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on running round each; from this the curtain descends; in one, an indentation of semicircular cavities, about two inches in chord, parallel and uniforia; in the next instead of cavities, there is precisely the same form of projection, and the order and proportion of both are as regular and exact as if they had been produced by the chissel of the artist.

The Tambourin, or Music Room, (D.) is next. This abounds with stalactites similar to those in the preceding rooms, but they are plain, finer and more variously toned, and the room is better constructed for musical effect. The tones produced by striking these leaves of stalactite are various, sweet, and full, and if the powers of each were ascertained, a skilful hand could draw music from them, that might charm an Eurydice not to leave, but to remain in a cavern.

You now ascend a natural and well formed staircase, with a row of bannisters, running across the passage, and then, descending a ladder, enter the Ball Room, (E.) which is one hundred feet long and the arch fifteen or twenty feet high. The floor is smooth and level, and the sides ornamented with curtains, colonades and various resemblances to household furniture. Betsy's sofa is remarkable for its elegance, and resemblance to art. The floor has evidently been lowered in time, some of the columns are ruptured and dissevered in the middle of the shaft, and do not meet by some inches. Others have fallen, and lie in ruins.

The curious explorer now comes to the most straitened passage in the cavern (F.) and which was for some time the boundary of the discoveries. The way, though enlarged beyond its original dimensions, is steep, narrow and difficult. He must creep on all fours, and, on account of the descent, must go backwards. He is covered with mud; fatigued with his posture and exertions; and it is well if his head and back escape a rude contact with the rough stones above him. At length he regains his feet, looks back upon the narrow aperture by which he entered, reflects that he is almost a quarter of a mile from the regions of upper air, carries his candle with more steady hand, and feels himself entombed. Knowing that our corpulent acquaintance Mrs. T******** had visited this cavern I asked my guide if she passed these straits. He assured me that she did; that "she crept and tumbled



and slid along like an otter, and got through without any difficulty; and what was more,” he added, no woman ever yet stopped half way: they always went to the extremity.”

Descending some steps hewn out of the rock called Jacob's ladder , you enter the Vestibule, (G.) the arch of which is about the same height as that of the temple. On your left, as you enter, a horizontal sheet of stone, a foot thick and twenty feet in diameter, projects from the side of the cave, about midway between the floor and the ceiling, called Mary's gallery. This is a striking object from its rich ornaments. Connected with this vestibule is the Saloon, (H.) Returning and entering a passage on the left, Washington's Hall, (I.) the grandest part of the cavern is opened to your view. You stand at the entrance; the guides forward and arrange lights at certain distances: the long level floor rings beneath their tread: you see them at a hundred paces distance: and hear their voices resounding from the arch that rises sublimely eighty feet over your head. Every drop of water that falls rings in your ears. On your right is a row of stalactites that resemble human statues. In the centre, before the entrance of Lady Washington's drawing room, is one of noble mien, apparently in the habiliments of an ancient Roman, that is called Washington's Statue. You gaze on the whole scene and listen in silent rapture. At length you are aroused from the enchantment by being told by the guides that you have still much to see. Lady Washington's Drawing Room, (K.) is next visited—a handsome and spacious apartment. Just within the room, on your right is a large bureau on which many names are inscribed. I conformed to the general custom by engraving the initial letters of one that I could always call to remembrance without an effort. In this apartment a rock of immense magnitude has fallen from the arched ceiling above, and converted into a heap of ruins a number of massive columns that were standing near it. In Washington's Hall, a column two feet in diameter has fallen, probably from the ceiling of the floor which certainly has a cavern beneath it. The Diamond Room, (L.) is next, and derives its name from the sparkling brilliancy of its walls. The Enchanted Room, (M.) has a wild variety which by the help of a vivid imagination, may be transformed into a new creation. Here, in one place, an ime

mense rock hangs so loosely over you, as apparently without support, that it seems to threaten you with instant annihilation. Here is a basin containing a hogshead or two of pure water, which, after the fatigue experienced, is grateful and refreshing. Returning by the same passage through the Diamond Room, you come to the Wilderness, (N.) rough and irregular below, on the sides and above. Either here, or in the Enchanted Room, I do not remember which, there is a column of twenty-five or thirty feet in diameter, called the tower of Babel. The Garden of Eden, (0.) is the last scene. This room is spacious, lofty and its decorations are superb and various. A rock apparently floating over you, called Elijah's inantle; a large white curtain, and a rock called Mr. Jefferson's Salt Mountain, seen at a distance through a colonade, are the most remarkable particulars that I noticed here.

I now returned and regained the mouth of the cave after having been within it two hours and three quarters. But the time was much too short, to enable one on a first visit to give any thing like a full or correct description of it. An English painter, who spent several weeks here, said that years would be required to do any sort of justice to a representation of it by the pencil.

The Saloon, (H.) cannot be very distant from Madison's cave, and had time permitted, I would have attempted to discover a communication between them, by firing a musket in one cave, while the report was listened to in the other. The mention of this, reminds me of the remarkable effect I was told the discharge of a pistol produces in some parts of Wier's cave. The sound is astonishingly loud, and is prolonged and echoed back froin distant recesses; and after a considerable silence, it is once and again renewed when you had supposed it exhausted. I had not the forethought to supply myself with the means of making this experiment.

The temperature of this cave, I am told, is fifty-five, and never varies.

A German of the name of Aymand, was, until very lately, the proprietor of this cave, and his name has usually been given to it. It is now the property of Mr. Bingham, who keeps a good house of entertainment near it; but the honour of the name is certainly due to the discoverer. Mr. Wier made this discovery by pur


suing with a dog a raccoon, which took refúge there, and once en. tered upon it, he prosecuted it with as much ardour, and at almost as much peril, as Cook did his discoveries in the trackless ocean. The proprietor keeps a lock upon the door of the cave, and charges each visiter fifty cents, which yields him a considerable reven.

Mr. Charles Lewis, who lives near Port Republic, accompanied me in my subterranean excursion, and contributed much to the gratification of it. In following me through the description, I fear you will share more of the fatigues than pleasures; but if I excite yourcur iosity sufficiently to induce you to take this place in your route to Washington, at some future time, I shall have done you an essential service, by enabling you to see and enjoy much in a little space; an important consideration in the economy of a life, whose duration is contracted to a span.

I am, my dear sir, with every sentiment of esteem and respect, yours, as ever.

CALVIN JONES. His Excellency, Gov. Hawkins.

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[Although it is stated in one of the daily journals, that Mr. Kent exhibited

this invention to thousands of persons, in the new dock which was opened at Liverpool, on the day of the Coronation, we have great doubts whether any practical good will result from it. John Bull, though “a thinking people,” is wonderfully prone to be “ Pleas'd with a trifle and tickled with a straw.” Mr. Kent's contrivance will follow the fate of its predecessor on land.]

An exhibition improperly called walking on the water, has been exhibited at Liverpool, by Mr. Kent of Glasgow. The ap

paratus which he uses is represented in the wood-cut above, where a. b. c. are three hollow tin cases of the form of an oblong hemispheroid, connected together by three iron bars, at the meeting of which is a seat for the exhibiter. These cases, filled with air, are of such a magnitude that they can easily support his wieght: and as u. b. and a. c. are about ten feet, and b. c. about eight feet, he floats very steadily upon the water. The feet of the exhibiter rest on stirrups, and he attaches to his shoes by leather belts, two paddles, d. e. which turn on a joint when he brings his foot forward to take the stroke, and keep a vertical position when he draws it back against the resisting water; by the alternate action of his feet, he is enabled to advance at the rate of five miles an hour.

Art. VI.— The Tyrol Wanderer. From an English Journal.

MR. Editor-I have been in the habit of travelling a great deal over the world, and though not an author by profession, and never intending to become one, I have yet made it my practice to note down in an Album, whatever I have seen or heard, which struck me as extraordinary. Happening the other day to turn over some of its pages, I fell upon the following history, related to me by the man himself, a few years since, in Washington, in North America, in which city he then resided, and I believe, still lives. He had received a grant from the national legislature of that country, in consequence of services rendered by him to the American general, Eaton, during his incursion upon Tripoli. His story is a singular example of what human ingenuity can do, when operated on by the stimulus of necessity.

Gervasio Probasio Santuari was born at a village near Trent, in the Tyrol, on the 21st of October, 1772. He was brought up in one of the schools of that country, in which part of the learner's time is devoted to literature, and part to the exercise of the agricultural and mechanic arts. He was then sent to college for the purpose of being educated for the Romish church, but not liking his occupation or prospects, he renounced his theological studies, and, young as he was, became a Benedict, instead of a monk. His first employment, after his marriage, was as a sur

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