In the center of this enclosure rises a large wooden cross set on a stone pedestal.

The storms have doubled over the tin plate for the inscription INRI, and the rains have effaced the letters.

At the foot of the cross, as on the real Golgotha, is a confused heap of skulls and bones which the indifferent grave-digger has thrown from the graves he digs, and there they will probably await, not the resurrection of the dead, but the coming of the animals to defile them.

Round about may be noted signs of recent excavations; here the earth is sunken, there it forms a low mound.

There grow in all their luxuriance the _tarambulo_ to prick the feet with its spiny berries and the _pandakaki_ to add its odor to that of the cemetery, as if the place did not have smells enough already.