Quite another power of the telescope is dependent on its objective solely: its light-gathering power. Light by which we see a star or planet is admitted to the retina of the eye through an adjustable aperture called the pupil. In the dark or at night, the pupil expands to an average diameter of one-fourth of an inch. But the object-glass of a telescope, by focusing the rays from a star, pours into the eye, almost as a funnel acts with water, all the light which falls on its larger surface. And as geometry has settled it for us that areas of surfaces are proportioned to the squares of their diameters, a two-inch object glass focuses upon the retina of the eye 64 times as much light as the unassisted eye would receive. And the great 40-inch objective of the Yerkes telescope would, theoretically, yield 25,600 times as much light as the eye alone. But there would be a noticeable percentage of this lost through absorption by the glasses of the telescope and scattering by their surfaces. The first makers of telescopes soon encountered a most discouraging difficulty, because it seemed to them absolutely insuperable. This is known as chromatic aberration, or the scattering of light in a telescope due simply to its color or wave length. When light passes through a prism, red is refracted the least and violet the most. Through a lens it is the same, because a lens may be regarded as an indefinite system of prisms. The image of a star or planet, then, formed by a single lens cannot be optically perfect; instead it will be a confused intermingling of images of various colors. With low powers this will not be very troublesome, but great indistinctness results from the use of high magnifying powers. The early makers and users of telescopes in the latter part of the seventeenth century found that the troublesome effects of chromatic aberration could be much reduced by increasing the focal length of the objective. This led to what we term engineering difficulties of a very serious nature, because the tubes of great length were very awkward in pointing toward celestial objects, especially near the zenith, where the air is quietest. And it was next to impossible to hold an object steadily in the field, even after all the troubles of getting it there had been successfully overcome.