The Caddis-Worm 



Sticks and grains of rice make it plain that the 

 Caddis-worm is not the bungler that one 

 would expect from the monstrous buildings 

 in the pond. Those Cyclopean piles, those 

 mad conglomerations are the inevitable re- 

 sults of chance finds, which are used for the 

 best because there is no choice. The water- 

 carpenter has an art of its own, has method 

 and rules of symmetry. When well-served 

 by fortune, it is quite able to turn out good 

 work; when ill-served, it acts like others: the 

 work which it turns out is bad. Poverty 

 makes for ugliness. 



There is another matter wherein the Cad- 

 dis-worm deserves our attention. With a 

 perseverance which repeated trials do not tire, 

 it makes itself a new tube when I strip it. 

 This is opposed to the habits of the generality 

 of insects, which do not recommence the thing 

 once done, but simply continue it according 

 to the usual rules, taking no account of the 

 ruined or vanished portions. The Caddis- 

 worm is a striking exception : it starts again. 

 Whence does it derive this capacity? 



I begin by learning that, given a sudden 



alarm, it readily leaves its scabbard. When 



I go fishing for Caddis-worms, I put them 



in tin boxes, containing no other moisture 



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