The senses of bees were the next subject of investigation, and we will give, in brief, the results which Huber reached. The lenses of the bee's eyes are not adjustable; and, though they can see accurately to great distances, they seem blind to objects close by. Bees dart down to the door of their hives with a precision which is generally unerring, but, if, from any cause, they miss the opening, they are obliged to rise in the air, in order to take another observation.
If bees hear—which is a doubtful question, the old-fashioned "tanging" to the contrary—they certainly hear only what affects their welfare. Their sense of taste is also far from perfect, foul ditch-water being often preferred by them to limpid streams, or even dew, and ill-smelling plants having quite as much attraction as sweet ones; it is the quantity, rather than the quality of their food, for which they care. They are also fond of the secretion of the aphides, the milch-cattle of the ants.
Their sense of smell is very keen; the presence of honey they detect, even in the most carefully-concealed places. Honey-bees often, in scarce seasons, attack the bumble-bees on their return from the fields laden with honey, and force them to disgorge all they have collected. Its presence in the honey-bag must have been detected by the sense of smell. The seat of this sense is in the mouth; this Huber determined by presenting successively to all parts of the body, on camel's-hair pencils, odors especially repugnant to them. When held near the mouth, the bee started back as if annoyed. On one occasion he mixed honey with camphor, which they especially dislike; by some means they managed to separate and remove all the honey, leaving the camphor untouched.
The sense which seems to be most perfect in these little creatures is that of touch, and that seems to reside wholly in the antennæ. Greetings, caresses, and the communication of intentions, are always effected, by one bee toward another, by crossing their antennæ. It must be remembered that no light enters a hive under ordinary circumstances. "The bee," says Huber, "constructs its comb in darkness; it pours its honey into the magazines, feeds its young, judges of their age and necessities, recognizes its queen, all by aid of its antennæ, which are much less adapted for becoming acquainted with objects than our hands. Therefore, shall we not grant to this sense modifications and perfections unknown to the touch of man?"
In order to determine the means of communicating ideas which exist among the bees, Huber divided a hive into two parts by a fine wire grating; the bees on both sides of the grating continued their work tranquilly, collecting honey, storing pollen, and building no royal cells. It was again divided by two parallel wire gratings, which admitted communication by means of every other sense except touch. The queenless half of the swarm fell into their usual distress and agitation, and soon set about constructing royal cells. By other experi-
