then, could we see the slope and contour of the roof. A few bats
were flitting about, disturbed for the first time. To the left, a
vast white pillar extended from floor to roof. It was pure white
and about five feet in diameter all the way up. It was fluted,
fretted, draped and spangled. I never in my life saw anything more
chaste and lovely. I thought of the countless ages it must have
taken to form that monument: of the streams of clear water that had
fallen and left their calcite deposits, while it grew year after
year, age after age, century after century, in this profound
darkness, disturbed by no noises save the rhythmic sound of the
falling drops and the dull flitting of the bats, who alone were the
living witnesses of its construction. To the rear of this great
pillar the room is divided into three galleries, one above another.
With great difficulty and much danger we climbed into each of
these. The floors were all like the pillar of pure white onyx, and
extended back a distance of thirty or more feet. The floor of one
formed the roof of another. They were brilliant with hanging
pendants and the side walls were all veneered with the same white
and crystalline formation. To entirely describe them is impossible.
A day in each would still leave the observer short of words in
which to tell of the wonders.

"Turning towards the right hand from the entrance we advance two
hundred feet up an incline of dry clay, the room widening gradually
until its width is forty feet, when we reach the top of an
elevation thirty feet above the starting point, where a sudden
steep descent brings us to a halt. A stone cast down strikes water
and the sound of a splash comes back to us. With caution we seek
our way down the hill and stand on the edge of a small lake or
pond. Suddenly my son, who is in the lead, rushes back saying: