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Especially if you missed the hand-washing clinic before Spring Break, please watch :)

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Drawing a blank on what you should sing while you practice good (20 second) hand washing? VOX has a few suggestions.

Another important part of stopping the spread of coronavirus is social distancing. But what does that mean exactly? And how does it help us "flatten the curve"? Check out this helpful chart and explainer.

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You've been told a thousand times: wash your hands to stop the spread of COVID-19. But why does this work so well? It has to do with the way the soap molecules are able to absolutely demolish viruses, like the coronavirus. Vox explains what makes plain old soap so effective.

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A very informative video for any curious techies.

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The hidden network that makes the internet possible - Sajan Saini

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In 2012, a team of researchers set a world record, transmitting 1 petabit of data— that’s 10,000 hours of high-def video— over a fifty-kilometer cable, in a second. This wasn’t just any cable. It was a souped-up version of fiber optics, the hidden network that links our planet and makes the internet…

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Sign in/sign up with your school Gmail and get typing!

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Learn to Type | Type Better | Type Faster - Typing.com

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World's most popular free typing program! Typing.com's K-12 typing curriculum features touch typing, digital citizenship, coding lessons, and games.

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Sign up for Merriam Webster's Word of the Day for your school email! Build your vocabulary and deepen your understanding of the history and usage of words.

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What It Means

Pandemonium refers to a situation in which a crowd or mass of people act in a wild, uncontrolled, or violent way because they are afraid, excited, or confused.

// Pandemonium ensued when a power failure knocked out the city's traffic lights during rush hour.
See the entry >
pandemonium in Context

I went to the ______ store to buy a birthday card.

Did You Know?

When John Milton needed a name for the gathering place of all demons for Paradise Lost, he turned to the classics as any sensible 17th-century writer would. Pandæmonium, as the capital of Hell is known in the epic poem, combines the Greek prefix pan-, meaning "all," with the Late Latin daemonium, meaning "evil spirit." ( Daemonium itself traces back to the far more innocuous Greek word daímōn, meaning "spirit" or "divine power.") Over time, Pandæmonium (or Pandemonium) came to designate all of hell and was used as well for earthbound dens of wickedness and sin. By the late-18th century, the word implied a place or state of confusion or uproar, and from there, it didn't take long for pandemonium to become associated with states of utter disorder and wildness.

Test Your Vocabulary

Fill in the blanks to complete a word meaning "hell" or "eternal damnation": p _ r _ i _ _ o n.

VIEW THE ANSWER

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When John Milton needed a name for the gathering place of all demons for Paradise Lost, he turned to the classics as any sensible 17th-century writer would. Pandæmonium, as the capital of Hell is

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Sign up for the Poetry Foundation's Poem of the Day! Each day they will email you a poem.

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Lipstick is one of the very finest elixirs

It has a soft consistency

Memory...

A note from the editor: Stanley Kubrick's adaptation of Stephen King's The Shining, starring Shelley Duvall and Jack Nicholson, was released on this day in 1980. Dorothea Lasky's forthcoming book The Shining (Wave Books, 2023) writes through the rooms of the famous film's Overlook Hotel.

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Lipstick is one of the very finest elixirs It has a soft consistency Memory... A note from the editor: Stanley Kubrick's adaptation of Stephen King's The Shining, starring Shelley Duvall and Jack Nicholson, was released on this day in 1980. Dorothea Lasky's forthcoming book The Shining (Wave Books, 2023) writes through the rooms of the famous film's Overlook Hotel.

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This podcast features a story of friendship and advocacy. Give it a listen!

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Since they first met in preschool, Dylan Siegel has watched his friend Jonah Pournazarian check his blood sugar many times.

"I have to take off my shoe, and I prick myself, and blood comes out," 10-year-old Jonah says. "Sometimes kids just stare, because they just don't know what it's about. It's kind of weird, people staring. Dylan, he doesn't really stare, he just talks to me. And we laugh together, and it's really fun."

Dylan is 9 years old now, but this story starts three years ago, when the boys were in first grade in Los Angeles.

Dylan's mother, Debra Siegel, was driving her son home from Jonah's house when she told him that Jonah had a rare liver disease he could die from. She explained there was no cure, and doctors needed money to find one. Dylan said he wanted to help.

"I said, 'Great! I love that!'" Debra remembers. "'Do you want to do a bake sale? Do you want to do a lemonade stand?' He looked at me like I was insane. What horrible ideas. Later that night I was putting him to bed, and he said, 'I thought about what I want to do for Jonah.' I didn't even think he would bring it up again. He said, 'I'm going to write a book.'"

The next day, Dylan took out his markers and wrote a storybook he dedicated to Jonah. He titled it "Chocolate Bar," a phrase Dylan says means "awesome." Each page listed something "chocolate bar," or awesome, like Disneyland, swimming or helping his friends. He had a plan: sell the small paperback to raise money for research. First he needed some parental help.

"He marched into my office and said, 'Here's my book. Will you go make copies?'" Debra says.

"They were like, 'Uh, OK, we'll do it later, blah blah blah,'" Dylan says. "I'm like, 'Please, please, please, print it, print it.' Every day. A week before our special school event I was like, 'Can I please sell it our school event?'"

A week later, Dylan sat behind a table with his freshly printed books and some chocolate bars and sold out. He'd raised more than $5,000, but Dylan dreamed bigger.

The next week, Dylan spoke at a PTA meeting. Someone asked how much money he wanted to raise, and people gasped at Dylan's simple response.

"A million dollars."

"I was like, what did he just say?" Debra says, laughing. "I mean, he's 6 years old. I asked him, 'Do you even know how much a million dollars is?' He's like, 'It's half a Bugatti!'"

Dylan says even he wondered if he was crazy. "But then I'm like, wait. I can do anything I want. I can raise a million dollars. I could cure this disease."

It's a daunting proposition for anyone, let alone a 6-year-old, and this particular disease posed a major challenge. Dr. David Weinstein, of the University of Florida, says Jonah's type of glycogen storage disease, GSD Type 1b, is one in a million, and details about the illness are rarely part of medical school curriculum. Jonah and his family visit Weinstein for checkups every year, as he's one of the few doctors who treat and research GSD.

With little funding for research for the obscure disease, Dr. Weinstein admits he had come close to giving up multiple times.

Dylan learned all he could about Jonah's condition. "He has no white blood cells at all, or very, very little," Dylan explains. "So whenever he catches something like a cold, he could end up in the hospital. And he has to drink cornstarch mixed with water every couple of hours to keep his blood sugar high."

That's right. Cornstarch every three hours, even at night, by mouth or through the G-tube in Jonah's stomach. The Pournazarians know that if they sleep through an alarm in the middle of the night, Jonah could have seizures, go into a coma and die. That fragility motivated Dylan. He took every opportunity to approach people with his book. One of them happened to work in the news media and picked up the story. Then word started to spread.

"People told friends, their friends told their friends, their friends told more friends," Dylan says. Both families started getting calls from TV shows, radio stations, newspapers. Dr. Weinstein watched as money came into a research fund. "Incredible," he thought at the $25,000 mark. It kept rising.

In the middle of all this, Dylan's family heard from the mother of a boy in the hospital with the same disease as Jonah, and they decided to visit. The moment has stayed with Debra ever since.

"When we went into the boy's room in the ICU, there was a copy of Dylan's book on his bed. The mom told us how much Dylan's book had meant to him, and that he had three copies of Dylan's book and that he was so inspired by Dylan. Here was a kid who was fighting for his life, and a mom who had spent her last 13 years trying to keep him alive. About a week later he passed away. And it was really hard. It was really painful."

After that death, both families threw even more of themselves into reaching Dylan's million-dollar goal.

"My parents and Jonah's parents worked their butt off," Dylan says. "I knew that it was gonna happen. My instincts told me."

He was right. Two years after he'd written his book, they surpassed $1 million. They've sold more than 26,000 copies of Dylan's book in more than 60 countries, with all of the proceeds going to GSD research.

"I'm still in shock," says Dr. Weinstein. He's now planning human trials for GSD gene therapy and says his team has found treatments for mice with Jonah's rare type. "We are on the verge of curing or treating this disease, and that would not have been possible if a 6-year-old boy hadn't created this book."

"I want to tell people that you can make a difference in the world," says Dylan. "Anytime you want."

Dylan may make that difference in the lives of some very sick children, but there's something else he and Jonah are looking forward to.

"Well, I never [get to] have a sleepover at someone else's house," Jonah says. "Once I get cured, Dylan and I made plans to have a huge slumber party, and just have fun. Play games, watch TV. Just us two."
You can learn more about Jonah and Dylan at ChocolateBarBook.com. We want to hear your stories of extraordinary kindness. Send Kind World a message, find us on Facebook or Twitter, or email kindworld@wbur.org. Kind World is a project of the WBUR iLab, sharing stories of the profound effect that one act can have on our lives. Listen on air, online or subscribe to the podcast. This episode includes music by Podington Bear, Ben Seretan and Chris Zabriskie.

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Watching his friend cope with a rare liver disease, Dylan Siegel was determined to help. So he set out to raise $1 million for research.

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Want to explore more word origins? Do you know why do we call women "ladies"? Or why a coffin is called a "sarcophagus"? Check out this series to find out the origins of odd and interesting words.

Watch these recommended TED-Ed Lessons:

How languages evolve
Over the course of human history, thousands of languages have developed from what was once a much smaller number. How did we end up with so many? And how do we keep track of them all? Alex Gendler explains how linguists group languages into language families, demonstrating how these linguistic trees give us crucial insights into the past.

Where do new words come from?
There are over 170,000 words currently in use in the English language. Yet every year, about a thousand new words are added to the Oxford English Dictionary. Where do they come from, and how do they make it into our everyday lives? Marcel Danesi explains how new words enter a language.

How computers translate human language
Is a universal translator possible in real life? We already have many programs that claim to be able to take a word, sentence, or entire book in one language and translate it into almost any other. The reality, however, is a bit more complicated. Ioannis Papachimonas shows how these machine translators work, and explains why they often get a bit mixed up.

Are Elvish, Klingon, Dothraki and Na'vi real languages?
What do Game of Thrones' Dothraki, Avatar's Na'vi, Star Trek's Klingon and LOTR 's Elvish have in common? They are all fantasy constructed languages, or conlangs. Conlangs have all the delicious complexities of real languages: a high volume of words, grammar rules, and room for messiness and evolution. John McWhorter explains why these invented languages captivate fans long past the rolling credits.

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"OK" is thought to be the most widely recognized word on the planet. We use it to communicate with each other, as well as our technology. But, it actually started out as a language fad in the 1830's. VOX explains the origin of the expression and how it became mainstream.

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Rewatch this video and think of the theme or lesson behind it. Try to relate these birds to people. Who or what do they remind you of? Try watching with a sibling and see what they think!

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The Oxford English Dictionary has updated its list.

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Whatevs, simples, chillax, sumfin and Jafaican have been added to the Oxford English Dictionary.

They are among 203 new words which appear in the dictionary for the very first time.

Other words which are part of the October 2019 update include Jedi, nomophobia and easy-breezy.

The letter 'O' has also been added and is defined as being "used to symbolise a hug especially at the end of a letter or greetings card".

An easy-breezy list

Here are just some of the words that have been added to the latest update:

chewy, n.: Chewing gum; a piece of chewing gum.

chillax, v.: intransitive. To calm down and relax; to take it easy, to chill (see chill v. additions 4). Often in imperative: 'relax', 'calm down'.

cryptocurrency, n.: An informal, substitute currency. rare.

easy-breezy, adj.: Esp. of clothing, style, etc.: informal, casual; relaxed, carefree.

Jafaican, n. and adj.: A non-Jamaican person who adopts or identifies with aspects of Jamaican culture, esp. in a way regarded as contrived or inauthentic. Usually...

Jedi, n.: In the fictional universe of the Star Wars films: a member of an order of heroic, skilled warrior monks who are able to harness the mystical power of...

kapow, int.: Representing the sound of an explosion, a gunshot, a hard punch or blow, etc. Also in extended use, conveying the suddenness or powerful effect of an...

lightsabre, n.: In the fictional universe of the Star Wars films: a weapon resembling a sword, but having a destructive beam of light in place of a blade. Also: a...

nomophobia, n.2: Anxiety about not having access to a mobile phone or mobile phone services.

o, n.5: Used to symbolise a hug, esp. at the end of a letter, greetings card, or the like. Only in combination with x (see X n. 6), as in xox, xoxo, etc.

omnishambles, n.: Chiefly in political contexts: a situation that has been comprehensively mismanaged, or is characterized by a series of blunders and miscalculations...

simples, int.: Used (usually immediately after a statement giving a solution to a problem) to indicate that something is very simple or straightforward to do...

sumfin, n. and adv.: = something, n. (in various senses).

summum malum, n.: The greatest or supreme evil; that which is most reprehensible, harmful, or undesirable. Cf. summum bonum n.

whatevs, int. and pron.: Used (typically in response to a question or statement) to indicate that the speaker is disinclined to engage with, or is indifferent to, the matter...

The full list is available on the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) website.

The OED is updated four times a year with the next update due in January 2020.

Listen to Newsbeat live at 12:45 and 17:45 weekdays - or listen back here.

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Simples, whatevs and Jedi added to dictionary

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Whatevs, simples, chillax, sumfin and Jafaican have been added to the Oxford English Dictionary. They are among 203 new words which appear in the dictionary for the very first time. Other words which are part of the October 2019 update include Jedi, nomophobia and easy-breezy.

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For the gamers out there, "Habitica" is a phone app that keeps you on task. Earn points and gear for your character by completing tasks that you set up! Stay on top of school work, chores, and healthy habits! With parent permission, check out the app.

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Habitica is a free habit and productivity app that treats your real life like a game. Habitica can help you achieve your goals to become healthy and happy.

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A short and sweet article on the benefits of reading!

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We're all commitment phobes. We scan, we skim, we browse, but rarely do we read.

Our eyes pingpong back and forth from Facebook posts to open chat boxes, unclicked emails to GIFs of dancing cats, scanning for keywords but barely digesting what we see. Average time spent on an online article is 15 seconds.

In 2014, the Pew Research Center revealed that one-quarter of American adults hadn't read a single book in the previous year.

And that's a shame because those who read consistently exhibit significantly greater memory and mental abilities at all stages in life. They're also better public speakers, thinkers and, according to some studies, better people in general.

Cracking open a book before you go to bed could help combat insomnia, too: A 2009 study from researchers at University of Sussex showed that six minutes of reading reduces stress by 68% (more relaxing than either music or a cup of tea), thus clearing the mind and readying the body for sleep.

The reasoning, per psychologist and study author Dr. David Lewis is that a book is "more than merely a distraction, but an active engaging of the imagination," one that "causes you to enter an altered state of consciousness."

It doesn't matter if your book of choice is by James Patterson or James Joyce, fiction or fact, so long as it you find it fully absorbing.

Because when the mind is engaged in a world constructed by words, tension evaporates and the body relaxes, paving the way for sleep.

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The surprising benefits of reading before bed

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We're all commitment phobes. We scan, we skim, we browse, but rarely do we read. Our eyes pingpong back and forth from Facebook posts to open chat boxes, unclicked emails to GIFs of dancing cats, scanning for keywords but barely digesting what we see. Average time spent on an online article is 15 seconds.

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Watch the short video and determine who is the protagonist and who is the antagonist.

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When Rock stumbles upon the magical Paper, it's love at first sight. But when the wrath of Scissors threatens the well-being of Paper, Rock must stop at nothing to save what he loves most, no matter the cost. 
“Broken: Rock, Paper, Scissors” is a student animated short film, produced at Ringling College of Art & Design. It’s our own visual representation of the children’s game, with the intent to portray the beauty and sacrifice that love creates. We hope you enjoy!
You can find concept art and more from BROKEN: Rock,Paper,Scissors on our Facebook page :
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Broken-Rock-Paper-Scissors/214973698712585

Garrett O'Neal
http://gonealportfolio.blogspot.com/

Gang Maria Yi
http://gmyi.tumblr.com/

Bryan Locantore
http://blocanto.wix.com/bryanlocantore

Music by
Erez Koskas

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Test your vocabulary and crossword puzzle skills!

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Free Online Crossword Puzzles for All Ages

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Free Online Crossword Puzzles. These online puzzles are for all ages and ability levels. They are certain to improve
vocabulary and writing skills. Come learn English online with English Maven!

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What is the difference between "a hearty welcome" and "a cordial reception"? In a brief, action-packed history of the English language, Kate Gardoqui explains why these semantically equal phrases evoke such different images.
What do Game of Thrones' Dothraki, Avatar's Na'vi, Star Trek's Klingon and LOTR's Elvish have in common? They are all fantasy constructed languages, or conlangs. Conlangs have all the delicious complexities of real languages: a high volume of words, grammar rules, and room for messiness and evolution. John McWhorter explains why these invented languages captivate fans long past the rolling credits.
This incredibly thorough map shows the branching diversity of languages throughout the history of the world.
"The object of inquiry in linguistics is human language, in particular the extent and limits of diversity in the world's languages. One might suppose, therefore, that linguists would have a clear and reasonably precise notion of how many languages there are in the world. It turns out, however, that there is no such definite count-or at least, no such count that has any status as a scientific finding of modern linguistics." So, How Many Languages Are There in the World?
From the BBC, here's " a guide to which languages are most widely spoken, hardest to learn and other revealing facts."

Music is a powerful communication tool--it causes us to laugh, cry, think and question. Bassist and five-time Grammy winner, Victor Wooten, asks us to approach music the same way we learn verbal language--by embracing mistakes and playing as often as possible.

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Over the course of human history, thousands of languages have developed from what was once a much smaller number. How did we end up with so many? And how do we keep track of them all? Alex Gendler explains how linguists group languages into language families, demonstrating how these linguistic trees give us crucial insights into the past.

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This short story showcases irony and characterization. It takes place during the Irish Civil War.

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by Liam O'Flaherty (1897-1984)

Approximate Word Count: 1619

The long June twilight faded into night. Dublin lay enveloped in darkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone through fleecy clouds, casting a pale light as of approaching dawn over the streets and the dark waters of the Liffey. Around the beleaguered Four Courts the heavy guns roared. Here and there through the city, machine guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms. Republicans and Free Staters were waging civil war.

On a rooftop near O'Connell Bridge, a Republican sniper lay watching. Beside him lay his rifle and over his shoulders was slung a pair of field glasses. His face was the face of a student, thin and ascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. They were deep and thoughtful, the eyes of a man who is used to looking at death.

He was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nothing since morning. He had been too excited to eat. He finished the sandwich, and, taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short drought. Then he returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment, considering whether he should risk a smoke. It was dangerous. The flash might be seen in the darkness, and there were enemies watching. He decided to take the risk.

Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. Almost immediately, a bullet flattened itself against the parapet of the roof. The sniper took another whiff and put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.

Cautiously he raised himself and peered over the parapet. There was a flash and a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped immediately. He had seen the flash. It came from the opposite side of the street.

He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack in the rear, and slowly drew himself up behind it, until his eyes were level with the top of the parapet. There was nothing to be seen--just the dim outline of the opposite housetop against the blue sky. His enemy was under cover.

Just then an armored car came across the bridge and advanced slowly up the street. It stopped on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards ahead. The sniper could hear the dull panting of the motor. His heart beat faster. It was an enemy car. He wanted to fire, but he knew it was useless. His bullets would never pierce the steel that covered the gray monster.

Then round the corner of a side street came an old woman, her head covered by a tattered shawl. She began to talk to the man in the turret of the car. She was pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer.

The turret opened. A man's head and shoulders appeared, looking toward the sniper. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. The head fell heavily on the turret wall. The woman darted toward the side street. The sniper fired again. The woman whirled round and fell with a shriek into the gutter.

Suddenly from the opposite roof a shot rang out and the sniper dropped his rifle with a curse. The rifle clattered to the roof. The sniper thought the noise would wake the dead. He stooped to pick the rifle up. He couldn't lift it. His forearm was dead. "I'm hit," he muttered.

Dropping flat onto the roof, he crawled back to the parapet. With his left hand he felt the injured right forearm. The blood was oozing through the sleeve of his coat. There was no pain--just a deadened sensation, as if the arm had been cut off.

Quickly he drew his knife from his pocket, opened it on the breastwork of the parapet, and ripped open the sleeve. There was a small hole where the bullet had entered. On the other side there was no hole. The bullet had lodged in the bone. It must have fractured it. He bent the arm below the wound. the arm bent back easily. He ground his teeth to overcome the pain.

Then taking out his field dressing, he ripped open the packet with his knife. He broke the neck of the iodine bottle and let the bitter fluid drip into the wound. A paroxysm of pain swept through him. He placed the cotton wadding over the wound and wrapped the dressing over it. He tied the ends with his teeth.

Then he lay still against the parapet, and, closing his eyes, he made an effort of will to overcome the pain.

In the street beneath all was still. The armored car had retired speedily over the bridge, with the machine gunner's head hanging lifeless over the turret. The woman's corpse lay still in the gutter.

The sniper lay still for a long time nursing his wounded arm and planning escape. Morning must not find him wounded on the roof. The enemy on the opposite roof coverd his escape. He must kill that enemy and he could not use his rifle. He had only a revolver to do it. Then he thought of a plan.

Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed the rifle slowly upward over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the opposite side of the street. Almost immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced the center of the cap. The sniper slanted the rifle forward. The cap clipped down into the street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left hand over the roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he let the rifle drop to the street. Then he sank to the roof, dragging his hand with him.

Crawling quickly to his feet, he peered up at the corner of the roof. His ruse had succeeded. The other sniper, seeing the cap and rifle fall, thought that he had killed his man. He was now standing before a row of chimney pots, looking across, with his head clearly silhouetted against the western sky.

The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the edge of the parapet. The distance was about fifty yards--a hard shot in the dim light, and his right arm was paining him like a thousand devils. He took a steady aim. His hand trembled with eagerness. Pressing his lips together, he took a deep breath through his nostrils and fired. He was almost deafened with the report and his arm shook with the recoil.

Then when the smoke cleared, he peered across and uttered a cry of joy. His enemy had been hit. He was reeling over the parapet in his death agony. He struggled to keep his feet, but he was slowly falling forward as if in a dream. The rifle fell from his grasp, hit the parapet, fell over, bounded off the pole of a barber's shop beneath and then clattered on the pavement.

Then the dying man on the roof crumpled up and fell forward. The body turned over and over in space and hit the ground with a dull thud. Then it lay still.

The sniper looked at his enemy falling and he shuddered. The lust of battle died in him. He became bitten by remorse. The sweat stood out in beads on his forehead. Weakened by his wound and the long summer day of fasting and watching on the roof, he revolted from the sight of the shattered mass of his dead enemy. His teeth chattered, he began to gibber to himself, cursing the war, cursing himself, cursing everybody.

He looked at the smoking revolver in his hand, and with an oath he hurled it to the roof at his feet. The revolver went off with a concussion and the bullet whizzed past the sniper's head. He was frightened back to his senses by the shock. His nerves steadied. The cloud of fear scattered from his mind and he laughed.

Taking the whiskey flask from his pocket, he emptied it a drought. He felt reckless under the influence of the spirit. He decided to leave the roof now and look for his company commander, to report. Everywhere around was quiet. There was not much danger in going through the streets. He picked up his revolver and put it in his pocket. Then he crawled down through the skylight to the house underneath.

When the sniper reached the laneway on the street level, he felt a sudden curiosity as to the identity of the enemy sniper whom he had killed. He decided that he was a good shot, whoever he was. He wondered did he know him. Perhaps he had been in his own company before the split in the army. He decided to risk going over to have a look at him. He peered around the corner into O'Connell Street. In the upper part of the street there was heavy firing, but around here all was quiet.

The sniper darted across the street. A machine gun tore up the ground around him with a hail of bullets, but he escaped. He threw himself face downward beside the corpse. The machine gun stopped.

Then the sniper turned over the dead body and looked into his brother's face.

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by Liam O'Flaherty (1897-1984) Approximate Word Count: 1619 The long June twilight faded into night. Dublin lay enveloped in darkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone through fleecy clouds, casting a pale light as of approaching dawn over the streets and the dark waters of the Liffey.

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"The Way to Rainy Mountain" by N. Scott Momaday

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"The Way to Rainy Mountain" by N. Scott Momaday

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This excerpt of Momaday's memoir wonderfully blends descriptive writing with characterization and history.

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This short story features irony and strong characterization. It is a classic, and well worth a read!

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The Necklace (1884) is a famous short story and morality tale that is widely read in classrooms throughout the world.
Get more out of the story with our The Necklace Study Guide.

The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.

She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.

Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o'clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire.

When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air, "Ah, the good soup! I don't know anything better than that," she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvellous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlike smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.

She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.

She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.

But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand.

"There," said he, "there is something for you."

She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words:

The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.

Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:

"What do you wish me to do with that?"

"Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Every one wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there."

She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:

"And what do you wish me to put on my back?"

He had not thought of that. He stammered:

"Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me."

He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he answered.

By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:

"Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can't go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am."

He was in despair. He resumed:

"Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions--something very simple?"

She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.

Finally she replied hesitating:

"I don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs."

He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot larks there of a Sunday.

But he said:

"Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty gown."

The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:

"What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer these last three days."

And she answered:

"It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put on. I shall look poverty-stricken. I would almost rather not go at all."

"You might wear natural flowers," said her husband. "They're very stylish at this time of year. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses."

She was not convinced.

"No; there's nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women who are rich."

"How stupid you are!" her husband cried. "Go look up your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You're intimate enough with her to do that."

She uttered a cry of joy:

"True! I never thought of it."

The next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress.

Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:

"Choose, my dear."

She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with precious stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:

"Haven't you any more?"

"Why, yes. Look further; I don't know what you like."

Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it round her throat, outside her high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the mirror.

Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxious doubt:

"Will you lend me this, only this?"

"Why, yes, certainly."

She threw her arms round her friend's neck, kissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure.

The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was prettier than any other woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling and wild with joy. All the men looked at her, asked her name, sought to be introduced. All the attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. She was remarked by the minister himself.

She danced with rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness comprised of all this homage, admiration, these awakened desires and of that sense of triumph which is so sweet to woman's heart.

She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball.

He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common life, the poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished to escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in costly furs.

Loisel held her back, saying: "Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab."

But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached the street they could not find a carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a distance.

They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark.

It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten o'clock that morning.

She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace around her neck!

"What is the matter with you?" demanded her husband, already half undressed.

She turned distractedly toward him.

"I have--I have--I've lost Madame Forestier's necklace," she cried.

He stood up, bewildered.

"What!--how? Impossible!"

They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not find it.

"You're sure you had it on when you left the ball?" he asked.

"Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister's house."

"But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab."

"Yes, probably. Did you take his number?"

"No. And you--didn't you notice it?"

"No."

They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At last Loisel put on his clothes.

"I shall go back on foot," said he, "over the whole route, to see whether I can find it."

He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without any fire, without a thought.

Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.

He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper offices to offer a reward; he went to the cab companies--everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged by the least spark of hope.

She waited all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity.

Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He had discovered nothing.

"You must write to your friend," said he, "that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn round."

She wrote at his dictation.

At the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:

"We must consider how to replace that ornament."

The next day they took the box that had contained it and went to the jeweler whose name was found within. He consulted his books.

"It was not I, madame, who sold that necklace; I must simply have furnished the case."

Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, trying to recall it, both sick with chagrin and grief.

They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-six.

So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days yet. And they made a bargain that he should buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs, in case they should find the lost necklace before the end of February.

Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.

He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers and all the race of lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life, risked signing a note without even knowing whether he could meet it; and, frightened by the trouble yet to come, by the black misery that was about to fall upon him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tortures that he was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, laying upon the jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Madame Loisel took back the necklace Madame Forestier said to her with a chilly manner:

"You should have returned it sooner; I might have needed it."

She did not open the case, as her friend had so much feared. If she had detected the substitution, what would she have thought, what would she have said? Would she not have taken Madame Loisel for a thief?

Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horrible existence of the needy. She bore her part, however, with sudden heroism. That dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their servant; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.

She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried the slops down to the street every morning and carried up the water, stopping for breath at every landing. And dressed like a woman of the people, she went to the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, a basket on her arm, bargaining, meeting with impertinence, defending her miserable money, sou by sou.

Every month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.

Her husband worked evenings, making up a tradesman's accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous a page.

This life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury and the accumulations of the compound interest.

Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished households--strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, skirts askew and red hands, she talked loud while washing the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window and she thought of that gay evening of long ago, of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so admired.

What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? who knows? How strange and changeful is life! How small a thing is needed to make or ruin us!

But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh herself after the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.

Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not?

She went up.

"Good-day, Jeanne."

The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at all and stammered:

"But--madame!--I do not know---- You must have mistaken."

"No. I am Mathilde Loisel."

Her friend uttered a cry.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!"

"Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I last saw you, and great poverty--and that because of you!"

"Of me! How so?"

"Do you remember that diamond necklace you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball?"

"Yes. Well?"

"Well, I lost it."

"What do you mean? You brought it back."

"I brought you back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. You can understand that it was not easy for us, for us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad."

Madame Forestier had stopped.

"You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?"

"Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very similar."

And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud and ingenuous.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste! It was worth at most only five hundred francs!"

The Necklace is a world famous morality tale. It featured in our collection of Short Stories for Middle School and our collection of Morality Tales. Readers may also enjoy another story with ironic twists, The Gift of the Magi.

In the final sentence, the word "paste" means that the loaned necklace was a fake, an imitation. Alternate translations use the word "imitation" rather than "paste." I chose to use this translation here because it is the version that inspired Henry James' short story Paste

For an alternate translation read this version of the story.

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The Necklace (1884) is a famous short story and morality tale that is widely read in classrooms throughout the world. Get more out of the story with our The Necklace Study Guide. The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks.

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This short story features a talking animal. It is an interesting read to consider character interactions and dialogue. The language is not the most modern, but overall it is a short read.