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gift came upon all men unto justification of life." Rom. v. 17, 18. "For what the law could not do in that it was weak through the flesh, God sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, condemned sin in the flesh; that the righteousness of the law might be fulfilled in us who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit." Rom. viii. 3, 4. "Of him are ye in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom and righteousness, and sanctification and redemption." I. Cor. i. 30.

There must still be a qualification in us, uniting us to Christ; but that qualification is no more works, but faith. "To him that worketh not, but believeth on him that justifieth the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness." Rom. iv. 5. "Even as Abraham believed God, and it was accounted to him for righteousness." Gal. iii. 6.

Although the offering of Christ cannot be applied to us before we sin, nor faster than we sin, (future sins being not pardoned,) yet his one offering completely fills the space of our sinless obedience or righteousness, so that our pardoned sins, (all the past sins of believers,) are fully set aside as the ground of condemnation, though not as occasions of chastisement for our good. As grounds of condemnation they are as though they never had been. We ought to hate them and abhor ourselves on their account, but they form no bar to the love of Christ or of God towards us, though they may be a bar to the present manifestations of his love. "God commendeth his love towards us, in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us. Much more then being now justified by his blood, we shall be saved from wrath through him. For if when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life." Rom. v. 8-10.

This was the marked difference between the typical sacrifices, and the offering of Calvary. "For the law having a shadow of good things to come, and not the very image of the things, can never, with those sacrifices which they offered year by year continually, make the comers thereunto perfect. For

then would they not have ceased to be offered? Because that the worshippers, once purged, should have had no more conscience of sins. But in those sacrifices there is a remembrance again made of sins every year. For it is not possible that the blood of bulls and of goats should take away sins. Then, said I, Lo I come, to do thy will.-By the which will we are sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all. For by one offering he hath perfected forever them that are sanctified." Heb. x. 1-4, 7, 10, 14.

April 16th. Sabbath. I was led, by reading a chapter in Baxter's Saint's Rest, to take up my printed form of self-examination, which I had not examined of late. And I was delighted, and rather astonished, to find that my heart readily responded to every question in the whole form. I see not 1 therefore why I may not indulge the full assurance of hope. Forever blessed be the Lord for this infinite benefit; and O may I devote my whole soul, for the rest of my life, to his honor and praise.

July 8th. I have read the form of self-examination every day since the 16th of April, and can say "Yes," to almost or quite every question, and have enjoyed something like the full assurance of hope. I am determined to read it every day for the rest of my life, unless prevented by sickness.

Last night after retiring to rest I was asking for some blessing as the reward of Christ's obedience and in answer to his intercession. It opened to me in a clearer light than ever before, that Christ was pleading for our happiness and considered himself rewarded by what made us happy. This gave me a new and affecting view of his real and most tender love to us. He considers our happiness as his reward, and seeks for no higher reward than to see us blest. O the reality and infinite tenderness of the love of Christ! He not only desires our happiness, but considers it, and the glory of God involved in it, as the richest and only reward of his obedience "unto death." O may the love of Christ be more real and affecting to my soul than it ever was before! Let me by no means confine my views to his atonement, by which my sins were to be

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forgiven, but dwell upon his obedience, which procured all my positive blessings, and upon the boundless love which regarded them as his reward, and which constantly pleads for their bestowment!

August 7th. Mrs. Griffin was removed by death, after a sickness by dysentery of twelve days, on Tuesday the 25th of July, at half-past five o'clock, P. M. aged 67 years, 10 months and 11 days; having been born Sept. 14th, 1769. Since the funeral I have been so unwell as to be unable to enter this account before. On Monday morning I told her she would probably be in heaven before the next morning. She said she felt composed, and put her trust in Christ. She told Dr. Smith that she had in her mind no uncomfortable feelings. She soon lost herself so far as to be able to add no more. She died an easy death. In addition to an exemplary life, for several months she had exhibited peculiar kindness and concern for me and some fresh evidence of her sanctification. My heart during all that time had gone forth in prayer for her, that she might be fully prepared, and might die an easy and triumphant death. The prayer was answered as to the outward circumstances of her death; and the strong desire I felt for the other part, gives me new and very consoling evidence that our loss is her eternal gain. The Spirit does not give special desires in order to disappoint them. It is a stroke I never felt before. I shall soon follow her. O may this solemn dispensation be sanctified to me and to my children, and may we all be supported under a stroke which the love of Jesus has inflicted. Her entrance into that blessed world makes heaven appear like another apartment of my own house.

The following letter from Mrs. SMITH to the Compiler of this memoir, containing a minute account of her mother's last illness and death, cannot, it is presumed, be unacceptable to the reader.

Newark, August 9, 1837.


Your welcome and most gratifying letter to my dear father was this morning received, and I hasten to convey to you his thanks and that of his children for this new expression of kindness, and for your christian sympathy under our sore bereavement. It is with melancholy pleasure that, in compliance with your request, I review the scenes of sickness and death; but I bless God, it is with different emotions that we are permitted, and at times enabled, to follow the spirit of my sainted mother to one of those "many mansions" which the Saviour had gone before to prepare. You, Sir, knew our departed friend, and to you may I not say, to know was to respect, to love. You knew her to be gentle, kind, humble, refined; but how gentle, how humble, how forbearing, how guileless, how wholly divested of selfishness, you cannot know. No, it is only the two who were nursed on her bosom, who were led by her gentle hand, who were watched ever by her tender eye, for whom she lived and for whom she would gladly have died,-we only can know what we have lost. My sister and I had neither before witnessed the sundering of the immortal from the mortal part; our first definite conceptions of the work of Death were formed while watching his ravages upon that delicate frame. And though, as we are assured by all who were present, he dealt his gentlest blows, and we were enabled to feel that Infinite Love regulated every movement, yet the work was awful, it was sure,-it took from us a mother.

But I will no longer speak of ourselves; it is almost the first time I have been tempted to do so. It is the conviction that you, Sir, are peculiarly fitted to share the afflictions of the mourner, that has led me thus freely to open the recesses of a bleeding heart. But while I now attempt to fulfil the purpose for which I seated myself, you will see that the same Hand which placed in ours the cup of sorrow mingled with it so much sweetness that we almost at the time forgot its bitter


You are aware, Sir, that my beloved mother suffered for many years from the frequent and periodical recurrence of sick head ache. I well remember your mingling your sympathies upon this point, during your late visit, and her referring to the similarity in your cases since. Since my dear mother's residence with us, longer intervals had passed between her head aches than ever before since my remembrance, and I had fondly hoped she was preparing for many years of comfortable health. But I now remember that when I congratulated myself and her on her freedom from head ache, she did not seem to enter into my joyful anticipations. She did not say any thing to check them, for she loved to see us happy, but I now doubt not she felt the increasing infirmities of a broken constitution, perhaps the hidden workings of a fatal disease which forbade her to look for health, save in that world where sickness cannot come. She had a cough for more than five years which distressed her friends, but which she never acknowledged as causing her any pain. This cough disappeared from the commencement of her last illness. Since the commencement of warm weather my parents had both improved in health. My father had preached seven sabbaths in succession before my mother's death. Four times she heard him with delighted interest. On the 9th of July she attended church all day, and afterwards walked through the burying-ground, where 18 days after she was laid, and where she did not remember to have walked before since her removal to Boston. But I linger from the closing scene, as if unrecorded it would become untrue. On the night of the 13th of July my dear mother was attacked with dysentery. In the morning she told me her system was disordered, and I procured for her such simple remedies as her case seemed to require. She had been so 'inured to suffering, and had learned to suffer so patiently, that I think she was not aware of the nature or severity of her disease. It was not before the sabbath that we became aware of it. From that time my husband became anxious, and every thing that affection and human skill could do, was, I believe, done. The disease seemed checked in its violence from that

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