the earthen fence.
is a church of poor materials, put together in the crude though showy Mexican
No beauty feeds the eye. No magic clothes a gateway; no enchantment lurks in shaft and skyline; yet a sacred edifice is always solemn, and a broken arch affects our feelings like the epitaph on a friend.
The pathos of San Carlos
lies in the fact of its being the ruin of an Indian's church.
No door impedes our entrance to the nave, no rail prevents our passage to the altar-steps.
A portion of the roof still rests on solid beams; the rest has fallen in, and helped to choke up nave and chancel.
No one seems to care.
Starting the squirrels from their holes, the night birds from their nests, we pick our way from stone to stone.
A chapel stands near the gate, and a door within the chancel opens into a sacristy.
Some mural paintings still remain on wall and vault; such painted scrolls and pious messages as you read in village churches of Castille.
la Bemos Aj