Mary Jane Graham was born in London, April 11, 1803. Her father was engaged in a respectable business, from which he retired a few years before his daughter’s death (and chiefly from regard to her delicate health), to the village of Stoke Fleming, near Dartmouth, Devon. She appears to have been the subject of early religious convictions. At the age of seven she had acquired those habits of secret prayer, which may be considered a favourable mark of divine influence upon her soul. But we will give the history of this era of her life in her own words. To a friend who had evinced some incredulity of the genuineness or permanency of early impressions of religion, she thus writes:
‘March 20, 1827.
“You appear, my dear friend, to think very early piety too wonderful a thing to be true. It is wonderful—so wonderful that, when David was contemplating the starry firmament, he was drawn for a moment from his meditation on the wonders he there beheld, by the still greater wonder of “God’s ordaining strength out of the mouths of babes and sucklings” (Ps. 8:1-4). But David’s wonder and yours were of a very different nature—he wondered and adored. Jesus, too, that “man of sorrows,” once “rejoiced in spirit,” because God “had hid these things from the wise and prudent, and revealed them unto babes. Even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight” (Luke 10:21). ‘Even so, Lord Jesus; in thy rejoicing will I too rejoice; let the world think me a fool or an enthusiast, or beside myself, as they thought thee.’ The story of ‘Little Henry and his Bearer,’ to which I believe you allude, I have been assured by Miss ——, is every word of it true. Do not then bring upon yourself the dreadful sin of limiting the power of the Holy One of Israel. Jesus has said, “Suffer little children to come;” (Mark 10:14) and they will come, if he calls them. As facts are the strongest of all proofs, bear with me a little longer, while I tell you briefly the history of a child, for the truth of which I can vouch. I knew a little girl, about sixteen years and a half ago. She was much like other children, as full of sin and vanity as ever she could hold; and her parents had not as yet taken much pains to talk to her about religion. So she went on in the way of her own evil heart, and thought herself a very good little girl, because she said her prayers every night and morning, and was not more passionate, wilful, and perverse, than most of her young companions. The God of love did not think this sinful child too young to learn of Jesus. He so ordered it about the time I am speaking of, when she was just seven years old, that she was led by a pious servant into some almshouses belonging to Rowland Hill, who had just been preaching in them. The servant and an aged woman entered into a long conversation together, to which the little girl listened, and wondered what could make them like to talk about such things. But at the close of it, the old woman took the child affectionately by the hand, and said to her—‘My dear child, make the Lord Jesus your friend now that you are so young: and when you come to be as old as I am, He’ll never leave you nor forsake you.’ God the Spirit sent these simple words to the poor sinful child’s heart. She walked home in silence by her nurse’s side, thinking how she could get Jesus to be her friend. Then she remembered how often she had slighted this dear Saviour; how she had read of him in the Bible, and been wearied of the subject: how she had heard the minister preach about Jesus, and wished the long dry sermon over: how she had said prayers to Him without minding what she said; how she had passed days, weeks, and months, without thinking of him; how she had loved her play, her books, and her toys, and her playfellows—all, all better than Jesus. Then the Holy Spirit convinced her of sin. She saw that no one good thing dwelt in her, and that she deserved to be cast away from God for ever. Would Jesus love her now? Would he ever forgive her? She feared not; but she would try. She would make herself very good, and then perhaps, Jesus would be her friend. But the more this little girl tried to be good, the more her naughty heart got the better of her; for she was trying in her own strength. She was led to give up trying in that way; and many long nights did she spend in praying “with strong crying and tears” to Jesus, that he would teach her how to get her sins pardoned, and make her fit to have Him for her friend. Let me mention it for the encouragement of those who seek Jesus, that He did not disdain to listen to the prayers of this little child. He put it into her heart to read the Bible, of which, though she understood not all, yet she gathered enough to give her some comfort. One day her attention was fixed on these words—“The Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world” (John 1:9). Now something that could take away sin was just what this little girl wanted; and she asked her father to tell her who this Lamb of God was. He explained to her this precious verse. But who can describe the raptures which filled the bosom of this little child, when made to comprehend that the “blood of Jesus cleanseth from all sin.” Now she fled to Jesus indeed. Now she knew that He had loved her, and given himself for her; now the Spirit of God, who often “chooseth the weak and foolish things of the world, to confound the wise and mighty,” (1 Cor. 1:27) “shed abroad the love of God in the heart” (Rom. 5:5) of a weak and foolish child, and “filled her with peace and joy in believing” (Rom. 15:13). She had no one whom she could talk to of these things. But she held sweet converse with her reconciled God and Father: and gladly would she have quitted this life to go and dwell with Jesus. Since then she has spent nearly seventeen years of mingled happiness and pain. But she has had Jesus for her friend; and He never has, and never will forsake her (Heb. 13:5). She has forsaken Him more than once for a season, and turned to follow the vain things of the world. But her Shepherd’s eye has been over her in her wanderings, and He has never suffered her quite to depart from Him. To this day, her vain and treacherous heart is continually leading her to provoke her heavenly friend. “He visits her transgressions with the rod, and her iniquity with stripes;” but he has sworn never to “take his loving kindness from her, nor to suffer his faithfulness to fail” (Ps. 89:32, 33). She is constrained to acknowledge, that during all this time she has never done one thing that could merit God’s favour. Free grace, free mercy, are all her song; “It is of the Lord’s mercy she has not long ago been consumed” (Lam. 3:22). She is quite sure she could never have changed her own heart. No; God has begun the good work in her, and he must carry it on; and from first to last, let glory be ascribed to Him, and let her take the shame and confusion to herself. At this moment she desires to live, if she may be made the means of converting one sinner to Jesus; but if not, she would rather “depart and be with Christ, which is far better.” She is far from despising earthly blessings. Every morsel she puts into her mouth, the very air she breathes, is made sweet and refreshing by the loving hand that sends it. Once there was a curse on all her earthly blessings. But now “Christ hath redeemed her from the curse of the law, being made a curse for her” (Gal. 3:13). She would give it as her living experience, and leave it when she goes hence as her dying testimony, that there is nothing worth living for except to know Him, and see others come to Him, and wash their guilty souls in the blood of the Lamb. God has given her the blessing of seeing a happy change take place in some of the dear companions of her childhood and youth. She waits upon him for the salvation of the rest; and there is no one, whom she longs after more ardently in the Lord, than that dear and valued friend of her earliest days, to whom this letter is addressed; and to whom she wishes every spiritual blessing, that God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost can bestow, now and for evermore: Amen and Amen.’