A MOTHERLY KNIGHT IN ARMOR 



Hippocampus — I know not, after the amazing, 

 ten-minute honeymoon whether to call her maid, 

 wife or seahorse widow. 



Also without a thanks-very-much, or even a well- 

 merited sigh of envy of his more fortunate brothers 

 in the world, our seahorse — etymologically a 

 woman — swims off in his life's path, with his 

 pocket full of the hope of the next generation. 



If it is true that the eggs require four weeks to 

 develop, then a fathom or two down, among the 

 eel-grass and seaweeds of Castle Harbor a certain 

 seahorse was courted, married and deserted on a 

 Saturday night, the sixth of June. On the second 

 of July we seined him off our bathing beach. As he 

 glided gracefully about the aquarium I saw that he 

 was a horse of unusual beauty. He was full grown 

 — one hundred millimetres from snout to tail — or, 

 less impressively, four inches. His color was a bril- 

 liant sea-green, darkened on the back, but the 

 cheeks, chest and pouch aglow with this beautiful 

 shade; his eyes were blazing gold, cut four square 

 by lines of alabaster ; his neck was arched and proud 

 as that of a thoroughbred Arab. The pectoral fins 

 were long and wide-spread like wings, and the 

 graceful body gleamed with a host of white dots, 

 streaming out into constellations or concentrated 

 into galaxies — good reasons all for calling him 

 Pegasus. 



His pouch was greatly distended and now and 

 then, even when he was quietly resting, the emerald 

 surface was troubled, quivered, and was quiet again. 



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