can show him some of the inhabitants of the deep that are scarcely less wonderful. Candidly speaking, we do not believe in the existence of the fair lady with the fishy tail; but for the sake of our fairy tale, we will assume that she does exist, but is so excessively shy that she makes a point of concealing herself at the approach of strangers.
The mermaid's home is beneath the wave, but we must not suppose that it is situated at an unfathomable depth in the ocean. The lady is far too fond of life and light to reside in a region beyond the reach of the genial influence of the sunbeam. Depend upon it, she has selected some quiet bay, guarded by impassable rocks, for her habitation—a bay whose waters are not too deep nor yet too shallow.
Here is just such a bay as a mermaid might choose as a safe abode. Look how snugly the rocks shut it in on either side: a sea-nymph might pass her days here without fear of molestation. Let us walk to the end of yonder jutting rock. Now, if you wish to visit the mermaid's home, prepare for a dive, so—one, two, three—and in you go head foremost!
We are now safe on land; not on dry land, be it understood, but on the floor of the sea, with a good many feet of water overhead. We have ceased to be human beings subject to death by drowning, and have become the heroes of a fairy tale whom the elements cannot harm.
