“We went to topsy-turvy land to see a man-o’-war,
And we were much attached to it, because we simply were;
We found an anchor-ite within the mud upon the lea
For the ghost of Jonah’s whale he ran away and went to sea. 
Oh, it was awful! 
It was unlawful! 
We rallied round the flag in sev’ral millions;
They couldn’t shake us;
They had to take us;
So the halibut and cod they danced cotillions.”

“What does it all mean?” asked Trot.

“I suppose they refer to the way barnacles have of clinging to ships,” replied Merla, “but usually the songs mean nothing at all.  The little barnacles haven’t many brains, so we usually find their songs quite stupid.”

“Do they write some comic operas?” asked the child.

“I think not,” answered the mermaid.

“They seem to like the songs themselves,” remarked Cap’n Bill.

“Oh yes, they sing all day long.  But it never matters to them whether their songs mean anything or not.  Let us go in this direction and visit some other sea people.”

So they swam away from the barnacle-covered rock, and Trot heard the last chorus as she slowly followed their conductor.  The barnacles were singing: 

“Oh, very well, then, I hear the curfew,
Please go away and come some other day;
Goliath tussels
With Samson’s muscles,
Yet the muscles never fight in Oyster Bay.”

“It’s jus’ nonsense!” said Trot scornfully.  “Why don’t they sing ‘Annie Laurie’ or ‘Home, Sweet Home’ or else keep quiet?”

“Why, if they were quiet,” replied Merla, “they wouldn’t be singing barnacles.”

They now came to one of the avenues which led from the sea garden out into the broad ocean, and here two swordfishes were standing guard.  “Is all quiet?” Merla asked them.

“Just as usual, your Highness,” replied one of the guards.  “Mummercubble was sick this morning and grunted dreadfully, but he’s better now and has gone to sleep.  King Anko has been stirring around some, but is now taking his after-dinner nap.  I think it will be perfectly safe for you to swim out for a while, if you wish.”

“Who’s Mummercubble?” asked Trot as they passed out into deep water.

“He’s the sea pig,” replied Merla.  “I am glad he’s asleep, for now we won’t meet him.”

“Don’t you like him?” inquired Trot.

“Oh, he complains so bitterly of everything that he bores us,” Merla answered.  “Mummercubble is never contented or happy for a single minute.”

“I’ve seen people like that,” said Cap’n Bill with a nod of his head.  “An’ they has a way of upsettin’ the happiest folks they meet.”

“Look out!” suddenly cried the mermaid.  “Look out for your fingers!  Here are the snapping eels.”

“Who?  Where?” asked Trot anxiously.

And now they were in the midst of a cluster of wriggling, darting eels which sported all around them in the water with marvelous activity.  “Yes, look out for your fingers and your noses!” said one of the eels, making a dash for Cap’n Bill.  At first the sailor was tempted to put out a hand and push the creature away, but remembering that his fingers would thus be exposed, he remained quiet, and the eel snapped harmlessly just before his face and then darted away.