Idaho semi-weekly world. [volume] (Idaho City, Idaho Territory) 1875-1908, 1888-08-31
AN OLD TRUE TALEn OF THE
YELLOW JACKET.


YELLOW JACKET.
Mrs. Dave Bunch, of Garden val
ley, was severely stung by yellow
jackets the other day. She was out
in the garden, and of a sudden was
attacked by swarm of hundreds of
these fierce little warriors, and was
stung all over the head and face,
which swelled to immense proper
tions. A swarm of enraged yellow
jackets are holy terror, as we know
from personal experience, and the
fact was deeply impressed on our en-
tire system in the days when we were
a kid, tender, young and innocent,
and sympathetic toward all living
creatures, except yellow jackets, which
we took great delight in roasting
alive. One balmy summer evening,
in Webfoot, as the sun was Sinking
in glory in the sky-painted west, we,
with our eldor brother, Bert, espied a
hole in the ground, and the idea
struck us that it was the home of a
colony of yellow jackets, so we
plugged up the hole, and were about
to start for the house for matches
with which to start bonfire over the
hole to fendishly cremate the little
innocents. Bert observed live
jacket sailing around in lonely,
melancholy manner, as if imploring
us to pull out the plug SO he could go
in and retire for the night with his
family and friends. Bert suggested
that the plug be pulled out so the be-
lated yellow jacket could go in peace
fully and retire for the night. Our
idea was that not solitary jacket
should escape the cremation ceremo-
nv, and be left out in the cold, wide
world alone to pine away and die,
with no relatives and friends left to
soothe his aching brow. Our tender
hearts went out to this then inoffen-
sive little bird with the red-hot poste-
rior, and we pulled the plug out.
And obi such scene of suffering
as Immediately followed the act!
1t made an impression as lasting as
time, and every second was an age.
The lone jacket didn't go in, but the
whole swarm, millions it seemed,
emerged from that hole with blood
in their eyes and fire on their tails,
and the battle begun, with the two
sorry kids on the defensive. There
was not spot on our facial and era
nial area that could be covered with
the point of pin, but felt the ago
nizing heat of stinger. 1t seemed
, as if all the anguish, agony, excru
ciating pain and burning heat of un
told centuries had been collected and
concentrated in the rear ends of those
/ revengeful yellow jackets, and WI
, were being punished for the sins of th'
whole world from the creation to tina
terrible time. We clapped our limo
cent little hands, sang and danced
: hornpipe to fast music, and retreatet
, for home, a distance, it appeared, o
, half mile, but the little striped
birds stayed with US and kept u
company on the sad journey, an'
, kept energetically at work caressin.
= us with the fiery ends of their anato
3 my. They were not content witt
b. swelling our physiognomies ant
e chronological bumps to the size of
Q nail keg, but went in hundreds dowI
a our necks and up our breeches legs
a and stung without ceasing, until w
. were deeply impressed with the fact
r for the first time, that life was no
!, worth living-that the pain out
r weighed the Joy by millions of tons
E When we reached home we wer'
e hastily stripped by the maternal sid
5 of our parentage, and what sight t.
) behold! The surfaces of our system
q we're filled from toe-nails to the root
| of the hair of our craniums with ach
t ing, burning stings, and we still
n danced and walled wall of agony il
J, a melancholy minor key. We wer'
? soaked in some kind of oil to relieve