The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1881-09-22

THE UNSPoKEN THOUGHT.
These two, they loved each other we'll,
But neither would the secret tell;
They seemed like enemies and yet
Their. hidden love was passionate.
At last they said farewell-and then
They met not, save in dreams again.
They both were dead cad long ago,
Yetscarcely knew that it was 80
A FRENCH GRIFFITH GAUNT.
As Told in Letters Which Were intercepted
Dy Prosper DIerilnee.
From Madame De Poussin to- Madame Guise.
Nouember.--I promised to write to you,
my dear Sophie, and keep my word tho
mole willingly that time hangs heavily on
ones hands these long evenings Ibelieve
7 told you, in my last letter, that had dis
covered two facts: the first, that was turn-
ing thirty; the second, that Henry and
were paupers. In order, to pur our affairs
in order, we must.pass Ut least two years
away from the luxuries OF the'icity, and IN
the gloomy old manor where am writing.
have beei simply sublime, Sophie. As
soon as I learned the state OF eHenry's af-
fairs, proposed, at once, to quit the city.
and here we are, at Noiresterrs. Its many
a year since Henry and I have been so much
alone together, butwe get along very we'll
indeed. You know my resolution when
make up my mind to do, any thing. The
house where we are is ON old fashioned
thing, with four towers, and walls fifteen
feet thick. You shall have your own tower
when you come to see u.s. The sea is near
at hand, and forest not FAR away. The
beauty Of the place is we have no neighbors.
1t is complete solitude. Not visitor
have seen. But stay--there is one-Father
Aubain. He isa mild, hammered young
priest, rather good looking, although he
like those Of the villains in the play. But
must stop. My piano came to-day, I'm,
going to practice lncessantly.sa Goodbye.
P. S. Iopenedmy letter to thank you for
the things your. sent. The cloak is just
lovely-too lovely for this place. I'll wear
it at church next Sunday, though. Per-
haps same Partisan drummer may see and
admire it, What did you send these nov
els for? Do you think I'm going to read
the novels here9 By no means. When re-
turn to Paris in three years Il shall be
thirty -three-pi me, ye godsD 1 shall be
a blue stocking. What do you think I'd
better study-German or Latin? But, come
to think Of it, I couldn't learn German
here. I believe I'll study Latin and my
teacher shall be Father Aubain.
FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.
December.-I don't wonder you're aston
ished that I'm not bored. I'm astonished
myself. But really the time does not drag
at all. Henry is rather difficult at times to
get along with. He will persist in wearing
long face, and he has business with ali
sorts of stupid people lawyers, and nota-
ries and the Ike Yesterday he was out
shooting, and I went and sat on the beech
and read "The Giacur. read aloud, and
you can't imagine how romantic it was,
with the sea moaning a refnln to the verse.
but Father Aubain. Did tell you about
him?I believe not. Well, Father Abaina
is the village priest. He is
young and rather hansdeme- big black.
eyes aad melancholy face. He talks we'll,
and isra.het Interesting. Well, we talked
about the sea, and poetry, and SO forth, un-
til it vas time to 60. On my way home I
stopped in TO see the chnrch and the hum
BILE dwelling of the priest. He lives in a
little house, furnished with severe simpli-
city. A table and four chairs were all the
appointments of his study. Upon the table
lay three or four Greek and Latin folios.
He showed me little Byzantine casket
which he had purchased from a peas INT; it
was quantity enameled, and very odd. NY
woman's curiosity impelled me to open it,
and what do you think saw? A apithered
bouquet. is that relic, father?" asked.
No, said he, with much hesitation, Il do
not know how it came there" And he
took TIE bouquet and locked it in a drawer
went home both sad and encouraged. Sad
at poverty greater than ours. Encouraged
T fhor A..
father under such restitution.
r. 81 think will give Father Aubain
an easy chair. The one in his study is
simply frightful. Please pick out the best
one to be had in Paris, Sophie, and send it
t. me ct once.
THE SAME TO THE SAME.
February. my dear Sophie.
you are right in supposing that I am not
wearied of this place. I have taken up q
new study. What do you think it is?
Botany. And Father Aubain is teaching
me. heard him one day call plant by
some barbarous name. I at once asked
him: @Do you understand botany, fail er?'
"A little" he replied; enough to give some
interest to my solitary Walks." "Te ch
me, !" said I. "Buts, he replied, I'VE had
better wait till spring; there are no flowers
now" But" I cried, you can teach me
from pressed flowers; I saw some once in
your study" The poor father! I could
have bitten my tongue the moment spoke
But he said nothing. tried to smooth it
over by explaining that meant an herbar-
ium. So he brought me his collection and
we commenced the study of botany from
dried plants. But don't you know, Sophie,
that botany is a dreadfully immoral study!
II you could only have seen the poor father
trying to explain to me the difference be-
tween phoncrogaans and cryptogams! I
will content myself with saying that the
cryptoJa,ns are no better than they should
be, matrimonially speaking, and that they
ought to be ashamed of themselves. But
when I told the father 80, he looked
shocked
TIE SAME TO THE SAME.
MarcA-I know, Sophie, that you are
dying to know the story Of the bouquet, SO
l will tell il. One day asked the father
how it was that, with his education, he was
only parish priest. Of an obscure village.
IT is my lot" he said, with gentle sigh;
Fhe souls of these poor peasants are as
precious in the eyes of heaven as are those
OF wealthy jewellers in cities. At one time, "
he continent "yonr I'm cIa tho hishon of