We're continuing with Stephen and the three tourists in the Star Chamber, in 1849: "Shall I act the giant, and throw a rock against the skies? "he said, having caught the allusion from some traveler; and forthwith picking up a stone, he threw it against the roof of the cave. We broke into a hearty laugh, but will were hardly convinced that those were imitation eyes and not the veritable ones of old mother Night. The deception was made more perfect by the formation of the sides of the cave. These shot up near seventy feet perpendicularly, and then stretched suddenly back horizontally, leaving a ledge between them and the roof. The walls were bright yellow, and on their edge seemed to hang the planets of the upper world, while the ceiling was dark, undefined blue; the exact color of the midnight sky. Those stars were the perfection of imitation, and even glimmered precisely like the originals. They were caused by a very simple arrangement: the lights from the lamps were reflected from pieces of polished substances, mica generally, which were bedded in the stone of the ceiling. This phenomenon was to be seen in no apartment except the Star Chamber. I never again want to pass so dark a night, in reality or metaphor, followed by so deceptive a star light. This Star Chamber was the king of wonders, where the least were princes. I shall never forget that scene, and can even now hardly credit that those were not veritable auger-holes in the world's ceiling. The last apartment of interest was Young's Dome; called, I believe, after the name of him who first owned the cave. We thrust our heads through a little hole in the side of the wall, and on the guide's lighting a Bengal-light, saw a huge dome that extended hundreds of feet above, as well as hundreds of feet below us. The window through which he looked was about half-way down the side. The walls, polished by water that was falling ceaselessly, as it no doubt had been for ages, reflected over and over the rays of light, till daylight seemed to have been reached again. Above, the dome dwindled to its apex, scarce visible at that height, while below it spread out a broad even floor. This apartment was more remarkable from its immense height, about three hundred feet, than for any other feature. It had no such startling peculiarities as much that we had seen. We now wended homeward, discussing the origin of the cave; McCarlin asserting that it must have been created by some great uprising of nature, while Stephen thought it had been caverned out by a stream that, wearing its way in time through the rock, had formed those surprising labyrinths. We re-embarked on Echo River, and made the caves again reverberate to our voices, and even to my pistol. Its report was answered, much to our surprise, by a loud scream, that we recognized at once as coming from ladies. The next instant a boat shot around the corner some distance ahead. Rows of lamps were arranged on both its sides, and looked most fairy-like on thus suddenly emerging from those gloomy recesses. The light fell upon the shining dresses of the ladies, and was reflected from their bright eyes. Another boat filled with gentlemen followed, equally illuminated. We received them with a hurrah, and immediately struck up a negro song, the whole party joining us. Some twenty voices bore the notes far into the deepest of those vaults. All had been so dark and silent before, and now all was so gay and brilliant. There were the long rows of lamps, doubled seemingly by reflection from the water, the gaudy dresses glancing in the light, the long, low, flat boat, the black oarsman, seated at the stern and dipping his paddle noiselessly into the wave, the bright eyes glowing in the dim light, and the merry voices routing old Silence, and pealing forth the call to the stern bleak rocks; it was like a scene conjured by magic from those dismal vaults; as though the fairies of the olden time were risen anew, and floating down their hidden sacred stream, were trilling forth their jovial chorus. As our boats passed, we stopped the song to cheer and wave our handkerchiefs. In a moment more, and the lights, the dresses, the faces, the dingy oarsmen, all were gone; the song faded away in the distance, and darkness and silence had again settled down upon us. To be concluded tomorrow. The readers can remind themselves that this report was written in 1849, a mere 165 years ago!!! Sandi --- This email is free from viruses and malware because avast! Antivirus protection is active. http://www.avast.com