The Alleghanian. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1859-1865, 1861-06-20

yard hold the dust OF the maid VINO proud
ly tossed back her midnight hair and
smiled at the fair image the water, in this
same basin from which the bird had an
griiy flown, gave back
All we all mock at decay, and put
death at the furthest possible point from
us. The Spanish maiden, if such that
grave held, was no more FOOLS than we.
These churches, buildings, basins, trees
and all were then in their strength, but
Time, the leveler of so much of earth,
laid his hand heavily, and when he lifted
it, ''decay" was written everywhere.
The church is very large, being $50
feet long and 80 feet wide. 1t has the
usual number of pictures, statues and i'm
ages always found in old Catholic churches.
1t is butt Of stone, and no bar ever better
witlstood the ravaoes of time than the
town about it. 1t is most picturesque in
its decay. The interior of the church is
ornamented with rude but bright frescoes
by Indian artists. A few old oil paintings
from Spain and Mexico hang on the wall,
softened by time but spotted by neglect /;
while the frames in which they were set
are becoming mouldy and worm-eaten.
The images, once bright and gaudy with
paint and tlnsel, arc now dingy and tat
tered. Here again Time has written
"decay."
A few Franciscan monks keep the mon
astery and church in repair. We called
on the oldest, "Father Consoles" an old
Spaniard, who had known the mission In
its days of prosperity, and could tell Of
former wealth and busy life where now all
is poverty and desolation could tell of a
wilderness reclaimed and made fruitful, of
sayaSes taught the arts of civilized life,
and OF heathen converted. But the wealth
has departed, the Indians are scattered,
and the rule of the Roman church passed
away forever.
Nights curtain was falling and dark
shadows already creeping through the
dusty aisles and over the faded pictures OF
Santa Barbaras old Spanish church when
passed from its solitude the evening of
my first visit. Low black clouds hung
over the ''pile of ruins" as ] stepped upon
the grass grown way. Muttering thunder
broke on the ear, and the vivid lightning
came, fash after flash, frightening the
silver points Of the broken cross. The
orange and palm trees, a few Of which
were still growing near the monastery,
turned up the silver side of their leaves
and rustled solemniy. The first heavy
drops of rain sounded monotonously as
they fell into the hollow Of one of the
halt-broken stone basins. | sought the
hospitality of Father Consoles, and from
a window watched the progress of the
storm and pictured the past scenes of this
present Gesolation alternately. As | gazed
upon the ruins, could scarcely believe |
was in America. 1t carried me back
again to the old world with its decayed
greatness, its ruins of former splendor-
1t carried me back to its histories of
bloodshed and wrong, Its stIifes of races
and religions and, indeed, it is the same
story, the same drama enacted here on the
shores Of the Pacific.
Man rears a pyramid, and on it writes zen
dura ble.''
Time and tempest touch it, each leaves It's
mark.
If it is marble white, there is stain;
If it is granite gray, it blackens.
Years roll on years, days, months go in and
out,
Dust turns to dust, the architect is dead.
a son of the next century stands by the ruin,
He talks, long, wisely talks, of ''fell decay"
Then proudly walks away, builds his own
pyramid. and dies.
We know, yet Will not own, what creatures of
to-day we are.