alcohol affected his temper. He rose unsteadily, staggered
about, and knocked his head against the tumbler; at which fancied
insult he raised his wings in a limp kind of dignity and defiance,
buzzing a challenge. But he lost his legs, and fell down; and
presently, in spite of pokings, went off into a drunken sleep again.

All the afternoon he lay there. As it grew cooler he stirred about
uneasily. At dusk he started up for his nest. It was a hard pull to
get there. His head was heavy, and his legs shaky. Half way up, he
stopped on top of the lower sash to lie down awhile. He had a terrible
headache, evidently; he kept rubbing his head with his fore legs as if
to relieve the pain. After a fall or two on the second sash, he
reached the top, and tumbled into his warm nest to sleep off the
effects of his spree.

One such lesson should have been enough; but it wasn't. Perhaps,
also, I should have put temptation out of his way; for I knew that all
hornets, especially yellow-jackets, are hopeless topers when they get
a chance; that when a wasp discovers a fermenting apple, it is all up
with his steady habits; that when a nest of them discover a cider
mill, all work, even the care of the young, is neglected. They take to
drinking, and get utterly demoralized. But in the interest of a new
experiment I forgot true kindness, and left the tumbler where it was.

The next day, at noon, he was stretched out on the sill, drunk again.
For three days he kept up his tippling, coming out when the sun shone
warmly, and going straight to the fatal tumbler. On the fourth day he
paid the penalty of his intemperance.

The morning was very bright, and the janitor had left the hornet's
window slightly open. At noon he was lying on the window sill, drunk
as usual. I was in a hurry to take a train, and neglected to close the
window. Late at night, when I came back to my room, he was gone. He
was not on the sill, nor on the floor, nor under the window cushions.
His nest in the casing, where I had so often watched him asleep, was
empty. Taking a candle, I went out to search under the window. There I
found him in the snow, his legs curled up close to his body, frozen
stiff with the drip of the eaves.

I carried him in and warmed him at the fire, but it was too late. He
had been drunk once too often. When I saw that he was dead, I stowed
him away in the nest he had been seeking when he fell out into the
snow. I tried to read; but the book seemed d