when work is by no means intermitted, there would, to _our_ eyes, be absolute darkness. To the bees, however, the scanty rays received by so many sensitive points may be sufficient to enable them to see with considerable clearness. If the simple enlargement of a single pupil, such as takes place in us on emerging from a strong into a dim light, makes so great a difference in our power of vision a fact with which we are all familiar on going from a well-lighted room into what seems for the first few seconds complete darkness we may well believe that the permanent means of entry into the sensorium of an immense number of separate rays may give greatly enlarged powers of seeing scantily illuminated objects. Still, an opposite view is held by many naturalists, for it seems very doubtful whether there is any power in the bee of focusing these eyes, so as to adapt their range to different distances. The probability is that no such faculty of adjustment exists in them. We should expect this from the structure of the visual apparatus. Yet it seems possible that the compound eyes act as telescopes, and serve for great range of vision, but not for near objects. For, while bees dart homewards from far-off fields with the directness of an arrow, they will frequently fly against persons or things in the direct line of their course, without apparently having seen them at a little distance off. Moreover, when they have alighted within an inch or two of the entrance to their hives, they often fail to perceive its position, and constantly wander to one side or the other, searching for their way in. We might conclude, therefore, that these compound eyes confer distinctness of vision afar, and possibly ability to use up scanty light, rather than any great discernment of objects near at hand.