THE WONDERFUL SPRING OF SAN JOAQUIN. Of all the fountains that poets sing,— Ponce de Leon's Fount of Youth; In short, of all the springs of Time That ever were flowing in fact or rhyme, That ever were tasted, felt, or seen, There were none like the Spring of San Joaquin. Anno Domini Eighteen-Seven, Father Dominguez (now in heaven,— Obiit Eighteen twenty-seven) Found the spring, and found it, too, By his mule's miraculous cast of a shoe; For his beast-a descendant of Balaam's ass Stopped on the instant, and would not pass. The Padre thought the omen good, On the honest faith of a true believer- In the vacuum of a glass receiver, And the snows that seventy winters bring Such, at least, was the wondrous news The Church, of course, had its own views Of who were worthiest to use The magic spring; but the prior claim Fell to the aged, sick, and lame. Far and wide the people came : Some from the healthful Aptos creek Suddenly found they were far from well; The Spring of San Joaquin. Said, in fact, they had never been so : Over the mountain they poured in Not in the eyes of Faith alone The good effects of the waters shone; Angular forms were rounded out, Limbs grew supple, and waists grew stout; 157 From Pescadero to Monterey, You'll still find eyes in which are seen The liquid graces of San Joaquin. There is a limit to human bliss, And the Mission of San Joaquin had this: But they fell sick in the queerest way,— With gastric symptoms: so they spent Beyond their bowers of living green,-~- Winter passed, and the summer came: Here and there through the underwood All of the breezy solitude Was filled with the spicing of pine and bay And resinous odours mixed and blended, And dim and ghost-like far away The Spring of San Joaquin. The smoke of the burning woods ascended. Arched its spine in a feline fashion; And Nature shook in a speechless passion; And, swallowed up in the earthquake's spleen, The wonderful Spring of San Joaquin Vanished, and never more was seen! Two days passed: the Mission folk Some of them looked a trifle white; But that, no doubt, was from earthquake fright. Three days there was sore distress, : Headache, nausea, giddiness. Four days faintings, tenderr.css Of the mouth and fauces; and in less Than one week,-here the story closes; Of Spring or Mission of San Joaquin. 159 |