Serro, Sub-Prefect of San Pablo, before
whom attest of the above was made. Touching this matter, the worthy
Prefect observes, "That although the body of Father Jose doth show
evidence of grievous conflict in the flesh, yet that is no proof that
the Enemy of Souls, who could assume the figure of a decorous elderly
caballero, could not at the same time transform himself into a bear for
his own vile purposes."

THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VINCENTIO

A LEGEND OF SAN FRANCISCO.

One pleasant New Year's Eve, about forty years ago, Padre Vicentio was
slowly picking his way across the sand-hills from the Mission Dolores.
As he climbed the crest of the ridge beside Mission Creek, his broad,
shining face might have been easily mistaken for the beneficent image of
the rising moon, so bland was its smile and so indefinite its features.
For the Padre was a man of notable reputation and character; his
ministration at the mission of San Jose had been marked with cordiality
and unction; he was adored by the simple-minded savages, and had
succeeded in impressing his individuality so strongly upon them that the
very children were said to have miraculously resembled him in feature.

As the holy man reached the loneliest portion of the road, he naturally
put spurs to his mule as if to quicken that decorous pace which the
obedient animal had acquired through long experience of its master's
habits. The locality had an unfavorable reputation. Sailors--deserters
from whaleships--had been seen lurking about the outskirts of the town,
and low scrub oaks which everywhere beset the trail might have easily
concealed some desperate runaway. Besides these material obstructions,
the devil, whose hostility to the church was well known, was said to
sometimes haunt the vicinity in the likeness of a spectral whaler, who
had met his death in a drunken bout, from a harpoon in the hands of a
companion. The ghost of this unfortunate mariner was frequently observed
sitting on the hill toward the dusk of evening, armed with his favorite
weapon and a tub containing a coil of line, looking out for some belated
traveller on whom to exercise his professional skill. It is related
that the good Father Jose Maria of the Mission Dolores had been twice
attacked by this phantom sportsman; that once, on returning from San
Francisco, and panting with exertion from climbing the hill, he was
startled by a stentorian cry of "There she blows!" quickly followed by
a hurt