The unexpected experience seemed suddenly to become one of the great events of a lifetime, and was unmarred by the disturbing apprehensions of any possible danger.  The entire absence of sound was indescribably awe-inspiring as

    “Strata overleaping strata from the center to the crust,
    Rose, Alp-high, in molten silence, as the dead rise from the dust;”

but the feeling of complete isolation from the living world would not require an unlimited time to merit the one word—­horrible.  Even some peril with ample companionship would be more agreeable, while it is a curious fact that the combination of companionship with silence is charming.  On the occasion of one visit to the cave it was painful to observe the actual suffering of a lover of quiet, from the good-natured, but heedless, chatter of two of the party.

Presently steps on the stairs broke the stillness, a glimmer of light pierced the intense darkness that surrounded the circle of one candle, and the upper world seemed not so far away.

The interrupted journey was resumed, the route being that already described as far as the Confederate Cross Roads, where, this time, we go straight on in the main fissure instead of turning into the cross-crevice, as was done before.

We were overtaken by the specimen party and recognized the three laughing young girls only by their voices, as in full suits of overalls and white duck caps, they looked like boys.  Those who reside near the large caves have overcome their objection to this costume, as it gives much greater freedom and ease of movement, besides being a decided economy.  Feminine garments are so easily destroyed, but for artistic effect the substitute cannot conscientiously be recommended.

Beyond the Cross Roads the first chamber is Breckinridge Gallery, a long, rambling hall in which are combined the attractions already passed and those yet to come, but having no striking feature predominating to give special character other than the grandeur of extreme roughness, which is also the quality most observed on passing into the Stone Quarry, where great accumulations of blocks seem waiting preparation for shipment.

The next “open country” is protected from public trespass by the Garden Wall, which appears to have been well built in the long ago by masons properly trained in their craft, and extends, at a uniform height, to the Fallen Flats, where the floor is covered with slabs of enormous size that have fallen from the ceiling since water occupation ceased, as is clearly shown by the sharp edges and surfaces entirely unworn.

The journey now becomes more interesting as the Cliff-Climbers’ Delight is reached, and we go steadily up the long nights of stairs until visions of St. Peter begin to rise and we wonder which way the key will turn.  Near the top is a handsome growth of snow-white mold hanging in long draperies behind the ladder or spread like on asparagus fern flattened against the rock.