Great Falls tribune. [volume] (Great Falls, Mont.) 1921-current, 1922-12-22
WINIfRED BLACKS
SPECIAL ARTICLE
THE PATTERNS OF WORDS
copzrisht. 1s.2. 81 Nevsp.per Featur. *

InE FAIIEnNS Vt WINS
There he was in the theater-thc
man with the saw.
Just an old-fashioned, sharp-toothed
| saw, such al your grandfather used
when he was getting out the kindIns
for the winters use, and he TOOK u
| fiddle bow-the man in the theater-.
| and hent the saw and played upon 1t
| and made sweet, clear notes like the
voice Of q good violin, and everybody
| wondered and the theater rocked with
applause.
STRANGE" said the elderly man who
sat with me. Il warrant you can
| guess where my mind is this minute! &
No" I said. who can guess any
thing about the thoughts of an Irish
man :"
WELL" said the man who sat next
to me, I'll tell you. I'm not in Amer
lea at all, nor in a theater either. I'm
| back in Ireland at, school with a lot OF
Omadhawns like myself, and the pro
fessor IN physics has a saw in his hand
and he is sprinkling on the saw a
handful of glistening white sand from
the shore where the waves are SO blue.
! See, he takes up the fiddle bow and
beings to play.
A Strange Tale
"Hark, how sweet the music! Why,
it's like the finest violin, Look, the
silver sand is disturbed by the vibra-
ton. See, it falls to the floor-why,
it makes a pattern, something like one
Of those beautiful mosaics you get in
Florence when you take a walk over
the old bridge and pause to patronize
n of the merchants within its arches.
Look, there is a new pattern on
the floor, it's like a rose. isn't it, with
a spray of leaves around it? Listen.
that was a discord-ugh. What a
shriek'
There, it's exactly as the old pro-
| lessor said-when the note is harmon
ious the sand falls in a beautiful pat
tern. When it is a discord, there is
no pattern at all. Strange, isn't it!'
Very strange said j.
And We sat back again in our seats
the mar next to me and land
watched two girls do a really amazing
dance and laughed at the patter man.
and wept a little shamefacedly at a bit
we went home and forgot about it all.
But this morning | am thinking
about it again-the strange tale the
man who sat near me in the theater
told about the saw and the fiddle bow
and the silver sand.
I suppose it is a true story. for /
know the man to be a truthful man.
but-what does it all mean?
IL there some great rule of life
which We poor, stupid human beings
annot even try to comprehend-a
rule which joins together somehow.
sorne way, all that is beautiful and
true, and makes it oil a part of a great
and glorious plan?
A sweet note brings a beautiful pat
tern in the sand. A discord makes a
mess of it.
Do We Draw Patterns?
Do we draw patterns somewhere
with every word we speak. even with
every thought we think?
Are you and | just little tiny, insig-
~nificant parts of a great perfect mech
anism, the working of which we can
not hope even partially to understand?
What a big world it is. and how
full it is crammed with fascinating in
~terest!
I'm glad the man who sat beside me
in the theater told me about the saw
and the sand.
Somehow it has set me to thinking.
Still, it is a hopeful sign when
statesmen rattle a deficit instead Of a
saber.-Chicago Daily journal.