The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1892-10-09

the feather ruffles adjoining a Shanghai
chicken strutting about the lawn; the blouse
and shirt called to mind a hunting shirt
belted in. She had, however, a merry blue
eye, great dimples in her cheeks, and a sort
OF introductory smile that told you very
plainly that she wouldn't give even penny
for your thoughts.
A stroll through Luray caverns, lighted
by electricity aud provided with every &C.
commodation, down to the policeman in
citizens clothes to repress the pecking pro-
pensities of the American traveller, loses all
the spirit of adventure. At Mammoth
Cave everything has stood still for the last
quarter Of q century. At Luray one ex-
claims: "How lovely how exquisite" as
he recalls vignettes of the rocco style of
Louis XIV. or arabesques from Alhambra,
here faithfully wrought in rock. Then, il
he is tediously learned, he will discourse
upon stalagmites, stalaoCites, oulopholites
helictites. ad ininitum ct ad nauseam Here
at the Mammoth only one guide usually &C.
companies the party however large; each
man is given a lard oil lamp, is expected to
take his place in the ranks be domineered
over by some petty tyrant, and to keep
up with the procession in spite of feminine
foibles We left the hotel singing 1--WE
won't be home till morning. evidently in
tending to make night of it, although the
short route, seven miles long, is aocomS
plishad in four hours. But the song was
cut short to taboo the small boy He would
grow tired and sleepy and cause the guide
to shorten the route; he would get hungry,
W mt drink, or in some way make himself
a nuisance. But the small boy had a will
OF his own and rever meant to be counted
out He had studied the guide book. and
by swapping bits of Information with the
master of ceremonies and volunteering such
subtle advice as stick TO the guide, he'll see
you through" the two had become as
Jonathan and David before the iron gate
was reached.
As one by one we descended the long
irregular flight of seventy-two natural
stone steps some one classically inclined
began quoting "facilis d4census Averni ~
when graduate from Heidelberg, evidently
considering nothing short of toboggan
slide as fscilis descensus, struck up college
drinking song. as il to dispel the grewsome
allusion, In the mean time, with rise Of
spirits the temperature had fallen; $50 in
winter, 54' in summer, being the average
temperature OF the cave.
The grating OF the key in the rusty lock
is distinctly heard as the iron gate, the only
portal by which visitors are admitted to
these Plutonian realms, creaks on its hinges.
Single file we step over the threshold; the
lights go out; the rushing rill and high wind
make one almost hear the futter Of the
sybilline leaves whizzing past. The guide
relights our torches, carefully counts us,
locks the gate and withdrAws the key. The
air is rife with speculation. Suppose the
guide or some Of the party be taken sick /;
suppose he should lose the key-if he does,
while there Is Tut one gate there are more
keys, aud the other guides will be sent for
US If We do not report in q
reasonable time-or suppose we
have come with unframed lamps,
the guide stops and fills them with oil placed
at certain stations for that very purpose--or
suppose the thousand aud one things that
never happen, yet make US just as miserable
If they did, Why not suppose things would
turn out right, as they not iufreouently dos
We are trusting life and limb TO the guild
ance Of a single man. But Bishop, our
guide, is bright mulatto, sure-footed and
keen-witted. He has Travelled this way
nearly every day for the last twenty years.
Some one becomes little dubious of the
treacherous darkness, pregnant with pit
falls, and calls out: "Say, Edward, can we
trust your 81 am good man or l wouldn't
be a Bishop" is bis almost objectionable
pun.
With twin torches fastened to his stick,
swung across his shoulder and leading the
little 10Y along as he heads this long line Of
swaying, Pickering lights, he not unnat-
uraily calls TO mind Kneas with Ascanius
at his side threading the mazes of hell. And
that stout stick Is it the golden branch
stripped of its leavesS AT all events 1t has