MONDAY, FEB. 22. This is the birth-day of Washington. The Independence and Lexington are brilliantly dressed; the flags of all nations stream over them in a gorgeous arch. A salute of twenty-eight guns from the Independence has expressed the homage of each state to the occasion. Even here, and among the native population, Washington is known, and his virtues are revered. People speak of him as a being exempted from the weaknesses of our nature—as one commissioned of Heaven for a great and glorious purpose, and endowed with the amazing powers requisite for its accomplishment. It is the character of Washington that will never die. His achievements will long survive on the page of history, but his character is embalmed in the human heart. It is not a man’s deeds that of themselves render him immortal. There must be some high consecrating motive. He who reared the most gigantic of the pyramids has perished. He sought an eternal remembrance in his monument, and not in any virtues which it was to perpetuate. The monument remains, but where is its builder? “Gone, glimmering through the twilight of the past.” TUESDAY, FEB. 23. We are eagerly looking for the arrival of store-ships from the United States. Our squadron is without provisions, except fresh grub from the shore. Our ships, as far as sea-service is concerned, are of about as much use as so many nautical pictures. They look stately and brave, as they ride at anchor in our bay; but let them go to sea, and they would carry famine with them. It is a strange policy that keeps a squadron on this coast in such a disabled condition. One would suppose the Department had concluded men could live at sea on moonshine. WEDNESDAY, FEB. 24. A Californian woman complained to me, several months since, of very ill-treatment from her husband. He was thoroughly indolent, cross, and abusive. She had him and the children to feed and clothe, while he did nothing but lounge about, find fault, and abuse her. She asked for a divorce; but I told her she must be satisfied, for the present, with a separation. So I called him before me, and ordered him to gather up his traps, and leave the house for six months. He grumbled a little, but obeyed the order. To-day, the woman returned, and said she would try to live with her husband again; that he often now walked past the house, and looked very lonely and dejected; that she felt sorry for him, and, if I was willing, she would try him again. I told her, with all my heart; that this was good Christian conduct in her, and much better than a divorce. She seemed gratified with this warm commendation; so did her husband with the permission to return. How the restoration will turn out, remains to be seen. But how forgiving is the heart of woman! Where she has once loved, the affection never dies. Neglect may chill it, but it will bud again, as plants, over which the snows of winter have been spread.