I'm about ready to "shut 'er down" but I just read the most intriguing article about Mammoth Cave. Now I don't know if all of you are enthusiastic about caves as our family is (dating back to the 1830's when Franklin Gorin owned Mammoth Cave). But I think more was written in the past about this cave than most, if not all, of the so called "wonders of the world." I've been writing recently about the cave in this area of the country, but this particular article is really interesting. It is long, so will take several posts. If you dislike caves (or fear them!), you can pitch the posts dealing with this subject. The article is taken from "The Knickerbocker", New-York Monthly Magazine, Volume XXXIII, New York; Published by Samuel Hueston, 139 Nassau-Street in 1849. Yes 1849 ... early in the history of the cave. The story begins on page 301 and will give us a good look at life in that time frame also. Remember this was written by a New York "city slicker!" Obviously, he was not used to or fond of Kentucky! "In 18__ (no matter when) Tom Wilson and I found ourselves shut up in one of the roughest of Kentucky's uncomfortable stages, traveling over one of the worst of Kentucky's miserable roads. The ruts were deep, and the stones were large, while a young tree or two, blown down, and lying across the road, was considered no impediment by our invincible half-alligator driver. The rain was pouring down in torrents, and hid the little prospect there is ever to be seen in this state; generally dense-tangled woods and tall, thick corn; while, as my companion and myself were alone in the stage-coach, having traveled some thousand miles together, we had exhausted most subjects of common interest, the conversation was mostly confined to vehement anathemas upon the road, the stage-coach, the horses, the driver and the weather. Vain were all our efforts to place ourselves in a comfortable posture. At one time we would stretch ourselves at full length upon the seats; then would we sit on the front, then on the back, then on the middle seat; it was all the same; at every lurch we were bounced almost to the roof of the vehicle, and were caught again with a heavy blow on coming down. Imagine yourself, reader, inside a hollow wheel that is moving, and your jolts wold be "tarts and gingerbread" to ours. Oh that weary ride, through that dreary day, over the miry road! - the stoppages only agreeable, because they afforded an opportunity ton inquire how much farther we had to go. The rain kept falling; the coach kept bouncing; the endless woods were as unvaried as ever, the miry road as filled with ruts, through many long hours; but as there is an end to every thing, even a leaden book, the shower began to diminish; the forest to be replaced by cultivated fields, and the road to become more even. Suddenly the horses, pricking up their ears, started off on a brisk trot, and with quite a dash, like the candle's last flicker, carried us up to the hotel at the Mammoth Cave. The black porters sprang forward to open the coach-door, and the two dismal travellers alighted, with most hypocritical smiles upon their countenances. The building where they were to take up their quarters was two stories high, and laid out like the two sides of a square. Its appearance gave full assurance of comfort and pleasure, in neither of which points was it deceptive. The rest of the day now passed pleasantly. My friend and I were thorough barn-burners, and specimens of this race being scarce in the heart of a slave-holding state, we were lionized, and compelled (a pleasing penance) to dances with all the prettiest girls in the house. The waltz was kept going until such an hour as made even Kentucky papas, not a very strict class, show sleepiness, if not anxiety. Dreams perhaps of black eyes and bewitching smiles haunted our sleep that night, for we woke betimes the next day, and were far under ground before most of our fair companions in the dance of the previous evening had raised their soft cheeks from their envied pillows. Stephen, the best guide in the cave, had been engaged to show us the wonders, and was heavily, although not unwillingly, burdened with comestibles and potables innumerable. Mr. McCarlin, an Irish gentleman, had requested to accompany us, making our party thus only three; an extremely convenient number. We paid our entrance-money, and were provided with lamps; unromantic affairs to persons educated with poetic ideas of exploring caves by the brilliantly-reflected light of a flaming torch; poetry in this case having been sacrificed to utility; we then descended into a round hole, much like a dry well. This was about forty feet deep, and into it fell, with a merry splash, a sparkling rivulet of water. Thence on a level road, that for regularity shamed many of those upon the surface of the earth, we marched along under a high archway of stone, and passing the "vats," where twenty years before saltpetre had been manufactured, we stopped at the Houses of the Invalids. These houses, or more correctly shanties, had been built for the benefit of consumptives, who supposed that as the air preserved most wonderfully all other matters, it would also preserve human life. We paused to moralize and listen to the guide's account of the beauty of some of the poor sufferers, whose angelic kindness and unvaried good temper had fairly won his heart. The attempt to bury people in order to preserve them had been unsuccessful. The smoke from their fires forcing them to leave the cave in March, the most variable, and hence the most dangerous month of the year for invalids, a majority of them perished. To be continued. Sandi --- This email is free from viruses and malware because avast! 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