And now, before we leave the shore, we must glance at a curious weakly little fellow clinging by his curly tail to the seaweed, whom you will certainly not take for a fish, even if you can find him out, so entangled is he generally in weeds of the same colour as himself. Yet the Sea-horse[49] is a true fish, covered not with scales but with plates, with which he makes a clicking noise by scraping them together. What look like large ears are really his arm-fins, while at the end of his long snout is a mouth shaped like an ordinary fish’s mouth, but toothless, and he breathes with fish’s gills arranged in round tufts instead of folds. What the use of his strange shape is to him we cannot tell, but at any rate his fleshless bony body must protect him from other fish, while his power of clinging causes him to be often carried by floating weed even into the open ocean, and make up for his feeble powers. In one thing he surpasses most other fishes, for he is a most careful father, carrying the mother’s eggs in a little pouch under his body till the young ones escape. There is one form of these sea-horses in tropical seas which has long red fringes floating from its body, so that it cannot be distinguished from the seaweed in which it hides. So we see that the deep sea, the open sea, and the shore, are filled so full of different forms that there are enough not only to make use of every part, but also to provide food for each other, and we also see that by far the larger number even of widely-spread fish come near to the shore to leave their spawn, while the young ones often make their way into the brackish water at the mouths of rivers, and spend their youth in the shelter of the still fresh water.