We all know the general custom, practice, or superstition, if you please, of interring the dead on the South side of our churches, in preference to the North side ; so much so, that this latter place is never dug open but to throw therein poor unfortunate strangers who may happen to die in the parish, and those who sign their own felo de se. Yet all do not know why or wherefore there is such a dissolutionary partiality to this South portion of dust to receive defunct mortality. The cause is thus defined. On this said Southern point the “warm ” sun darts his genial influence, within whose rays no imp, or fairy, demon of ill, or spectre pale, can haunt the silent graves, to torture hovering souls unwilling to leave their clay-cold corpses, to seek in midway air an imperfect immortality. Chilling blasts, damps, and space for rites infernal, premeditating direful wreck on holy fanes, mark the Northern sod ; on every blade of blighted grass lurks some supernatural foe to quiet in man’s last abode. The Church overshadows this precluded spot ; there, where the all-cheering orb of day is never ” felt,” has Fancy bred a train of dreaded miseries, driving fading Life to sink in Death’s more blest domain, midst hallowed mould, midst spirits good, and good men’s prayers !
AN ARCHITECT.