The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1871-11-05

Uadeg the YsW Trees.
The churchyard b connected with tn
chief Of the joys and sorrows Of tho life o
man. Through it the bridal party passes
to the altar, and through IL the coffin j
borne to its last resting,place. Who Il
there amongst us whose thoughts in th'
quietness OF night or Of prayer. do mo-
all that remains on earth of some dca,
friend whose grave is in some sort the con,
ire OF our lief II our homo 10 in vii
lage, We feel more Intimately connected
with the churchyard. Its history 10 oul
history for year by year we have seer
from childhood, with whom as children wi
have played, or with whom as men we havl
worked and talked.
There is = story told Of man who, in
cited BY the greed of riches, laid In wait
tor and murdered in the high road q traveller
whom he knew to be in possession Of q
sum Of money. He had hammer and 9
with the hammer, and then, to make sure
that he was dead, he drove the nail into bis
skull. He took the money, and escaped
with it to America. There, in one of the
large cities, he lived for years in security
He used the money to the best advantage
and seemed to prosper with it, for, as time
went on, it increased and multiplied until
he became rich man. Aud the world
spoke we'll Of him, and praised him for hi.
industry and perseverance,. But all thil
time mysterious fascination was leading
him to desire to revisit his native village
and whom thirty years had passed, and hi
had grown from a young man to an old one
and he imagined that many Of those who
had known him would have passed away
and Of those who remained none. conld re-
cognize him, he determined to return home
So he crossed the Atlantic once more, and
was again in England. He went home
He looked again upon the place where the
fatal deed was done, and wandering on, he
scarce knew whittier, bis steps led him to
Of the tombs, he rested. Strange thoughts
and visions must have passed through his
mind. Clearly aud wildly must have
come before him the wickedness of his deed;
perhaps more clearly than ever before now,
when he could contrast and compare the
deed and its reward. For what awaited him
now the riches and esteem he had acquired
in another worldi Here he was no more, nc
less than he was before Coda murderer
The reward to him now was nothing; the
deed fearful crime, whose blackness and
horror seemed to crush him with a weight
that grew each instant more unbearable
He saw nothing but the Aene of the MUIR
der, heard nothing but the dying mans
last groaD.
Near him the sexton was digging grave
1t was not the sexton he had known, and
this one looked at him with eyes in which
there was no recognition, when, to inter-
rupt the chain Of his ideas, he walked to-
wards the grave. The spade struck against
some hard substance, and the sexton threw
started, for his nerves were highly strung,
but presently looking again, he recoiled
with horror, for through the bone of the
skull a rusty nail was driven.
Whilst his eyes were axed to the horrible
object with balf-incredulous gaze, the
skull began to move slowly. 1t turned
round until the empty sockets seemed to
could bear. Guilty! guilty my God "
he cried in loud voice. at confess it
am murderer And he fell on his knees
in paroxysm of remorse and fear. He
made no attempt at defending himself, but
told to all that he had committed the mur-
der, and shortly afterwards he was tried
for it and executed. We may surely hope
that his sorrow, imperfect though it might
be, would procure his pardon at the tribu-
nal of the just Judge before whom he went
self-accused.
Although, perclsance, mouse inside
might have cause the skull to move in the
way that seemed to the conscience-stricken
nize in the story the dealings of Almighty
God, who for His own wise purpose led
this unhappy man back across the ocean to
the churcl,yard of his native village at the
very moment when the skull of his victim
was brought to light. Perhaps in this way
only could his soul be moved to repentance
and saved from everlasting death. All
men must, from their own experience, soon
er or later, acknowledge with Shakespeare,
There IS n divinity that sbapes our ends,
Rough how them how we will
We may plan and propose, but the hand of
God will execute; and those only are wise
who live in conformity of will with the
mind that directs and governs all things
1t is impossible, in passing through our
old churchyards, many of which are very
beautiful, not to feel a great pity for those
who were buried there, and inside the
churches before the reformation. They
thought they should lie until the end of the
worid-where the rays from the lamp of the
sanctuary would illuminate their graves;
that daily round-of masses, and vespers,
and benedctions would be forever CON
tinued close to them, aad that the pious
prayers of congregations passing to and
from the church would never fail them!
Poor souls! For three hundred years those
sanctuaries have been desolate, and the