The efforts of the war department to secure a field glass of greater power than the one the now in use has discovered the fact that the eyes of the average American are closer together than those of men in foreign countries. The double glass, known as the field glass, now used is weaker than that used in the armies of Europe. It is of only from five or six powers—entirely too weak for the purpose. The only glass they can get of sufficient power is a single spy glass, which is defective in that it does not take in a broad enough field. This is a very serious defect in the equipment of the American army, but there seems to be no immediate prospect of its correction, because our eyes are too close together. Some of the colored troops may be able to use a different glass, but he white Yankee solider can not overcome this national peculiarity. The best military field glass in use is that with which the German army is supplied. An attempt was made to adopt them by the war department, but it was found that they eyes of the glasses were so far apart that they could not be used by Americans. The department is studying how ot overcome this difficulty.

A very stout old Brooklyn gentleman squeezed himself past two women on a Putnam avenue car and wedged in between one of them and a man at the other end of the seat. The fit was such a tight one that the women held their breaths and assumed a pancake appearance. At the corner where the car turns into Putnam avenue the fat man turned like a big turret and put up a chubby finger. The car stopped.

"Putnam avenue; Grand avenue and Fulton street!" shouted the conductor.

The fat man settled back and resumed reading a newspaper, which he had dropped in his lap.

"Want to get out here?" asked the conductor, with his hand on the bellrope.

The fat man shook his head. There was an angry twang of the cord, and the trolley began to whiz.

At Nostrand avenue the chubby finger went up again. The car stopped. Nobody moved. Then the man who rings tup the fares got angry.

"See here," he exclaimed after he had climbed along the step on the side of the car until he was opposite the fat man, "what do you mean by telling me to stop for when you don't want to get off?"

"Why," responded the mountain of flesh as coolly as such a mass of adipose could be cool, "the car jolts so that I couldn't read this paragraph, which is slightly blurred. I merely wanted to have the car stand still until I had finished it. That's all. Now, if you can go along slowly without jolting, I will be able to get along very nicely, but if I come across another bad line or two I'll put my hand back of my head, and you stop. It's too much trouble for me to turn around."

The conductor's eyes twittered in the orbits. He placed his hand to his head and uttered shriek after shriek. Reason was shattered. He had become cross eyed and insane.—New York Mail and Express

Courtesy does for human intercourse what salt, according to the boy, does for potatoes. Being asked to define that useful mineral, he answered: "Salt's what makes pertaters don't taste good when you don't put any on 'em." Little civilities give a relish to social associations, and, when practised, they beget that habit of courtesy which is a second nature.

In a recent letter Marian Harland says that the education in politeness should begin in childhood. The boy should be taught from the time he dons his first knickerbockers, to rise when his mother enters the room and remain standing until she takes the chair he offers.

He should rise when receiving anything from her hand, and be reprimanded when he passes between two people who are conversing together, or between any one and the fire, or walks out of a door before the ladies of the company who are moving in the same direction as himself. He should be taught to raise his hat when saluting a lady on the street.

Having mastered the rudiments of politeness, his good sense and quick eye will enable him to adapt himself to any social latitude. His good breeding will show itself in observing the by laws of society so quietly as not to attract attention.

Pedestrians on Market street the other morning jostled each other to see a novel sight. A huge dog, with a sleek drab skin and a generally contented look, plodded along the thoroughfare wearing spectacles of large size astride his shapely nose. The dog was not at all inconvenienced seemingly, and apparently was not aware that he was doing anything out of the ordinary, as he critically surveyed the public through the spectacle glasses. The spectacles were much too large for any human being, and probably were mad with glasses without magnifying power, at the order of some waggish owner.—San Francisco Bulletin

Dogs in a native or wild state never bark. They simply whine, howl and growl. The noise which we call barking is found only among those that are domesticated. Columbus found that to be the case with the dogs he first brought to America and left at large, for on his return he tells us that they had lost their propensity to bark. Scientific men say that barking is really an effort on the part of the dog to speak.

People afflicted with rheumatism and neuralgia pains in Ansonia, Conn., have a new fad. Ever since the new electric street railway between Ansonia and Birmingham has been in operation it has been noticed that certain persons make it a point to ride up and down on the electric cars at least once a day. The system employed here takes the electric current from an overhead wire, and the motor is in a small compartment in the front end of the car, being separated from the passengers by only a light partition. These persons generally manage to sit as near this partition as possible, and they lean their heads against it when they can. A reporter asked a conductor about it.

"They are taking their shock," was his reply, and questioning brought this:

"There's several of 'em who ride up and down on my car every day, sometimes two round trips at a time. There's an old lady down in Derby avenue who stops my car every day at the same hour and takes the trip with me. When she first began she was so lame from rheumatism that she had to use a cane to walk with, and often I had to help her on the car. She used to sit close to the motor and in such a position that her knees as well as her head touched the partition. At last she discarded her cane and now she is almost as spry as I am, though she is twice as old. Then I have ladies get on my car suffering from sick headache, and they tell me that a round trip cures 'em every time. One of them tells me that she is so sensitive to the electric current that she can feel it as soon as the car starts while another says she can't feel it at all but feels the effect after the ride."

"Every now and then there is an outcry against tipping," said a head waiter in a Broadway resort, "and it has been said that waiters—some of them— are enabled to buy real estate from the yielding of the system. This might have been years ago, when waiters thoroughly educated to their business were comparatively scarce, but it is a fallacy now."

"Good waiters here are not as numerous as they are in Paris, but their numbers are enough to make them feel the evils of tipping. Last year's general strike in the big hotels and fashionable cafes was caused primarily by tipping, for this is taken into consideration when employers fix the rate of wages. The men are reasonably easy now, but it is only a matter of time when New York must become like Paris."

In the French capital not long ago there were 40,000 idle waiters and it was contended that employers took advantage of this to cut down the earnings of their men. And her is where the pernicious tip shows its influence again. The men because of it are practically paid no fixed wages, but themselves pay to their employers so much in proportion to the business they do.

In the great cafes in the boulevards waiters have to pay the cashier the full selling price of whatever they serve, plus 5 per cent. In some cases the rate is advanced. The percentage must come from tips. No one gives less than about 2 cents, however small the purchase.

In this city a dime is the minimum, though several waiters in "swell" resorts have been known to turn from it in disdain. Just think of giving one of these men 2 cents!

"It would surprise you," continued the head waiter, "to know that it is principally the men who ask for the most expensive orders and need the most attention are the ones who are likely to tip the waiter by giving him a bad cigar or—nothing."—New York Herald