Now that we have the head of the bee under observation, many curious things about it can be ascertained. The strong, curved jaws, working sideways, are doubly interesting as the main implements used in the preparation of the wax, and largely in the comb-building. But the eyes and the long, flail-like antenna rivet attention first. Whether the bee was made for her life, or the life—imposed on her by inexorable conditions—made the bee what she is to-day, the extraordinary adaptation of her physique to her environment is beyond all question. The great compound eyes, with their thousands of facets each pointing in a slightly different direction, are obviously made for wide and distant outlooks. It is with these eyes that the bee finds her way out and home over miles of country. In the worker the compound eyes occupy the whole sides of the head, but in the drone they are much larger, and meet entirely at the top. Thus, dallying in the sunshine, he is able the while to keep the whole arc of the sky under scrutiny, ready at an instant’s notice to take up the love-challenge of the young queens. But these large multiple eyes of the bee are of little use to her at close quarters, or in the deep twilight of the hive. For indoor use, and for near vision, she has three other eyes, containing a single lens each, and set in her forehead just above her antennæ. The popular belief, that the honey-bee carries on her busy life, and elaborate enterprises in complete darkness, is mainly a fallacy. Probably there is always some light, even in the remotest recesses of the hive—enough, at least, for the eyes of the bee, if not for our own vision. The bee, however, would seem to depend very little on sight alone in the prosecution of her various tasks. There is little doubt that she possesses all the other four senses in a marked degree. Both the tongue and the lips have certain highly developed structures upon them which can be nothing else than organs of taste; while the most superficial acquaintance with the life of the hive must convince anyone that the bee possesses the senses of smell and hearing, and that very acutely. Where the seat of these two faculties lies is at present doubtful, and the exact functions of the antennæ are still a matter of conjecture. But it is at least certain that these latter perform vital office in every act or enterprise of the bee. It is obvious that the antennæ are very delicate organs of touch, but it is equally obvious that they are much more than this. It has been ascertained that they carry no less than six totally different kinds of instruments, each of which must have its distinct use.