PART II. 

 THE POETS' FISHES. 



CHAPTER I. 

 FISH-MONSTERS AND MYTHS. 



IT is not easy with poets' animals to draw the line between 

 fish and flesh. Their water creatures are so finely graduated, 

 from the complete human to the complete fish, that it is 

 difficult to say where the actual severance of species occurs. 

 Out on the sea-wave yonder a water-sprite "sits dodging 

 the blessed bird," and here on the river-bank the brown 

 kelpie lies, "lurking 'mid the unrustling reeds." But you 

 cannot see whether they have legs or tails. Yet they are 

 the kindred of the mermaids who wear scales on half their 

 bodies, and the mermaids again are the relatives of creatures 

 that are entirely fish. 



Sometimes these sea things are dreadful, living as they 

 do in an ocean " scourged by hissing gales, and writhing in 

 their glistening coats of clashing scales," and " haunting 

 those dark rocks which, when the storm is up, bellow and 

 gnash and snarl together." Yet as a rule the poets make fun 

 of them. Proteus and his sea-calves have little dignity. 

 Triton with his puffed -out cheeks is usually laughed at. 

 In a general way, of course, there is the utmost reverence 

 expressed for "the huge sea monsters that lift the deep 



upon their backs ; " and now and again there is special awe 



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