THE SKELETON PREACHER, AND THE

CONGREGATION OF DRY BONES.

EXTRACT FROM AN ANCIENT JEWISH RECORD.

THE valley was wide, long, and very capacious, but the reign of desolation was there. The green grass had spread no carpet over the ground; neither plant nor flowering shrub was to be seen; nor did the tall forest tree, lifting up its majestic form toward heaven, there wave its beautiful branches in the breeze, or cast its refreshing shade around. The naked earth had long been baked and scorched by the rays of a torrid sun. No living form was seen in that deserted and desolate field. Every beast of the forest kept aloof. Nor was it approached by one of "the cattle upon a thousand hills." Even the birds of the air shunned it, as they are said to have shunned the lake of Sodom, and the very winds of heaven appeared paralyzed and powerless when they came to the confines of this kingdom of the dead.

The valley was "full of bones; and behold, there were very many in the open valley; and lo, they were very dry." (Ez. xxxvii. 1, 2.) While I gazed on the sad scene before me, my ear was caught by a strange, unearthly voice. "I am the pastor of this congregation," said the voice; "this day is the seventieth anniversary

of the commencement of my ministry among you, and now I am about to preach again."

I turned to see the speaker, and behold there stood up in the midst of the valley a ghastly skeleton of dry bones. Its naked, fleshless condition gave it the appearance of unusual tallness, and the long bones on which it stood, and of which it was composed, appeared extremely dry. The ribs had a bleached and wasted aspect, from long exposure in the open plain. The skull was bare and weather-beaten, and the empty sockets, where eyes should have been, had a frightful, ghastly look; the teeth were all exposed, and extremely white. Sometimes he stretched out his long, fleshless arm and hand, and then every bone was distinctly seen. Sometimes he brought his hand to his side, and then his dry fingers would rattle on his naked ribs; and then, again, he would clasp his hands, while the bones would clatter and clank one against another. How he could speak without the use of lungs, or lips, or tongue, I could not tell; but there was a strange, sepulchral hollowness in his voice, and his articulation had a supernatural and horrible distinctness.

As he turned his head to address the different parts of his congregation, the naked skull harshly grated and creaked on the dry neck bones; yet there was an air of gloomy satisfaction in the manner of this skeleton preacher, while he surveyed the multitude before him, as if their situation delighted him much. A haggard expression of approval looked out through the hollow sockets of his eyes, and there appeared on his naked cheek-bone the dim counterfeit of a ghastly smile.

"O ye dry bones," he exclaimed; "this is the anni

versary of my profitable and acceptable ministry among you. It is therefore highly proper that we should mutually rejoice together; yea, that we should mutually rejoice in each other; for few preachers have had such a congregation, and few congregations have had such a preacher.

"O ye dry bones, on this joyful occasion you must allow me to speak freely. I must go into particulars, and rehearse the many things in your present prosperous and promising condition, that afford me rapturous delight.

"First, then, O ye dry bones, I am in raptures while I contemplate you, because you are so steady. Steadiness and stillness are well known as the attributes of profound attention, and thus you bestow the highest encomium on your esteemed and beloved pastor; for what congregation have been so long composed and orderly, under stated and regular ministrations, as you have been under mine? For the term of seventy years, you have been entirely steady, and still, no one of you has moved the breadth of a hair. It is true, O ye dry bones, that a superficial observer might ascribe your stillness to a want of life. Indeed, when I have. been boasting of my charge, and telling abroad how calm and composed my congregation continue, notwithstanding the surrounding agitations of a troubled and tumultuous world, it has been broadly hinted to me that my church is dead, utterly dead, and that the stillness there is the stillness of death. But, O ye dry bones, none of these things move me. I scorn calumny and misrepresentation. I maintain that we are conservative; not dead, but highly conservative. A mere itinerant preacher, or transient visitor, cannot judge of

your state as your judicious and experienced pastor can; and he puts a very different construction on the collected calmness and regular habits that have characterized you through a long series of years; yea, the stability and composure that reign among you are the joy of his heart, and the theme of his daily exultation. But I must proceed to the

"Second characteristic. O ye dry bones, I am exceedingly gratified with the uniformity that has long prevailed among you. Who has not heard that consistency is a jewel? Now, O ye dry bones, you are consistent; you are uniform in your habits; I always know where to find you. An uncertain church I cannot bear. But here you are just in the same spot where you were seventy years ago, and just as dry. O, what a privilege to be the pastor of such a church! and what a privilege for a church to have such a preacher! The 'fits and starts,' that have agitated many other churches -the spasmodic awakenings,' that have disturbed them have never affected you in the least, since the happy day of my installation as your pastor. You have slept on, O ye dry bones, and taken your rest, from month to month, and from year to year. Indeed, such has been your admirable uniformity, that if I were called on to say which year of my popular ministry among you has been most notable for sound sleeping, and motionless, stagnant inactivity, it would be hard to make the selection.

"In this respect, O ye dry bones, you have been a constant source of comfort and consolation to me. It must be confessed, that our lot has fallen to us in the midst of a restless and agitated world. The kingdom of nature, I am sorry to say, is sadly out of joint. I

have no doubt that it is in consequence of the fall; but I find that the wheels of nature and the wheels of time have a mighty propensity to be in motion. Indeed, I am continually disturbed by departures from that standard of excellence, which we have long since set up in our model congregation.' The changes of morning and evening, noon and night, are to me exceedingly annoying. How much more desirable would it be to have uniformity! And as light is fleeting and transient in its very nature, I should give my voice for the establishment of the kingdom of perpetual, unmitigated night. I long for uniformity. The clouds, of heaven, also, appear restless, and fond of flitting about : one day they are driving over the face of the sky, and another day wholly out of sight. We have fair weather and foul, clear days and cloudy, wet days and dry days. I am perplexed with mutability in the kingdom of nature. I have heard of a happy period, in days of old, when there was no rain for three years and six months. What delightful uniformity the seasons must have had at that time! How happy the lot of those who lived in that day! But now the earth is distracted with successive changes. The streams are, at one time, so low as to show the pebbles at the bottom; and then they will rise, and overflow all their banks. The restless ocean is ebbing and flowing every day, and the earth itself is constantly varying. Scarcely has winter subdued the vegetable kingdom, and established its reign, when spring bursts forth, and sends out its buds, and wakes its flowers, and throws its green robes over 'hill, and dale, and mountain-peak.' And then summer comes, with its harvests, and autumn, with its fruits. Alas for the mutability that