in Washington.  The old gentleman is said to be worth some money, but he evidently is determined to die in harness.  As regularly as the mail arrives, about one in the morning, so regularly does he turn out and welcome the passengers with a glass of mixed honey, brandy, and water.  The beverage and the donor reminded me forcibly of “Old Crerer,” and the “Athole Brose,” with which he always welcomed those who visited him in his Highland cottage.  Having got beds to ourselves—­after repeated requests to roost two in a nest, as the house was small—­I soon tumbled into my lair, and in the blessed forgetfulness of sleep the miseries of the day became mingled with the things that were.  The next morning, after breakfast, we got a conveyance to take the party over to the Cave, a distance of seven miles.  One may really say there is no road.  For at least one half of the way there is nothing but a rugged track of rock and roots of trees, ever threatening the springs of the carriage and the limbs of the passenger with frightful fractures.  However, by walking over the worst of it, you protect the latter and save the former, thus rendering accidents of rare occurrence.

The hotel is a straggling building, chiefly ground floor, and with a verandah all round.  The air is deliriously pure, and in summer it must be lovely.  It is situated on a plateau, from the extremity of which the bank descends to the Green River.  On both sides is the wild forest, and round the giant trunks the enamoured vine twines itself with the affectionate pertinacity of a hungry boa-constrictor, and boars its head in triumph to the topmost branches.  But vegetable life is not like a Venus who, “when unadorned, is adorned the most;” and, the forest having cast off its summer attire, presents an uninviting aspect in the cold nudity of winter.  When the virgin foliage of spring appears, and ripens into the full verdure of summer, the shade of these banks must be delicious; the broad-leaved and loving vine extending its matrimonial embrace as freely and universally through the forest as Joe Smith and his brethren do theirs among the ladies at the Salt Lake; and when autumn arrives, with those gorgeous glowing tints unknown to the Old World, the scene must be altogether lovely; then the admirer of nature, floating between the banks on the light-green bosom of the stream below, and watching the ever-changing tints, as the sun dropped softly into his couch in the west, would enjoy a feast that memory might in vain try to exhaust itself in recalling.

There are guides appointed who provide lanterns and torches for visitors who wish to examine the Mammoth Cave; and its interior is such a labyrinth, that, without their aid, the task would be a dangerous one.  Rough clothing is provided at the hotel, the excursion being one of scramble and difficulty.