“Of Millicent Heritage!” exclaimed her mother and sister; “why, what of her?” “I am sure,” continued Ann, “Dr. Leroy is over head and ears in love with her. Never did I see a young man’s eyes always resting with such affectionate expression on any one as his do on Miss Heritage; and really she seems very fond of him; and a most accomplished and amiable man he is.” “True, all true,” said Letty, taking a folded paper from her pocket. “I told you I would read you a bit of Miss Heritage’s poetry; and when you have heard it—well, then you can judge. This poem was given to Miss Drury by Millicent, and she has allowed me to copy it.” “Oh, let us have it!” said both the ladies, “we never heard a line of Quaker poetry—not even that Mr. Moon’s you mentioned.” “Moon James,” said Letty; “but now—” she began— COME TO ME. Come to me, loved one, from thy heaven descending, Come to me softly, with the falling dews; Come when the shadows and the lights are blending, And the heart fondly all its past renews. Come to me, loved one, As I sit and muse. Come to me in the hushed, dark midnight hour, Fall with thy spirit gladness on my heart, Let me embrace thee in the deathless power Of that which once cemented cannot part. Come to me, loved one,— Spirit though thou art. Come to me, loved one, when the breeze is sighing, And the far sky shines with a lonely light; Where loving lips to loving words replying, Make even this cloudy world divinely light. Come to me, loved one, Let our souls unite! For I would live, and love, and ever be A part of that, and those, the sacred few, With whom my heart has grown in such degree Of deep endearment as the heavens renew. Come to me, loved one, Say—the dead are true. Come, when the days are dark, the storms are raving, When friends are passing, and the heart is low, Come, when the soul is sick, and inly craving For what it hopes and dreams and fain would know. Come to me, loved one, In thy star-like glow. Come in God’s freedom of the souls set free; No startling touch, no vision dread be mine— Enfold me in thy presence—let me be Soul of thy soul in all its life divine. Come to me, loved one, Whisper—thine, still thine! “Is that Miss Heritage’s?” asked Mrs. Woodburn. “Is it really? I did not think so much was in her. It is rather lugubrious; but for so young a girl, there is stuff in it.” “But you know, father says these Quakers are extraordinary people,” said Letty. “You don’t know all at once what is in them.” “It is very good,” said Ann. “I should like a copy of it. It is much better, I undertake to say, than that Mr. Moon’s.” “Moon James,” reiterated Letty, “but, as mother says, a little lugubrious, and reminds me of that ‘sentimental’ Miss Bailey, who says she does so love melancholy subjects.” “And who,” asked Mrs. Woodburn, “can this apostrophised beloved one be? A mere girl’s fancy, I expect.”