a pretended participation in the "RYE-HOUSE PLOT," she enlisted by her efforts some of the most distinguished men in the Country in his favor; on his mock trial she assisted him in taking notes and making cut his defence; and after he was executed in pursuance of a sentence of judicial murder, she devoted her exalted talents to the vindicating of his character. Her letter to King Charles the Second is a standing monument of her devotion to his memory; it might have moved the heart of a stone, though it made no impression upon that of a voluptuary.-Lady Russell survived her husband many years. She was repeatedly solicited in marriage by the admirers of her virtues, but she chose to spend the remainder of her life in widowhood, seeking the alleviation of her sorrows in the education of her children, the society and correspondence of her numerous literary friends, and above all in the inestimable comforts of religion. Her letters, in which her talents served as the handmaids of her virtues, and portrayed her beautiful character in all its simplicity and purity, were collected long after her death and published. They furnish a model well worthy of imitation. Among her correspondents we find the names of Archbishop Tillotson. Bishop Burnet, Bishop Patrick, the Princess of Orange, the truly pious Dr. Fitzwilliam, and many other persons equally distinguished for rank, talent, piety and learning. Some of the letters of these eminent individuals are introduced into the volume with those of Lady Russell, and they uniformly bespeak the highest respect for her character. We might, perhaps usefully extend the present article by a few extracts from the letters we have named, but we must content ourselves with giving one entire, which was written to Dr. Fitzwilliam soon after her husband's death, and which gives an admirable view of her truly amiable character. Lord Russell was brought to the scaffold on the 21st of July 1683, and this letter is dated the 30th of September in the same year.

To Dr. Fitzwilliam.- I need not tell you my good Doctor, how little capable I have been of such an exercise as this. You will soon find how unfit I am still

for it, since my yet disordered thoughts can offer me no other than such words as express the deepest sorrows, confused as my yet amazed mind is. But such men as you, and particularly one so much my friend, will I know bear with my weakness and compassionate my distress, as you have already done by your good letter and excellent prayer. I endeavor to make the best use I can of both; but I am so evil and unworthy a creature that though I have desires yet I have no dispositions or worthiness towards receiving comfort. You that knew us both, and how we lived, must admit I have just cause to bewail my loss. I know it is common with others to lose a friend; but to have lived with such a one, it may be questioned how few can glory in the like happiness, so consequently lament the like loss. Who can but shrink at such a blow, till by the mighty aids of his holy spirit, we will let the gift of God which he hath put into our hearts interpose? That reason which sets a measure to our souls in prosperity, will then suggest many things which we have seen and heard, to moderate us in such sad circumstances as mine. But alas! my understanding is clouded, my faith weak, sense strong, and the devil busy to fill my thoughts with false notions, difficulties, and doubts; but this I hope to make a matter of humiliation, not sin. Lord, let me understand the reason of these dark and wounding providences, that I sink not under the discouragements of my own thoughts, I know I have deserved my punishment and I will be silent under it; but yet secretly my heart mourns, too sadly I fear, and cannot be comforted, because I have not the dear companion and sharer of all my joys and sorrows. I want him to talk with, to walk with, to eat and sleep with; all these things are irksome to me now; the day unwelcome, and the nights so too; all company and meals I would avoid, if it might be; yet all this is, that I enjoy not the world in my own way; and this sure hinders my comfort when I see my children before me, I remember the pleasure he took in them; this makes my heart shrink. Can I regret his quitting a lesser good for a greater? O! if I did steadfastly believe, I could not be dejected; for I will not injure myself to say,

I offer my mind any inferior consolation to supply this loss. No; I most willingly forsake this worldthis vexatious, troublesome world, in which I have no other business, but to rid my soul from sin; secure by faith and a good conscience my eternal interests; with patience and courage bear my eminent misfortunes, and ever hereafter be above the smiles and frowns of it. And when I have done the remnant of the work appointed me on earth, then joyfully wait for the heavenly perfection in God's good time, when by his infinite mercy I may be accounted worthy to enter into the same place of rest and repose where he is gone, for whom only I grieve. From that contemplation must come my best support. Good doctor, you will think, as you have reason, that I set no bounds, when I let myself loose to my complaints; but I will release you, first fervently asking the continuance of your prayers for,

Your infinitely afflicted

But very faithful servant.

CABINET OF NATURE.

THE GREAT KENTUCKY CAVERN.

(Concluded from page 12.)

From the course of his needle, the Doctor expected that this avenue would have led circuitously to the chief city; but was much disappointed when he reached the extremity, at a few hundred yards distance from the fourth city. In retracing his steps, not having paid a due attention to mark the entrances of the different avenues, he was greatly bewildered, and once completely lost himself for nearly fifteen or twenty minutes. Thus, faint and wearied, he did not reach the chief area till ten at night; but was still determined to explore the cavern so long as his light should last. Having entered the fifth and last avenue from the chief area, and proceeded south-east about nine hundred yards, he came to the fifth area, the arch of which covers upwards of four acres of level ground, strewed with lime stones, and having fire-beds of an uncommon size, surrounded with brands of cane interspersed. Another avenue on the opposite side, led to one of still greater

capacity, the walls or sides of which were more perfect than any that had been noticed, running almost due south for nearly a mile and a half, and being very level and straight, with an elegant arch. While the Doctor was employed, at the extremity of this avenue, in sketching a plan of the cave, one of his guides, who had strayed to a distance, called on him to follow. Leaving the other guide, he was led to a vertical passage, which opened into a chamber at least 1800 feet in circumference, and the centre of the arch of which was 150 feet in height.

It was past midnight when he entered this chamber of eternal darkness; and when he reflected on the different avenues through which he had passed since he had penetrated the cave at eight in the morning, and now found himself buried several miles in the dark recesses of this awful cavern-the grave, perhaps of thousands of human beings-he felt a shivering horror. The avenue, or passage, which led, from it was as large as any he had entered; and it is uncertain how far he might have travelled had his lights not failed him. All those who have any knowledge of this, cave, he observes, conjecture that Green River, a stream navigable several hundred miles, passes over three of its branches.

After a lapse of nearly an hour, he descended by what is called the "passage of the chimney," and joined the other guide. Thence returning to the chief area or city, where the lamps were trimmed for the last time, he entered the spacious avenue which led to the second hoppers. Here he met with various curiosities, such as spars, petrifactions, &c.; and these he brought away together with a mummy which was found at the second hoppers. He reached the mouth of the cave about three in the morning, nearly exhausted with nineteen hours of constant fatigue. He nearly fainted on leaving it and on inhaling the vapid air of the atmosphere, after having so long breathed the pure air occasioned by the nitre of the cave. His pulse beat stronger when withinside, but not so quick as when on the surface.

Here the Doctor observes that he has hardly describ ed half the cave, not having named the avenues between g

its mouth and the second hoppers. This part of his narrative is of equal interest with what has been already given. He states that there is a passage in the main avenue, upwards of nine hundred feet from the entrance, like that of a trap-door. By sliding aside a large flat stone, you can descend sixteen or eighteen feet in a very narrow defile, where the passage comes on a level, and winds about in such a manner, as to pass under the main passage without having any communication with it, at length opening into the main cave by two large passages just beyond the second hoppers. This is called the " glauber-salt room," from salts of that kind being found there. Next come the sick room, the bat room, and the flint room, together with a winding avenue, which, branching off at the second hoppers, runs west and south-west for more than two miles. It is called the "haunted chamber," from the echo within its arch is very beautifully incrusted with lime-stone spar; and in many places the columns of spar are truly elegant, extending from the ceiling to the floor. Near the centre of this arch is a dome, apparently fifty feet high, hung in rich drapery, festooned in the most fanciful manner, for six or eight feet from the hangings, and in colors the most rich and brilliant. By the reflection of one or two lights, the columns of spar and the stalactites have a very romantic appearance. Of this spar a large cellar, called "Wilkins' armed chair," has been formed in the centre of the avenue, and encircled with many smaller ones. The columns of spar, fluted and studded with knobs of lactites; the drapery of various colors superbly festooned, and hung in the most graceful manner; these are shown with the greatest brilliancy by the reflection of the lamps.

spar

and sta

In the vicinity of the "haunted chamber," the sound of a cataract was heard; and at the extremity of the avenue was a reservoir of water, very clear and grateful to the taste, apparently having neither inlet nor outlet. Here the air, as in many other parts of the cave, was pure and delightful. Not far from the reservoir, an avenue presented itself, within which were several columns of the most brilliant spar, sixty or