"This is truly the flood," I cried, looking at the water at my feet. "Yes, my excellent nephew," replied my uncle, rubbing his hands with the gusto of a philosopher, "and you see by these several streaks of foam that the tide rises at least ten or twelve feet." "It is indeed marvelous." "By no means," he responded; "on the contrary, it is quite natural." "It may appear so in your eyes, my dear uncle," was my reply, "but all the phenomena of the place appear to me to partake of the marvelous. It is almost impossible to believe that which I see. Who in his wildest dreams could have imagined that, beneath the crust of our earth, there could exist a real ocean, with ebbing and flowing tides, with its changes of winds, and even its storms! I for one should have laughed the suggestion to scorn." "But, Harry, my boy, why not?" inquired my uncle, with a pitying smile; "is there any physical reason in opposition to it?" "Well, if we give up the great theory of the central heat of the earth, I certainly can offer no reasons why anything should be looked upon as impossible." "Then you will own," he added, "that the system of Sir Humphry Davy is wholly justified by what we have seen?" "I allow that it is--and that point once granted, I certainly can see no reason for doubting the existence of seas and other wonders, even countries, in the interior of the globe." "That is so--but of course these varied countries are uninhabited?" "Well, I grant that it is more likely than not: still, I do not see why this sea should not have given shelter to some species of unknown fish." "Hitherto we have not discovered any, and the probabilities are rather against our ever doing so," observed the Professor. I was losing my skepticism in the presence of these wonders. "Well, I am determined to solve the question. It is my intention to try my luck with my fishing line and hook." "Certainly; make the experiment," said my uncle, pleased with my enthusiasm. "While we are about it, it will certainly be only proper to discover all the secrets of this extraordinary region." "But, after all, where are we now?" I asked; "all this time I have quite forgotten to ask you a question, which, doubtless, your philosophical instruments have long since answered." "Well," replied the Professor, "examining the situation from only one point of view, we are now distant three hundred and fifty leagues from Iceland." "So much?" was my exclamation. "I have gone over the matter several times, and am sure not to have made a mistake of five hundred yards," replied my uncle positively. "And as to the direction--are we still going to the southeast?" "Yes, with a western declination[2] of nineteen degrees, forty-two minutes, just as it is above. As for the inclination[3] I have discovered a very curious fact." [2] The declination is the variation of the needle from the true meridian of a place.