am through." And very soon after he made his entrance into Great Relief, and laughed as heartily as the rest, at the scene just witnessed. "Before," remarked Miss Alice, "I was quite certain that a camel could not go through the eye of a needle; now I see how all things are possible.' I am glad that scriptural difficulty has been removed."

A short rest and we come soon to an abrupt termination of the ledge. A ladder twenty-five feet long leaned against the end of the ledge, and stretching over a gaping, chasm rested on the floor beyond. This was our meaus of descent, and it looked perilous enough. The guide went first, and the ladies then carefully and nervously followed. Next went The Fat Man, and soon all were safely down, though the ladies looking up timidly, declared they did not see how they had dared descend. This is probably the most dangerous place in the Cave. The guide now pointed out on the left the Dead Sea. There it lay so motionless and dark, that our lights could scarcely define its surface from the eternal night and gloom which brooded over its bosom, and it was not until a stone had been cast in, and a dull plash was succeeded by sluggish undulations that we realized the presence of a body of water. Next we reach the dark and dreary Styx, and soon, too, silent and dreamy we cross in boats the placid surface of Lake Lethe. These waters are in every way worthy of their classic God-fathers and no doubt besides containing eyeless fish, possess all their miraculous properties.

Five hundred yards through Great Walk, and we reach Echo River. This is the crowning glory of the Cave, and no anticipations can foretell, and no memory or imagination can fully recall the splendor and brilliancy of its effects. The River itself is three quarters of a mile in length, from ten to thirty feet deep, and varies in width from twenty to two hundred feet. The boat could only carry half of the party the first time, so all the ladies and two gentlemen remained behind for a second trip. Eager hands waved an adieu with their lights, and we glided along beneath a rocky canopy fifteen feet above us, rocky walls on either side, while the river beneath us was so clear and transparent that we seemed moving through the air. A shout from one of the party breaks the silence, and a thousand sportive voices repeat it on every side. We have hardly time for astonishment, when the Band strikes up in advance of us. They have chosen a favorable location and are playing "Sweet Home," dwelling long and distinctly on every note.

The

tones swell up solemn and grand. Their every vibration rendered intense and concentrated by walls of living rock, they dash wildly against their prison sides, and re-echoed a thousand times, ring along the avenue, and die in broken harmonies far away in the distance. The effect was no less than sublime, for music can sound so nowhere else. We have now reached the end of the river, and Frank and the Band return for the rest of the party. After a while a song from a rich and clear female voice comes bounding down to us. We conceal our lights in a crevice, and in total darkness await the first appearance of the party. Soon a faint glimmer on the wall indicates their approach, and then a light in the bow of the boat apparently far in the distance moved into the darkness. And next the fancy colored costumes of the ladies, and their waving lights as they glide seemingly through the air, gives the whole an appearance rather of enchantment than reality. Again "Auld Lang Syne"

"Sets the wild echoes flying"

and amid its strains the party dis-embarks. The Band gives us some parting music and returns from this point, while filled with what we have just seen and heard, we enter Silliman's Avenue— named in honor of Professor Silliman, Sen., of Yale College,—and for a mile and a half we pass objects of great interest and beauty, but we must forbear speaking of them.

We next move along the wild and rugged pass of "El Ghor," and Frank tells us we are now a mile and a half from the Dining Hall. A drink of sulphur water from Hebe's spring refreshes us, and we climb a steep ladder and enter Martha's Vineyard. Clusters of grapes of tempting naturalness depend from a stalactite an inch or two in diameter, which is called the Grape Vine. We cannot pluck them however, so we pass on. Another long walk, and we enter Washington's Hall. On entering the Hall almost the first object which met the eye, was a pile of stones built with some regularity from a large stone at the bottom, on which was cut the word YALE. We were told that the foundation stone was laid a few years since by Professor Silliman Jr.; since which time the votive offerings of numerous sons of Yale have erected quite a monument. With a feeling of pride, we too placed a stone upon the pile, and felt that we had at least one sentiment in common with those who had been there before us, that of love for our Alma Mater.

This is the resting place, and Frank and his assistant bring forward the dinner which they have carried in baskets, and the ladies spread it before us on tables of rock. Our host has provided for us generously, and the kindness and foresight of a gentleman of the party furnishes us with several bottles of "sparkling Catawba." Clambering over rocks, and winding through passages for six miles enables us to do full justice to the occasion. We rest here half or three quarters of an hour, and as the party is by this time thoroughly acquainted, recall the wonders of Echo River, and compare the incidents of the trip, until Frank has filled our lamps again, and tells us to move forward.

We enter immediately the Snow Ball Room. The ceiling of this room is covered with nodules of gypsum, whose resemblance to snow balls is complete, and hence its name. From this point, nearly to the end, is probably the most beautiful portion of the Cave. Nature has been lavish here. Nothing is commonplace. In one place the lights shine soft and mellow over a surface of snowy white; a few steps farther, and they are reflected from crystal points sparkling with the brilliancy of diamonds. The avenue is continually running off into beautiful alcoves, or branching into fairy grottoes, whose walls bloom with every conceivable variety of alabaster flowers of perfect forms and indescribable beauty. The temptation to pluck some of these fossil flowers for specimens is very great, but this is strictly forbidden. "One touch of a rude hand," says Frank, "will mar the beauty of a thousand years." Along this avenue we proceed for two miles, every step of our path crowded by objects of wonderful beauty, until we reach the Rocky Mountain. We are now near the end of the Cave, and the Grandmother, "The Fat Man," and another of the party, conclude to remain here until our return. The rest of us climb with difficulty up the masses of detached rock which constitute the Mountain. Descending on the other side we peer into Dismal Hollow, and in a few minutes enter Croghan's Hall. Here, at the end of the Cave, is the Maelstrom, lately explored by a daring youth, and here too are some beautiful stalactites, white and semi-transparent; and if you have become sentimental by this time, you may cut a heart from a piece of the rock and present it to your companion. We wrote our names on cards and deposited them in crevices of the stalactitic pillars, nine miles from the entrance. This is the end of the Long Route. The Short Route is visited another day and abounds in

objects of interest, one of which, the Star Chamber, is not surpassed by anything in the Cave. We reached the mouth of the Cave at half past ten at night, twelve hours and a half from the time of our entrance, having walked in this time eighteen miles. And whoever shall attempt, in the space allotted us, any thing like a description of such a walk, where every step was alive with beauty, will only feel himself tantalized by the result.

To any who may wish to visit the Mammoth Cave we would say, that the Louisville and Nashville Railroad runs within a few miles of the Cave, and from this point the trip is completed in stages. The Hotel is kept in first class style, and in the Summer and Fall months affords all the pleasures of a fashionable resort.

P. V. D.

A Dirge for the Fallen.

In my cushioned chair reposing,

Yester-noon as I was dozing,

Through the Winter and the Autumn Slumber led me back again,
And a sunny dream of Summer fluttered through my drowsy brain.
Alma Yale beneath the glorious sky of June before me lay-
In her crown of queenly beauty on a balmy dreamy day,

In her crown of waving elm-plumes, on her pinnacled throne of gray.
From the warm sun sinking westward, sped the golden shafts of light,
Sped, and slipping through the elm-boughs on the grassy carpet bright,
Slept, or chased the changing shadows o'er the cool fresh turf of green,
And the slumbering student-faces-who all stretched at length were seen,
Or at open windows, joking, dozing, gossipping and smoking,

From their sea-foam-tinted meerschaums breathed smoke ringlets floating high,
Watching other ringlets fairer far, that tripped demurely by.

Through the liquid depths of Heaven sailed the clouds like floating fleece—

All below seemed full of beauty-all above was perfect peace;

And I said aloud, "I never, in any spot whatever,

Saw the earth so full of beauty and the air so full of peace."

As I spoke, I awoke-for the clamorous din

Of the dinner bell on my nap broke in

Eheu! woe for dreams Elysian which the weary brain relax!
Sad the fate of Summer visions faced by stubborn winter facts!
For in place of June's blue Heavens, I beheld a freezing rain,
And the wintry streets seemed ice-fields waiting for another Kane.
Hardly had I, hungry-hearted, for my club in hot haste started,
Hardly from the door step parted,

When my heels flew wide asunder and my head, my classic head,

(Shame, shame, shame, O city pavements! that of ye things must be said, Which should make your icy hearts melt, and your bricks blush ruddier red,)

Sought in far too rash a manner-in a swift inglorious manner-
To recline upon the bosom of our blooming mother-earth-
Oh unnatural, stony mother! that to mortals gavest birth,
And now meetest their caresses in such heartless, hardened way,
That for many a future day,

Of thy bumpings and thy thumpings

My confiding head the dismal, knobby records will display!
Rising madly from the waters, on again I slipped and tumbled,
And I grumbled, and I stumbled

Till at last completely humbled and grown desperate almost,
Leaning pensive gainst a fence I watched the hurrying student host,
Hurrying club-wards to their dinner-

And each miserable sinner

Wore a newly-patent creeper on his graceful tapering heel.

Wore a creeper, and as deeper

In the waves each floundered, slipping,

From moustachioed lips came ripping

Thundering words which sounded steeper

Than the sweet-lisped yeas and nays, in which fair Quaker maidens deal.
Grimly swearing, since the days when I was wearing

Baby-bibs, (myself a creeper,)

Truly never, never, never saw I any spot whatever,

Where a pavement

Was to pave meant,

Yet each man who doffed his slippers and donned his walking suit,

Became himself a slipper and a worsted one to boot

Never, never saw before, tho' I've wandered far and wide,
Small boys skating up the elm trees, sliding down the other side!
Where the glorious summer all things in a sea of beauty whelms,
Yet with such outrageous winters as this city of the Elms.

E.

"The Student in New Haven Society."

Messrs. Editors:

Will you allow an outsider to make some suggestions respecting an article in the last number of the "Yale Literary," entitled "The Students in New Haven Society," which being the organ for the expression of college public sentiment, demands notice.

The tone of the article is flippant and sarcastic, and its positions equally false and untenable. The problems of society are among the most difficult of solution, but the writer turns them off as if they were questions in simple arithmetic. He alludes to different