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ourt judge, was found by the police at his home, Riversbrook in Tanton Gardens, Hampstead, to-day. Deceased had been shot through the heart. The police have no doubt that he was murdered.But the morning papers of the following day did full justice to the sensation. It was the month of August when Parliament is up, the Law Courts closed for the long vacation, and when everybody who is anybody is out of London for the summer holidays. News was scarce and the papers vied with one another in making

passes through his body. He, and us, are released from our torture.In this passive and mysterious medium, when we are brought into a state of vicarious tension, we are more likely to swallow whichever pill and accept whatever solution that the storyteller offers. Interactivity: the birth of resistance Interactive media changed this equation. Imagine if your father were watching that aspirin commercial back in 1955 on his old console television. Even if he suspected that he was watching a

ph passed outfit after outfit exhausted by the way. He had reachedCopper Creek Camp, which was boiling and frothing with the excitement ofgold-maddened men, and was congratulating himself that he would soon beat the camps west of the Peace, when the thing happened. A drunkenIrishman, filled with a grim and unfortunate sense of humor, spotted ShanTung's wonderful cue and coveted it. Wherefore there followed a bit ofexcitement in which Shan Tung passed into his empyrean home with a bulletthrough

ometimes byanother, according to occasion and circumstance. He was constructingwhat seemed to be some kind of a frail mechanical toy; and was apparentlyvery much interested in his work. He was a white-headed man, now, butotherwise he was as young, alert, buoyant, visionary and enterprising asever. His loving old wife sat near by, contentedly knitting andthinking, with a cat asleep in her lap. The room was large, light, andhad a comfortable look, in fact a home-like look, though the furniturewas

in the morning we go to the pump-room (though neither my master nor I drink the waters); after breakfast we saunter on the parades, or play a game at billiards; at night we dance; but damn the place, I'm tired of it: their regular hours stupify me--not a fiddle nor a card after eleven!--However, Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties;--I'll introduce you there, Thomas--you'll like him much.THOMAS Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne--you know his master is to marry Madam

theories. What I saw through that ultramicroscope was not an unproven theory, but a fact. My theories you have brought out by your questions.You are quite right, said the Doctor; but you did mention yourself that you hoped to provide proof. The Chemist hesitated a moment, then made his decision. I will tell you the rest, he said. After the destruction of the microscope, I was quite at a loss how to proceed. I thought about the problem for many weeks. Finally I decided to work along another