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HE fifth child and youngest daughter of Robert and Hannah White was Anna, born January 21st, 1831. Their residence, a pretty, white cottage, stood in a large green field at the corner of Orange and Willow streets, Brooklyn. Anna nearly lost her birthright at the very beginning of her career, her father first discovering faint signs of life in the discarded infant and coming to her rescue. A feeble, wailing creature, she made more trouble than all the other children. Her mother took her to the seashore in New Jersey, where she made acquaintance with old Ocean and, in the arms of the big man who had her in charge, would laugh and crow with delight as the friendly waves dashed over her. The Atlantic became her nurse, entered into her very being and saved the little one for a long and active life. When Anna was two years old, Robert White retired from business and purchased a farm on the New Jersey coast.

In the country home at Shrewsbury, Anna and her brother John, four years younger, spent a happy childhood. John, a handsome, lovable lad, was quite unlike his strong-willed, restless sister, but the two children were devoted to each other. A frequent playmate was Eric Parmley; another, a spruce little chap, was cousin Dick, son of Richard Mansfield White. Better known as Richard Grant White, cousin Dick was often at the New Jersey farm. A donkey, Jack, neighbor Eric's pony, dogs, cats, calves, chickens, figure in the sports of this period, but Ocean was the great playfellow. Whenever a party of guests visited the beach, intent on bathing, they were astonished to see the two children, who loved to dart ahead, already bobbing up and down, far out in the surf. They attended school some distance from home, boarding through the week with a Quaker family where they received motherly care. "Every Friday night, Father

would come for us and Mother would have an extra good supper, generally of chicken, for us hungry children." No animals were killed on the farm, creatures destined for food being carried away. One day, walking with her mother in the city, Anna saw a wagonload of young calves and began an inquiry as to their destination. Informed that they were to be converted into veal, a favorite viand, her grief was extreme and she expressed a determination, to which she adhered, never to taste veal again.

In the home was a dear old grandmother, Elizabeth Gibbs. It was a great delight to the mischievous children to get grandma to spell her name,-"E-l-i-izzard-a-b-e-t-h." Many happy hours were spent by her side and, at any childish mishap, "Now, child, what did thee do that for?" was her first query. In the Shaker home, when Anna White was approaching the years of this aged grandmother, if some impulsive spirit had fallen into difficulty, how often would she say, with a twinkle in the keen, blue eyes, "Now, child, what did thee do that for?"

The oldest living son, for the first child, Abel, had died in infancy, was Robert Cornell, commonly called by his middle name. Eight years her senior, generous and sympathetic, Brother Cornell was Anna's protector and, like her, was devoted to their mother. Born during their parents' temporary residence in Birmingham, England, he came midway between two sisters. An ideal elder sister to the group of high-spirited, affectionate children, Phebe was a second mother to Anna, helping the little girl over many a hard place. Rachel, good, sensible and kind, was very fond of her little sister, who warmly returned her affection. A frequent member of the family was Aunt Sarah, Robert's only sister, a sweet and noble woman, gratefully remembered.

As with most children, in homes where the Bible is revered and loved, underneath fun and frolic rose the tide of religious thought and feeling. Trained to obey

INSPIRATION FROM LUCRETIa More.

their parents, it is easy for children to obey God. Loving the law of kindness and self-sacrifice, manifested through the life of God-fearing parents, it is natural to recognize the love of the All Father. The blessing at table, the hour of family worship, were remembered with gratitude. The White Children attended Quaker meeting, sitting through the long, quiet service with what patience they might. The restless Anna was often comforted by the broad lap of her mother, which soothed her to slumber when the tired head grew too heavy. But very early, Anna took an active interest in proceedings, not always of the silent order. Lucretia Mott was sometimes present and, if moved to speak, the child listened fascinated. One First Day, Anna heard Lucretia Mott abruptly silenced by the guardians of Quaker orthodoxy. On the way home, she asked,-"Mother, why did they stop Lucretia Mott from speaking?" "Well, child, what she Isaid was not in accordance with the ideas of the leaders in meeting."

"But why, Mother, I love to hear her the best of all?" "Well, child, thee will understand when thee is older."

It is doubtful if Anna White ever understood why a woman should be silenced in meeting, or why any honest truth-seeker should be forbidden to utter the thought that is in him. How much that scene may have influenced the after-life of the little girl cannot be known, but she ever had a deep reverence for Lucretia Mott and an enthusiasm for freedom of thought and speech.

A Methodist society worshipped in a small, plain meeting-house near by, and Sabbath evenings, Anna and John were fond of attending Methodist prayer meetings. The Millerite excitement of the early 40's ran high at Shrewsbury, many of the neighbors abandoning their property, that they might be prepared to meet their Lord. Robert White, in his calm, benevolent fashion, quietly bought up or gathered in cattle, horses and other movable effects of these excited people, and, when the fateful night

had passed and the bewildered religionists returned to their dismantled homes, to resume their wonted occupations, their Quaker neighbor was at hand, restoring without charge animals and implements they had thrown away. In after years, Anna often related the story of that night. She had listened to the arguments and exhortations of devoted Millerites in Methodist meetings, had heard the calm, sensible views of her Quaker parents and friends, but a child's superstitious fear was intensified by a deep, black cloud which overspread the heavens, a portent full of dread. Her father was away, she sat with her mother on the veranda. "O Mother, does thee think the Millerites may be right, after all, and the end of the world is coming?"

"Nay, child,” replied her mother, "it is only a thunderstorm. The end of the world is not at hand, thee need not fear." The tempest that followed was always referred to as the worst she ever experienced.

Among the neighbors was a Baker family, distantly related. In 1844, Phebe White married George C. Baker, and three years later Rachel married the brother, Joseph. while the same day, Cornell was married to their sister, Hannah D. Baker. From the marriage of Phebe came one of the strongest ties that bound Anna to her home. A little girl, named Hanna, was added to the circle, whom Anna loved and petted with adoring devotion.

A great trial of her girlhood was that she never had a new dress. Quaker thrift and the excellent materials of the time produced gowns of such quality that, when Phebe and Rachel were through with them, enough always remained to make a pretty frock for their little sister. One day in her sixteenth year, her mother said, "Anna, if thee will help me take care of the hens and chickens this summer, I will give thee half the profits and thee can have a new dress." Anna took hold of the poultry business and early and late looked after her big family of chickens with such faithful care that the biddies

were unusually prosperous, and, in good time, she had the pleasure of buying a handsome silk dress, a piece of which is still cherished in her Shaker home.

The district school had done its best for the White children and Anna was sent with Rachel to a Friends Boarding School at Poughkeepsie, known as the Mansion Square Seminary and presided over by Mr. William Gibbons. It was her first separation from home. A deathly homesickness took possession of her, she could not study, she could not eat nor sleep. All attempts at diversion, reasoning or sympathy failed. Rachel was at her wits' end, the child was crying herself sick. At last, she wrote home and Robert started for Poughkeepsie and appeared at Mansion Square. Summoned to meet her father, Anna felt sure of his sympathy and expected to be restored to her lost home. But, nay! "Daughter Anna" was treated to a course of paternal logic, was assured that she was expected to appreciate the advantages offered her and improve her opportunity for education to the best of her ability. The crying stopped and the homesick child became the eager student, her quick, inquiring mind awakening to the delights of study. Natural science, grammar, literature and history were her delight. Her textbook in astronomy, a thin volume with steel engravings, published in Boston in 1838, is a commentary on her neat and careful habits. Devoid of stain or wrinkle, covered with brown cambric carefully stitched on, it bears the inscription, "Anna White, 1846.” In after-life, she loved to talk of this science and its wonderful revealings,-eager to learn of each new discovery, each wider outlook.

From school routine, custom set her free much earlier than would happen to-day. At an age when the modern girl is entering upon her preparation for college or university, Anna returned to her home in New York City and, in accordance with Quaker custom, was given her choice of a trade. A highly respectable employment for women was tailoring, and in her eighteenth year, under