L.M. Budgen, March winds and April showers : being notes and notions on a few created things, Londres, L. Reeve, 1854, p. 109-112.
While unmolestedalike by angler or by entomologist, case-flies innumerable are rising from the craddles of their watery birth-place to take their pleasure in the air. They are fairy case-flies, so small and delicate. Their cradles must have corresponded. Even so. Here they are, cradles or cases, to be seen in plenty near the margin of the water. Let us examine this one, deserted by its tenants. What a multitude of minute shells are compacted together on its surface ! What numerous sparks of life have been here cemented up, each within its own tiny tabernacle turned into a tomb, and all to make a fortress for this litlle constructive, itself one of a multitude bestrewing, it is likely the entire bottom of this wide-spread lake !……
But, hark ! What’s that rustle in the reeds- that splashing in the water ? Heaven save us ! It’s a montrous crocodile ! It sees us ! It glides towards us ! It’s close upon us ; death and burial in its jaws ! The caddis-case falls from our fingers ; ou hair bristles ; our heart beats ; our eyes are fixed. We try to call for help, though no human help is near, is anywhere ; and in terror we awake, wake from our dream of the far distant Past.
We are returned then from our long journey to the remote country that lies behind the country of man. We have alighted from our excursion train. Imagination, our locomotive, stands idele. We are at home again in this our own day world, with the dear familiar aspect it is wearing in this year of grace, and bounty, and beauty, 1853. Here we are again, and yet we have still within our sight, nay, within our fingers, the identical articles of insect fabrication, a group of caddis-cases of the year-nobody knows what- to behold which as tabernacle of life, we have just ben travelling backwards, nobody knows how far.