Mr. E. M. Bass, of the well known house of E. M. Bass & Co., is counting a pile of Mexican and Spanish coins and trying to decipher the various descriptions and peculiar marks on them. Mr. Bass and his brother own a farm near Carrollton, and Friday the money was plowed up by an old negro farm hand. The coins had been buried for years near the stump of an old tree, and their discovery was entirely accidental. The old man’s plow turned one of the pieces of money out of the ground, and a little work resulted in the finding of over $100. The coin must have been buried fifty or more years ago, for the most recent date on any of the pieces is 1838. The oldest of the coins is a Spanish 25 cent piece, which bears the date 1746. Many of the smaller coins have holes punched in them and look as if they had been worn strung around the neck of some person. The coins were brought to Atlanta yesterday by Mr. Bass’ brother and given to him to dispose of. The old man who found them promptly reported it to Mr. Bass, who says he intends to give the proceeds of their sale to him, says the Atlanta Constitution. Many of the coins are very quaint and there is no doubt many a collector of such things that would be delighted to get hold of them.

The greatest height at which an acrobatic performance ever took place was nearly 3,000 feet. An American aeronaut, Prof. Bartholomew, in 1889 at Melbourne, having ascended by a balloon to a height of 3,000 feet, made his ascent in a trapeze attached to a parachute, and during the descent performed a number of acrobatic and gymnastic feats. A cyclist, some time since, ascended at Charleroi, France, by a balloon in charge of Capt. Dennis, to which was suspended his bicycle. He worked the wheels of the machine as though he were riding along a road instead of being suspended at a height of about 1,300 feet. M. Blondin gave an acrobatic performance at the crystal palace, London, in 1862, on a rope 249 yards long, and 172 feet from the ground. On June 30, 1859, he crossed the Falls of Niagara on a tight rope in five minutes; on the Fourth of July he repeated the performance blindfold, trundling a wheelbarrow, and on Aug. 19 of the same year he carried a man on his back. On Sept. 14, 1860, he crossed on stilts in the presence of the Prince of Wales. His feats on the tight rope were extraordinary — he walked across enveloped in a sack made of blankets, turned somersaults and cooked dinner.

Many theories have been set up as to the origin, objects and purposes of the Western mounds. They seem to rise and fall in accordance with the ingenuity of the numerous writers on the subject. A curious and novel idea has been made public by a St. Louis Judge, relative to the mounds on the American bottom. He argues that the locality of St. Louis and its environs was once the bed of a great lake, supplied by the Missouri and Mississippi, with an outlet at Niagra Falls. In the course of centuries the barriers of the lakes at the falls were worn away, as the present falls (the outlet at Erie) will in time be. The great lake was thus drained, and the region became cultivatable. But it was a dangerous region. When the ice ran and the driftwood came down the narrow passage below would gorge, and the river would stand back on the former bed of the lake. To remedy this, a race of people far superior to the present Indians–probably the ancesters of the Aztecs–built the mounds as places of refuge for themselves and their flocks and herds, when the water rose. They were evidently built for practical purposes, and are clearly artificial formations. They were not intended for tumuli (burial places), as no skeleton or weapon has been found in any of them, except one skeleton, and that was wrapped in a Macinaw blanket. If we take into account the “wear down” of all these mounds for a thousand years, and count the numbers on both sides of the river, it is easy to see they were once capacious enough to furnish places of refuge for all the inhabitants of the valley and their flocks and herds and provisions. Whoever looked from the dome of the Court House (continues the Judge) and saw the ferryboats taking the inhabitants of the American bottom from the mound on that side of the river, at the last great overflow, will at once see the plain, practical purpose of these mounds.–Philadelphia Press.

Some additional experiments have been made in France, it appears, to determine the specific action of a considerable lowering of temperature upon the brilliancy of certain bodies which shine in the dark after having been exposed to sunlight. Tubes of glass filled with the powdered sulphides of calcium, barium, strontium, etc., all substances possessing the property of phosphorescence in a high degree, were exposed to the solar rays and afterward proved to be luminous in the dark, this being done in such a way as to fix upon the memory the mean value of the progressive diminution of the emitted light, and the time also was noted during which the light was strong, less strong and weak, respectively. The tubes were next placed in bright sunlight for one minute and then suddenly introduced into a double-walled glass cylinder, the interspace of which was filled with nitrous oxide at 140 degrees C. In about five or six minutes the temperature of the tubes was some 100 degrees. They were then withdrawn, and, when observed in a perfectly dark chamber, no luminosity whatever was perceptible. As the tubes recovered their normal temperature, however, the phosphorescence returned without the exciting agency of the sun’s rays or of diffused light. These results were proved to be general for all phosphorescent substances employed. The experiments showed, too, that the production of the phosphorescent light requires a certain movement of the constituent molecules of bodies.

A systematic analysis of the titles of works of fiction, if undertaken in a scientific spirit, might lead to some interesting, if not positively valuable, re-suits. A collection, classification, and comparison of the products of the mental energy—we had almost said agony—expended in thinking up appropriate names for stories might possibly come within the scope of the work of the Society for Psychical Research. So serious an undertaking as a matter of scientific or philosophical speculation, however, is out of place here. But, nevertheless, it may interest the readers of this department to have called to their attention a few curiosities in the titles of recent novels which, possibly, have escaped them. To be sure, nothing of any very profound significance is disclosed, nothing more, perhaps, than a series of coincidences. The title of Mrs. Wharton’s book, “The House of Mirth,” was a striking one, though if it had not been the name of the most successful book of the winter, it might have attracted little notice of itself. But the very popularity of the book, the talk it created, put its name into the mouth of everybody, and so the reiteration of the title began to attract attention; it was even used, we believe, to describe a house in Albany dedicated to the entertainment of members of the legislature. Next appeared another popular book, “The House of a Thousand Candles,” and it is easy to see how curiosity was stimulated to discover other titles of novels with similar names. No great effort or research was required to make up this list:

• “The House of Cards,”
• “The House of Hawley,”
• “The House of Dreams,”
• “The House of Sin,”
• “The House of Fulfilment,”
• “The House of Merrilees,”
• “The House of Mystery,”
• “The House of the Black Ring,”
• “The House of Mirth,”
• “The House of a Thousand Candles,”
• “The House of a Hundred Lights,”
• “The House in the Mist.”

In the same way other names with a key word, so to speak, were suggested, hearts, for instance, being as popular as houses. Here are some of them:

• “Heart’s Haven,”
• “Heart’s Desire,”
• “Hearts and Masks,”
• “Hearts in Exile,”
• “Brave Hearts,”
• “Contrite Hearts,”
• “The Heart of Lady Anne,”
• “The Heart of a Girl,”
• “The Heart of Hope,”
• “The Heart of the World,”
• “The Heart of Happy Hollow,”
• “The Heart of Rome,”
• “Jules of the Great Heart.”

More curious than these, however, is the attraction that colors seem to have for title-makers, and in this list the degree of popularity of each color is noticeable:

• “The Black Motor-Car,”
• “The Black Barque,”
• “The House of the Black Ring,”
• “Black Friday,”
• “Black Beauty,”
• “The Black Arrow,”
• “The Black Spaniel,”
• “The Red Cravat,”
• “The Red Triangle,”
• “The Red Book of Romance.”
• “The Red Window,”
• “The White Terror and the Red,”
• “For the White Christ,”
• “White Aprons,”
• “The White Cat,”
• “The Yellow Cat,”
• “The Yellow Journalist,”
• “The Yellow Holly,”
• “Purple Peaks Remote,”
• “The Purple Parasol,”
• “Purple and Fine Linen,”
• “Green Mansions,”
• “The Green Shay,”
• “The Gray World,”
• “The Blue Cockade,”
• “The Scarlet Pimpernel,”
• “The Scarlet Empire.”

It may be considered doubtful whether “Freckles” should be included in this list, but our readers can take their choice according to their tastes.

If space permitted, this sort of thing could be carried on almost indefinitely. Flowers, fruits, and precious stones, man, woman, girl, are made to do duty, as well as all the family relatives, except “father.” Mother, daughter, and brother are to be found.

The selection of a name for a story has a good deal to do with its success, as authors and publishers know, sometimes to their cost. Just how much careful forethought is given to the problem in individual cases is indicated to some extent by the showing that these titles make.

By the death of Joseph Roberts, a California pioneer, Santa Cruz lost a genuine Robinson Crusoe, for Mr. Roberts had passed through in early manhood all the thrilling adventures and exciting life which endear Defoe’s hero to the reading boy and girl. Sixty-seven years ago, on St. Valentine’s Day, Joseph Roberts was born in Falkirk. His family for years had been seafaring people, so that as he grew up he took to the sea naturally, and while only 14 years of age, while his playmates were still cabin boys, he was made second mate of a sailing vessel. Before he was 15 he made his first long voyage from home, and followed the sea until he reached manhood. He visited many foreign countries and the islands which dot the ocean, but never landed in the United States until he sailed through the Golden Gate in 1851.

There was one of the many stories of adventure which Roberts told which never grew stale to young or old. It was the story of the months he spent on a cannibal island in the Pacific. Mr. Roberts was on a cruise among the South Sea islands on an English merchantman, and when land was sighted he went ashore, knowing that although the island was inhabited by cannibals, they were peaceable. But in his absence the captain ordered the anchor up and all sails set, and for eight months he was left alone among a lot of South Sea islanders.

The natives worshipped him as a deity, and the king shared his own palm hut with him. The natives on that island believe in feeding their god, so Mr. Roberts lived on the fat of the island. The daintiest fish, the rarest game, and the earliest and sweetest fruits were laid as offerings at his door. Five dusky girls waited on him, served him with food and wove garlands of flowers with which they crowned him. Whenever he went to the seashore he was followed by an admiring host of natives. He was the first man on the island, the divinity of the natives, the king of their king. Mr. Roberts used to say that he liked the adoration of the South Sea islanders, but as the months passed he grew homesick and longed for the sight of white faces. Civilization seemed a very desirable thing, but he accepted the situation.

At the end of eight months’ stay on the island, upon awakening one morning, he saw a ship lying at anchor in the bay. Pretending to the natives that he wished to board the vessel to trade with the sailors, they took him out to her in a canoe and he climbed up the side of an American ship. The captain and sailors were more than astonished to see a white man, and Roberts begged to be accepted as a sailor, a passenger, or anything, so he could once more reach civilization. On this ship he entered the United States for the first time, for the sailing vessel was bound for San Francisco. When the natives learned that their white god was going to leave them they put out to sea in all their boats, following the sailing vessel for miles, screaming, crying and beseeching him to jump overboard and return to them.

Clement Spelman of Narburgh, recorder of Nottingham, who died in 1679, is immured upright, inclosed in a pillar in Narburgh church, so that the inscription is directly against his face. This must surely be the one solitary instance of burial in a pillar, although there are many other instances of burial in an upright position. Thomas Cook, who was governor of the Bank of England from 1737 to 1739, and who had formerly been a merchant residing in Constantinople, died at Stoke Newington, Aug. 12, 1752, and by his directions his body was carried to Morden College, Blackheath, of which he was a trustee; it was taken out of the coffin and buried in a winding sheet upright in the ground, according to the eastern custom. Ben Jonson was buried at Westminster in an upright position. Possibly this may have been on account of the large fee demanded for a full sized grave. It was for a long time supposed that the story was invented to account for the smallness of the gravestone; but on the grave being opened up some years since the dramatist’s remains were discovered in the attitude indicated by tradition.–Pearson’s Weekly.

The most curious specimens of vegetable or plant life in existence are the so-called “living stones” of the Falkland Islands. Those islands are among the most cheerless spots in the world, being consistently subjected to a strong polar wind. In such a climate it is impossible for trees to grow erect, as they do in other countries, but nature has made amends by furnishing a supply of wood in the most curious shape imaginable. The visitor to the Falklands sees, scattered here and there, singular shaped blocks of what appear to be weather-beaten and moss-covered boulders of various sizes. Attempt to turn one of these “bowlders” over and and you will meet with a surprise, because the supposed stone is anchored by roots of great strength; in fact, you will find you are fooling with one of the native trees. No other country in the world has such a peculiar “forest” growth, and it is said to be next to impossible to work the odd-shaped blocks into fuel, because it is perfectly devoid of “grain” and appears to be nothing but a twisted mass of woody fibres.

M. E. Church, proprietor of the Beddington tannery, relates a rather remarkable story, showing the wonderful instinct of his dog Don, says the Augusta News Age. Having occasion not long since to visit Bangor, he left Don at the tannery. But the dog soon became dissatisfied and returned to his home in Cherryfield, twenty miles distant. When Mr. Church returned to Beddington he called up his wife on the telephone, and in course of conversation inquired for Don. On being told that Don was home, he asked to be allowed to talk with him. Don was accordingly held up to the telephone and the receiver place to his ear. As “Hello, Don,” came from his master, the dog began to show signs of excitement, which increased as the conversation progressed. In a few minutes after being released he disappeared, and in about two hours Mr. Church called again on the telephone and announced that Don had arrived at the tannery.

Northern Indiana has become a great freak-producing section. Albert Martin, who resides near the Fulton county line, has a Plymouth Rock hen, which has not been laying for some time. Yesterday she went on the nest and the family was greatly astonished to discover, when she left it shortly afterward, that she had laid a live chick. Only a few bits of broken shell were about the head of the chick, which was still wet. The supposition is that the egg, in some manner, retarded in its progress, was held in the sack until the germ developed and proceeded to the stage of incubation. So far as known, this is the first case of the kind on record. Another remarkable lusus naturae is that of a pig, owned by Frederick Shipman of Pulaski county, which was born recently with its tail directly in the middle of its forehead and its nostrils in the side of its snout like a duck. Unfortunately, its mother lay upon it and smothered it the second night after its arrival, or it might have proved a valuable acquisition for some museum. John Wilds, a well known farmer, who lives just north of Logansport, had a lamb, born by one of his ewes recently, which weighed at birth almost twenty pounds. The extraordinary size of the animal may be appreciated from the fact that the ordinary lamb weighs at birth about five or six pounds, while nine or ten pounds is considered quite remarkable. Mr. Wild’s flock are all of a highly productive and vigorous breed, sixteen of his ewes having this year borne thirty lambs.

Iowa State Register: In Massachusetts they are talking of a Bird Day to supplement Arbor day. The father of the idea, a Mr. Babcock, has suggested the first Friday in May as the date. The suggestion comes none too soon. If we are to retain the birds with their beautiful plummage [sic] and their sweet songs, they must be protected from their many enemies. What would spring or summer be without the birds? What would sunrise be without the songs of the robins and the bluebirds and the larks in the meadows? What would evening in the country be without the twilight song of the brown thrush? And yet all these friends and companions and consolers of mankind are beset with enemies. Boys, improperly brought up, destroy their nests or rob them of their eggs, and sportsmen shoot the birds to make adornments for the hats and bonnets of foolish or unthinking women. A Bird Day would be a pretty innovation, especially in the schools. It would be one day given to the study and the admiration of bird life. Bird life is full of mysteries. It is in some respects as interesting as human life. We are going to have more trees and we ought to have more birds to sing in the leafy choir lofts of spring. Arbor day suggests a Bird Day.

Needles have never been supposed to be hereditary, but a recent case reported by a physician of eminence offers undoubted evidence to the contrary. A lady accidentally ran a needle into her foot thirty years ago, and it lay apparently dormant in her system for so many years that its existence was almost forgotten. In 1878 she was married, and a year after the birth of her infant daughter the needle made its appearance in the infant’s shoulder. There could be no doubt that it was the original needle by which the mother had been attacked in 1860, for it was of a peculiar and now obsolete pattern, and the mother distinctly remembered that needles of that pattern were in use at the time of her attack. There can be no doubt that the infant inherited the needle from her mother, and that henceforth physicians will expect to find a natural tendency to needles in the tissues. As it is asserted that people who have died from needles, although there are very few such cases on record, the insurance companies will doubtless add to the questions which they put to candidates for insurance: “Did your father or mother ever swallow needles, and, if so how many, and of what kind– sewing, [?]ing or carpet?–Pearson’s Weekly

In the course of a chat over things in general, and execution by electricity in particular, a new view of that lethal was presented by a bright, intelligent young woman who seemed to know her sex thoroughly.

She said: “I object to it because it offers too ready a way to get rid of objectionable husbands. Before very long, of course, gas will be quite superseded by electricity as a domestic illuminant, and wires will be laid on at our houses as thick as strings on a harp.

“Now, what is to prevent a woman who is tired of her spouse soothing him to sleep by clapping a damp sponge to his head and a couple to his feet, tapping a couple of wires, and giving him his quietus sweetly and peacefully? No man’s life would be safe; the neatness of the process would irresistibly commend itself to feminine taste. There would be no dirt, no noise, no disturbance of the furniture, no mess, all neat and clean, like fancy work. No, no; it really will not do.”

Dr. Pavy, perhaps the most eminent authority upon diet, says that the average man in a state of absolute rest can live on sixteen ounces of food a day; a man doing ordinary light work can live on twenty-three ounces, and a man doing laborious work needs from twenty-six and three-quarter ounces to thirty ounces.

This is food absolutely free from water, and it must be remembered that everything we eat contains more or less water, so that from forty-eight to sixty ounces of ordinary food are necessary to the work in which a man is engaged.

Sir Lyon Playfair, another great authority, gives the following as all that is necessary for a healthy man to eat in a week: Three pounds of meat with one pound of fat; two ordinary loaves of bread, one ounce of salt and five pints of milk; or for the meat, five or six pounds of oatmeal may be substituted. This sounds like starvation diet, but Sir Lyon Playfair generally knows what he’s talking about.–The Lancet.

A woman, supposed to be Mrs. Martha Williams, died suddenly at 9 o’clock last night while in Merz’s drug store in the Lakota hotel, says the Chicago Tribune. She was seen walking along Thirteenth street and appeared to be in a very exhausted condition. When she went into the drug store, she asked to be allowed to sit down as she was feeling ill. She was seated but a short time when she fell from the chair to the floor in a faint. Dr. Reyonlds, who has apartments in the Lakota hotel, was called, and after and examination he stated that she was suffering from trouble. He ordered her sent to the Mercy hospital. The ambulance from the Cottage Grove station was called, but the women died before it arrived.

Peoria, Ill., Special: Last Thursday afternoon A. R. Cline of the Chicago Board of Trade arrived in the city and registered at one of the leading hotels. Three hours later Mrs. Edna R. Cline, accompanied by her brother-in-law, A. Tallett of Edelstein, arrived and registered at the same hotel. She stated she was to meet her husband there. A few hours later they were united in marriage in the parlors of the hotel, and left the same evening for a trip of a few weeks, when they will return to their home in Chicago. They were married a few months ago in Wisconsin, but there being some doubt of the legality of the first marriage they were reunited here.

I have been within ten feet of Jesse Pomeroy! Immured deep in the vast gray walls of Charlestown penitentiary, the strange, warped human who once bore that name is hidden away from the sight of man forever in a living death, unknown by the coming generation and forgotten by the passing one. He has a double cell, much larger than the ordinary cell, into which the sunlight streams, says a Boston writer. His room is neat, and he himself is the personification of neatness. Upon this he prides himself. He wears a beard, which is kept neatly trimmed. He changes the style of it occasionally to suit himself, and displays as much taste and is as well aware of what is becoming as the most exquisite man of fashion.

“But is he well?” I asked of the one who gave me this information, and one who knows.

“As well as you are,” was the reply, “and he looks well.”

“People say a man cannot live without exercise. The only exercise he gets is in his cell, walking up and down, yet no one could possibly be healthier than he is. So far as I know, he has never known a sick day and he has been a prisoner in absolutely solitary confinement for sixteen years. He is a great reader and student. He speaks three different languages. He does not want to work, but prefers his books.”

“Does he seem to have any curiosity about he outside world?” I asked.

“Yes, I presume so, although he never asks. He does not ask privileges; no doubt he realizes it would be in vain. The only favor he has asked of Gen. Bridges since has has been warden was permission to keep the box his holiday things came in. This favor had been granted to him once before, and he used the cover to hide a hole he had dug in the wall.

“If he gets a penknife or a spoon, the probabilities are he will commence and dig. The walls are so thick it is impossible for him to escape, and no doubt he does it to make the prison officials uneasy, more than anything else.

“He is a remarkably good-looking man, a fine-looking man, in fact. If you should pass his cell, ignorant of his name, you would comment upon his appearance and select him as a man much above the ordinary.”

It is said that either his hearing is supernaturally acute or else he is possessed of some strange sixth sense, enabling him to know things that have transpired before the guards themselves. One instance of this is related. A couple of years ago the prisoners were all assembled in the chapel awaiting the annual announcement of the governor’s pardons. Before the convicts’ cheers which greeted the lucky ones had died out, Prison Physician McLaughlin had occasion to attend a prisoner located in the same tier as Pomeroy. As the doctor passed Jesse’s cell he called to the doctor, saying, “So the governor has pardoned two men,” and giving their names. Not half a dozen people have seen him since he was a boy, and he has seen no woman’s face but his mother’s since his incarceration.