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.”

    Augustus Saint-Gaudens and his family immigrated to New York, America, from Dublin, Ireland, in 1848 when he was just six months old. As he grew up, Augustus liked racing his friends around the block, buying candies at the store, especially drawing—drawing pictures of the shoemakers at his father's shoe shop. At the age of 13, his father told him it was time to go to work. Augustus replied, "I should like it if I could do something which would help me to be an artist." He began as an apprentice to a cameo cutter out of stone and shell, and carved cameos of people, lions, and even the head of Hercules from Greek mythology, when the Civil War had just begun.

    At 19, with his earnings and his parents' support, he travelled to Paris and Rome for further training and artistic study. Before he left, he drew a portrait of his mother in pencil and sculpted a small bust(半身像) of his father out of clay. Then, 22-year-old Augustus opened an art studio in Rome and worked on his first life-sized sculpture, called Hiawatha. An art patron was impressed with this sculpture and promised to help Augustus "until your genius and labors shall have met with the reward to which I feel they are entitled".

    In 1876, Augustus was chosen to design a monument to the Civil War hero Admiral David Farragut of the U. S. Navy. Completed five years later, when he was 33, his first major sculpture for the U. S. was unveiled at Madison Square in New York City, the sculptor's boyhood home. One art critic called it "the best monument of the kind the city has to show". Then the giant Standing Lincoln in Lincoln Park, Chicago in a setting by architect White, 1884-1887, was considered the finest portrait statue in the U. S.

    However, in 1900, aged 52, his doctors told him he had cancer. Even though he was often ill, he continued to work at his home and studio in Cornish, New Hampshire.

    In 1905, President Theodore Roosevelt requested that Augustus redesign American coins—to convey the strength of the nation. Augustus made lifelike pencil sketches of his coin designs. Yet, Augustus died in August 1907, two months before his l0-dollar and 20-dollar gold coins were issued. Augustus Saint-Gaudens had fulfilled his dream-and more! He was one of the greatest American sculptors not only of his day but also of all time.

    A city child's summer is spent in the street in front of his home, and all through the long summer vacations I sat on the edge of the street and watched enviously（嫉妒地） the other boys on the block play baseball. I was never asked to take part even when one team had a member missing—not out of special cruelty, but because they took it for granted I would be no good at it. They were right, of course.

    I would never forget the wonderful evening when something changed. The baseball ended about eight or eight thirty when it grew dark. Then it was the custom of the boys to retire（撤退） to a little stoop(门廊) that stuck out from the candy store on the corner and that somehow had become theirs. No grownup ever sat there or attempted to. There the boys would sit, mostly talking about the games played during the day and of the game to be played tomorrow. Then long silences would fall and the boys would wander off one by one. It was just after one of those long silences that my life as an outsider changed. I can no longer remember which boy it was that summer evening who broke the silence with a question: but whoever he was, I nod to him gratefully now. "What's in those books you're always reading?" he asked casually. "Stories," I answered. "What kind?" asked somebody else without much interest.

    Nor do I know what drove me to behave as I did, for usually I just sat there in silence, glad enough to be allowed to remain among them; but instead of answering his question, I told them for two hours the story I was reading at the moment. The book was Sister Carrie. They listened bug-eyed（瞪大眼睛的） and breathless. I must have told it well, but I think there was another and deeper reason that made them to keep an audience. Listening to a tale being told in the dark is one of the most ancient of man's entertainments, but I was offering them as well, without being aware of doing it, a new and exciting experience.

    The books they themselves read were the Rover Boys or Tom Swift or G.A.Henty. I had read them too, but at thirteen I had long since left them behind. Since I was much alone I had become an enthusiastic （狂热的）reader and I had gone through the books-for-boys series. In those days there was no reading material between children's and grownups 'books or I could find none. I had gone right from Tom Swift and His Flying Machine to Theodore Dreiser and Sister Carrie. Dreiser had hit my young mind, and they listened to me tell the story with some of the wonder that I had had in reading it.

    The next night and many nights thereafter, a kind of unspoken ritual (仪式) took place. As it grew dark, I would take my place in the center of the stoop and begin the evening's tale. Some nights, in order to taste my victory more completely, I cheated. I would stop at the most exciting part of a story by Jack London or Bret Harte, and without warning tell them that that was as far as I had gone in the book and it would have to be continued the following evening. It was not true, of course; but I had to make certain of my new-found power and position. I enjoyed the long summer evenings until school began in the fall. Other words of mine have been listened to by larger and more fashionable audiences, but for that tough and athletic one that sat close on the stoop outside the candy store, I have an unreasoning love that will last forever.

    After years of trying, our neighbors convinced my parents that ice fishing would be a fun winter getaway from our dairy farm. Before that, their idea of entertainment involved driving around the countryside to see how the neighbors' crops were doing.

My parents eventually built a fish house and set it up on Wood Lake. We excitedly headed for the lake on many January and February weekends. By the time we arrived at our favorite fishing spot across the lake each day, somebody had usually made a clear path across the ice. The fish houses were together at the best fishing spots, forming some kind of a neighborhood.

    Our house was large enough so all four of us could fish at the same time. Each corner had a square cut out of the floor. We sat in comfort. You'd think ice fishing would be cold, but we had a small woodstove (木炉) inside, and we put snow around the bottom of the house to keep the wind from blowing underneath.

    Besides the thrill of watching your bobber (钓鱼浮标) dip below the water, lunch was always the highlight of the day. Mom would fry pork or hamburgers in a pan. The smell of cooking meat was the envy of every other fish house in the neighborhood.

    Our days passed with a mix of quiet time and family chatter. We talked about the farm or school. And of course, we shared fishing advice. Part of the fun of ice fishing was learning to understand and trust the sounds of the frozen lake. Healthy ice "talks" as it freezes and shifts. You could often hear the sound of a crack traveling through the ice.

    People who have never tried ice fishing may not think it sounds very exciting, but it was for us. Fishing trips were an adventure. We didn't always catch fish, but we always brought home great memories of a day with family and friends.

    Without proper planning, tourism can cause problems. For example, too many tourists can crowd public places that are also enjoyed by the inhabitants of a country. If tourists create too much traffic, the inhabitants become annoyed and unhappy. They began to dislike tourists and to treat them impolitely. They forget how much tourism can help the country's economy. It is important to think about the people of a destination country and how tourism affects them. Tourism should help a country keep the customs and beauty that attract tourists. Tourism should also advance the wealth and happiness of local inhabitants.

    Too much tourism can be a problem. If tourism grows too quickly, people must leave other jobs to work in the tourism industry. This means that other parts of the country's economy can suffer.

    On the other hand, if there is not enough tourism, people can lose jobs. Business can also lose money. It costs a great deal of money to build large hotels, airports, air terminals, first­class roads, and other support facilities needed by tourist attractions. For example, a major international class tourism hotel can cost as much as 50 thousand dollars per room to build. If this room is not used most of the time, the owner of the hotel lose money.

    Building a hotel is just a beginning. There must be many support facilities as well, including roads to get to the hotel, electricity, sewers to handle waste, and water. All of these support facilities cost money. If they are not used because there are not enough tourists, jobs and money are lost.

If you've ever seen a sparrow steal your dog food or a crow open a garbage bag, you get a sense of that some birds have learned to take advantage of new feeding opportunities—a clear sign of their intelligence. Scientists have long wondered why certain species of birds are more innovative than others, and whether these capacities stem from larger brains or from a greater number of neurons（神经元）in specific areas of the brain.

It turns out that it's a bit of both, according to a recent study by an international team that included members from McGill University published in Nature Ecology and Evolution.

The researchers used a new technique to estimate the number of neurons in a specific part of the brain called the pallium in 111 bird species. The pallium in birds is equal to the human cerebral cortex（大脑皮层）, which is involved in memory, learning, reasoning, and problem-solving, among other things. When these estimates about neuron numbers in the pallium were combined with information about over 4,000 feeding innovations, the team found that the species with the higher numbers of neurons in the pallium were also likely to be the most innovative.

"The amount of time chicks spend in the nest as their brains develop might also play a crucial role in the evolution of intelligence," says McGill University Emeritus Professor Louis Lefebvre who spent more than 20 years gathering examples of feeding innovations. "Larger species of crows and parrots, which are known for their intelligence, spend longer in the nest, which allows more time for the brain to grow and accumulate pallial neurons."

The results of the study help to deal with previously opposed views of the evolution and significance of brain size and show how a life-history perspective helps to understand the evolution of cognition.