Everyone gathered around and Paddy read out loud, slowly, his tone growing sadder and sadder. The little headline said: BOXER RECEIVES LIFF SENTENCE.

    Frank Cleary, aged 26, professional boxer, was today found guilty of the murder of Albert Gumming, aged 32, laborer, last July. The jury(陪审团) reached its decision after only ten minutes, recommending the most severe punishment to the court. It was, said the Judge, a simple case. Cumming and Cleary had quarreled violently at the Harbour Hotel on July 23rd and police saw Cleary kicking at the head of the unconscious Gumming. When arrested, Cleary was drunk but clear-thinking.

    Cleary was sentenced to life imprisonment with hard labour. Asked if he had anything to say, Cleary answered, “Just don't tell my mother.”

    “It happened over three years ago,” Paddy said helplessly. No one answered him or moved, for no one knew what to do. “Just don't tell my mother,” said Fee numbly(麻木地). “And no one did! Oh, God! My poor, poor Frank!”

    Paddy wiped the tears from his face and said. “Fee, pack your things. We'll go to see him.”

    She half-rose before sinking back, her eyes in her small white face stared as if dead. “I can't go,” she said without a hint of pain, yet making everyone feel that the pain was there. “It would kill him to see me. I know him so well—his pride, his ambition. Let him bear the shame alone, it's what he wants. We've got to help him keep his secret. What good will it do him to see us?”

    Paddy was still weeping, not for Frank, but for the life which had gone from Fee's face, for the dying in her eyes. Frank had always brought bitterness and misfortune, always stood between Fee and himself. He was the cause of her withdrawal from his heart and the hearts of his children. Every time it looked as if there might be happiness for Fee, Frank took it away. But Paddy's love for her was as deep and impossible to wipe out as hers was for Frank.

    So he said, “Well, Fee, we won't go. But we must make sure he is taken care of. How about if I write to Father Jones and ask him to look out for Frank?”

    There was no excitement in the eyes, but a faint pink stole into her cheeks. “Yes, Paddy, do that. Only make sure he knows not to tell Frank we found out. Perhaps it would ease Frank to think for certain that we don't know.”

    Music for Humans and Humpback Whales (座头鲸)

    As researchers conclude in Science, the love of music is not only a universal feature of the human species but is also deeply fixed in complex structures of the human brain and is far more ancient than previously suspected.

    In the articles, researchers present various evidence to show that music-making is at once an original human “business”, and an art form with skillful performers throughout the animal kingdom.

    The new reports stress that humans hold no copyright on sound wisdom, and that a number of nonhuman animals produce what can rightly be called music, rather than random sound. Recent in-depth analyses of the songs sung by humpback whales show that, even when their organ would allow them to do otherwise, the animals converge on the same choices related to sounds and beauty, and accept the same laws of song composition as those preferred by human musicians, and human ears, everywhere.

    For example, male humpback whales, who spend six months of each year doing little else but singing, use rhythms (节奏) similar to those found in human music and musical phrases of similar length—a few seconds. Whales are able to make sounds over a range of at least seven octaves (八度音阶), yet they tend to move on through a song in beautiful musical intervals (间隔), rather than moving forwards madly. They mix the sounds like drums and pure tones in a ratio (比例) which agrees with that heard in much western music. They also use a favorite technique of human singers, the so-called A-B-A form, in which a theme is stated, then developed, and then returned to in slightly revised form.

Perhaps most impressive, humpback songs contain tunes that rhyme. “This suggests that whales use rhyme, the same way we do: as a technique in poem to help them remember complex materials,” the researchers write.

    It's OK to say you've never heard of grime (伦敦地下音乐) - unless you're from the UK. That's because this music type was invented in the UK in the early 2000s.

    To someone who's not familiar with underground music culture, it's easy to get confused between hip-hop and grime since they are both noisy. And many people didn't bother to tell them apart，until earlier this month when grime stars like Stormzy and J Hus led this year's Mobo – “music of black origin”, an award in the UK. Just like UK electronic music and hip-hop, from which grime drew influence, it mostly reflects the thoughts of young people. But different from hip-hop, grime singers sing in dialects with strong accents, giving a special flavor to their songs.

    Lady Leshurr，known as the “Grime Queen”, said that she once tried to hide her accent, as she didn't want people to judge her. But one day, she realized that she didn't need to change herself just to please others. And there's no doubt that this is the soul of grime music: be yourself.

    Grime has challenged modem music in its production beauty and its expressions. Also different from the hip-hop culture, which usually focuses on being rich, grime singers pay more attention to social phenomena like those who suffer from disasters and the gap between the rich and poor.

    Although still quite a young music type, grime seems to be getting loved by more and more people. In 2016, the English grime artist Skepta won the Mercury Prize with his album Konnichiwa, beating big names like David Bowie and Radiohead.

    However, no matter whether grime is one day accepted widely or not, one thing is for sure: in grime, singers always stay true to themselves.

    I passed a man on the way home from work this evening. He was walking down the side of the carriageway. Actually, he was walking unsteadily. I slowed down wondering whether to stop and give him a lift, at least down to a safer part of the road. I couldn't be sure but he appeared to be quite drunk. I pulled over and watched him in my rear-view mirror. He was obviously well-oiled. A truck turned sharply to avoid him at one point-he didn't appear to care.

    Having stopped now, I thought I might as well wait for him to reach the car. Five minutes went by and he reached the car. My windows were down, and I asked him if he wanted a lift. He indicated that he was going to the next town, just out of my way, but not far enough to put me to trouble. So in he got.

    “Sorry, I'm really quite drunk. I've been at a funeral. My family are all really out of it, so I decided to walk home. I'm Ryan,” and he offered me his hand. I drove and we talked. He told me he'd buried his uncle, and that he was a traveler.

    He called me brother and offered me his cool shades as payment. I declined and said the joy was in the giving. Three times along the way he told me that, “Whatever we put out there comes back to us. Something good will come to you for picking me up.” We told each other where we came from, the places we've lived, and how we both ended up here. He apologized again for being so drunk. “Anywhere around here is fine for me,” he said. So I dropped him at the next junction. We shook hands and spoke each other's names again.

    I felt as if I'd been blessed somehow. I think I have been.

    To personal trainer Sammy Callari, 13-year-old Parker Seward is more than a client(客户). He's his "little brother". Over the past year, the pair have bonded. They play basketball together, share meals and dance to hip-hop like no one's watching.

    The trainer was asked to work with the 13-year-old boy, who has Down syndrome(唐氏症), because his coworker who dealt with the boy was out of town last spring. Callari had never worked with someone with a disability before. He was anxious the first day he met Parker. But Parker's big smile and cheery introduction immediately put him at ease. He reminded Callari of himself when he was a teenager. Like Parker, Callari has also faced his fair share of challenges over the years.

    As a high schooler, Callari described himself as being the weak kid. When it came to sports, he was always overlooked. His dream of playing baseball in college quickly faded away. When he went to college, Callari turned to a new sport. His younger brother trained him to become a boxer. Callari participated in five matches. Out of four of those fights he was the underdog, and he won three times. "I know how it feels," Callari said. "Society tells you that you can't do this, you can't do that." When it comes to Parker, Callari refuses to accept the word "can't".

    The friends meet twice a week to train. They bike, box, run and work on their core with push-ups. Parker has a short attention span, so it's Callari's job to keep him focused. "If Parker can do it, if he's having fun, even with his frustration, then people will ask, "Why can't I do that?" Callari said. "That's the whole task right now."

    Callari recalls Parker's mom once thanking him for taking a "chance" on her son. Callari told her he never viewed it that way. Parker may be the student, but Callari says he's also the one who's learning.

    Of all the mountain gorillas that veterinarian Mike has treated in the past 18 years, a gorilla named Ijabo stands out the most. When Ijabo was three days old, an examination showed that one of his legs was badly damaged. Mike removed Ijabo's leg below the knee. Five years later, Mike says Ijabo is doing well. “I still see him every now and again,” Mike told TFK. “It's heartwarming.”

    Mike is a co-director of Gorilla Doctors. The organization provides medical care to ill and injured mountain and Grauer's gorillas. Its 16 veterinarians work in national parks in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Rwanda, and Uganda. For years, the apes have fallen victim to habitat loss, poaching, and disease. According to their website, Gorilla Doctor's task is to save the apes “one gorilla at a time”.

    The doctors treat mostly gorillas that are accustomed to humans. Trackers, guides, and veterinarians check on habituated gorillas in the field several times each week. Sometimes, a gorilla has a medical problem that requires treatment.

    That calls for an intervention. A helper shoots the animal with a dart(飞镖). If the gorilla appears to have a serious but treatable illness, the dart contains antibiotics to fight off infection. If it appears to need surgery, the dart contains a drug that leaves the gorilla unconscious and unable to feel pain.

    Although the gorillas are critically endangered, there are signs of hope, thanks in part to Gorilla Doctors. The mountain gorilla is the only great-ape species whose population is growing.

    “Habituated mountain gorillas are increasing by 4% each year, which is as fast as the human population is growing globally,” Mike says. He notes a recent study that credits the work of Gorilla Doctors for 50% of that growth. He is proud of the role his team has played in making it happen.