Mary Jane Trice
(October 13, 1850 - June 30, 1864) Daughter of Robert Nelson Trice and Lucy Jane Minor Trice, sister of
Margaret, Martha, Lucy, and Dabney Trice.
…The heat of the season suggested that we should at once carry into effect a scheme for making
Mary Jane (Davis) and some of her little friends supremely happy, which had been made some time since.
A picnic party for Anne, Mary Jane Trice, the McIntires and Goodloes. They came up before breakfast
in a
state of ecstasy that was amusing. It was such happiness...
We soon reached the ravine between Lewis and Observatory Mountains and encamped on the bank of the
stream. I wish you could have been a witness of their enjoyment. It was really delightful to see.
They picked huckleberries - drank out of oak leaf cups (before the ice pitcher arrived with more
convenient goblets) made a moss garden - and found many wonders. Then the children played games and
then came the crowning pleasure of all - I banished W. G. and let the girls wade in the stream! You
never saw such delighted creatures. They never before had tried that innocent amusement. Mary, Lucy and
I chuckled together to think of the dismay of Mrs. Morris and Mother could they know what was going
on... Lucy Landon Davis, letter of July 2, 1858 to her brother-in-law, Eugene Davis, regarding an outing with
Mary Jane Trice and her mother
Exactly two months after her father (June 30th) another member of that bereaved and heart-broken family was
called home. MARY JANE TRICE, though not quite 14 years old, was a child of remarkable precocity and elevation
of character. As one who knew her justly observed, "She possessed the attributes of mature womanhood, combined
with the loving sweetness of childhood." She was her widowed mother's staff and stay, the guide and friend
of her little sisters and brother, and the darling of a large circle of relations and friends.
Although a piously inclined child, and showing great conscientiousness in the discharge of her religious
duties, it was not until 24 hours before her death that we knew how far the work of God had progressed in her
heart, and she professed saving faith in Christ. On that morning her mother said to her, "Darling, have you
made your peace with God? The doctor does not think you can get well." She was immediately awakened with her
wonted decision of character, addressed herself to the work set before her, determining in her own words
"never to get up from the foot of the cross until she found Christ," and, as none ever sought Him in vain,
the Comforter soon came, healed her sin-sick soul, and made her not only willing but anxious to depart and be
with Christ; and from that moment until she breathed her last did she consume her wasting breath in praising
God for His great goodness to her, and in warnings and admonitions to those around her.
Her best loved friends were first called to her bedside, each of whom she thanked in the most grateful manner,
enjoining on each the necessity of preparation, and begging them by name to prepare to meet her in heaven.
To one she said: "Remember, a promise to a dying person is a sacred thing." To another she said: "I hope you
have begun to love Christ - persevere." She then sent for the servants. She had long been engaged in teaching
a colored Sunday school, and explaining and reading the Bible to the elder ones. As she extended her white
emaciated hand to each one, begging them to come to Christ without delay, and pleaded with them, there was not
a dry eye in the room. She now said, "I must see my darling little sisters." Surely none who witnessed that
scene will ever forget it - the dying child entreating them by every consideration never to forget what she
said to them. She said: "I am going home very soon, but you must remember you promised sister to read your
Bibles and pray for God's grace to make you Christians; and oh, be obedient and attentive to Mother." She left
her Sunday school to her next oldest sister, requesting it might never be discontinued, saying it had been a
great blessing to her. "Those who water shall be watered." She now distributed little tokens of love, and then
added: "Mother, I give you my Bible, and now I have done with the earth." She expatiated on the goodness of
God in keeping her mind clear and giving her time for repentance. Her manifestations of a Saviour's love
were dazzlingly bright, no clouds obscured her view - all was light. Putting her hand on her breast she said:
"Mother, there is light in here; I never felt like this before. How good God is thus to reveal Himself to me."
To the physician she said: "Doctor, you have been very kind to me, and now I want you to promise to meet me
in heaven; you know it is so important that you should be a Christian, because then you can warm others."
Throughout the day she would join in singing the songs of Zion, frequently pausing to comment on the
delightful attributes of Christ, and her voice was so loud and clear that it seemed hard to realize that
she was passing away. When the physician, finding some amendment in her pulse, wished to resume the
remedies, she sent for him and told him she did not wish to recover, that she was almost over Jordan, and
did not wish to be recalled; but on his saying he thought it only right to use the means, with her usual
gentleness she replied, "Then I will do whatever is right," and, without a murmur, submitted to everything
prescribed. Among her distressing symptoms was nausea, and after trying three times to retain the
medicines, she looked up at her mother with the sweetest smile, saying: "Mother, you see I did try." In the
afternoon she became somewhat impatient, saying she thought she would have been at rest by this time,
but on being reminded that she ought to wait God's time, she acquiesced, saying, "I am so anxious to go;"
she said she had no fear of the last struggle, that her Saviour was with her and she feared no evil.
Whenever her mother came near, she would say with the marked tenderness which always characterized her
intercourse with that bereaved parent, "Mother, are you glad, are you happy?" And that mother, we trust,
divinely supported, was always able to assure her, that it was the happiest day of her life.
She frequently spoke of her sainted father, saying she would soon be with him, that he would meet her as
she came up out of the river: referring to Bunyan's delightful description of Christian passing the
river and the two shining ones who met him. This was a favorite book with her, but her mind was richly
stored with the best authors; her fondness for books being rather a passion than a taste.
Not long before the closing scene she asked her mother what message she should carry her father, adding,
shall I say you will try to train the children so as to join him in heaven?" Oh! What a joyful reunion
that was! She was the child of that Christian father's fondest earthly affection; she had been the
pride of his heart and the delight of his eyes, and often had he wrestled in prayer for her conversion,
and now to meet her wearing the crown of immortal glory!
Just before she expired, and while her mother was kneeling, praying for an easy departure, the cousin
who anticipated her every wish, requested another hymn might be sung, when another observed:
"Her pulse is gone, she cannot hear it." A seraphic smile beamed and a bright look of intelligence
once more lighted up her eyes, and as the sound of the hymn floated on the air, she closed her eyes
on earthly scenes to open them on the glories of heaven, and placidly as an infant sinking to
sleep, "breathed her soul out sweetly there."
Further comment on such a death is unnecessary. To the unconverted we would say, in her words,
"Prepare to die;" to the Christian parent, be faithful in praying for and instructing your children,
and your prayers will be answered; and above all, never be restrained from speaking to the dying on
the subject of their soul's welfare. No sooner had that parent "rolled her burden on the Lord,"
and though with fear, trembling and bitter anguish told her child she must die, than God took the
work out of her hands, answered her every prayer, and gave her such comfort in her child, that what to
the eye of sense seemed the bitterest stroke was divested of its sting, and she could from her
heart say, "What shall I render unto the Lord for His benefits to me;" and exclaim with old Ossbry(?),
I would not give my dead child for any living child in Christendom… Obituary in The Religious Herald, December 1, 1864, written by Lucy Jane Minor Trice
...I was much concerned to hear of Mary Jane Trice's death, and sympathize with Cousin Lucy in her sorrow for
the loss of a daughter who gave such promise of being to her a comfort and stay in life's decline. The report
of the death of friends and acquaintances at home always strikes me with a kind of surprise. Now always I am so
familiar with deaths by violence, and my attention so constantly drawn that way, that when I hear of anyone
dying a natural death, it seems strange... Rev. Richard Terrell Davis, C.S.A., to his sister, Lucy Minor Davis, July 13, 1864
...Death has been busy amongst us since you left us well in our peaceful neighborhood, as on the
battlefield. Nannie Bronaugh, Eliza Schele, Col. Trice and Mary Jane are gone. Your Cousin Lucy will not
be long behind her loved ones, though she has borne up wonderfully in thankfulness for Mary Jane's triumphant
end. She came up each time and saw them laid to rest... Mary Jane Davis, to her son, Eugene Davis, July 17, 1864