“How many children has Dr. Annesley?” said a friend to Thomas Manton, who had just dedicated one more to the Lord in the holy sacrament of baptism. “I believe it is two dozen, or a quarter of a hundred,” was the startling reply. Some of these withered like early spring flowers; others bloomed into youthful beauty; and a few developed into mature life. Susanna was the youngest. She was born in Spital Yard, near Bishopsgate Street, on the 20th January, 1669. Her father, at no small cost of feeling, and at a sacrifice of £700 a year, refused to declare his unfeigned assent to all that was contained in the Book of Common Prayer. His nonconformity caused him many outward troubles, but no inward uneasiness. He was a man of marked prominence, and a very prince in the tribe to which he belonged. But who was Susanna Annesley’s mother? The daughter of John White, the eminent lawyer and earnest Puritan, a member of the House of Commons in 1640. The following curious epitaph was written on his tombstone:— “Here lies a John, a burning, shining light, Whose name, life, actions, all alike were White.” We should like to know something of the place and mode of her education. But whether she was sent to school or trained at home by tutors, an elder sister or her good mother, we know not. It has been said that she was well acquainted with the languages of ancient Greece and Rome. That we believe to be a mistake. But if she was not a classical scholar, she had a respectable knowledge of French; prosecuted as one of her chiefest studies, the noble literature and tongue of Britain; and wrote with marvellous neatness and grammatical accuracy. While careful to strengthen her mind by such abstruse studies as logic and metaphysics, she was not neglectful of accomplishments. Whether she could stir the depths of feeling by her skilful performances on the piano, we know not; but there is ample evidence that she was not destitute of the gift of song. With Susanna Annesley, the dawn of grace was like the dawn of day. In after-years she wrote:—“I do not judge it necessary to know the precise time of our conversion.” The seed of truth took root imperceptibly, and ultimately brought forth fruit. As she advanced in years, she increased in spirituality. Hear her own words:—“I will tell you what rule I observed in the same case when I was young and too much addicted to childish diversions, which was this,—never to spend more time in any matter of mere recreation in one day, than I spend in private religious duties.” This one passage explains the secret of her noble life.