The Levant takes home in her my friend, Lieut. T——: he has resigned his commission in the navy, and takes orders in the church. He is a pretty good classical scholar, and has made himself familiar with the principles of biblical exegesis. All this has been accomplished during those few leisure hours which the duties of a watch-officer leave one at sea. It is seemingly reversing the order of things for the navy to supply the church with spiritual teachers. But few, however, have left the deck for the pulpit; a much larger number have reached it from the diagrams and drills of West Point. Among them are some of our most eloquent and impressive preachers. Of this class is the present Bishop of Ohio. We have all been busy in writing letters home, and shall make up a pretty large mail, filled with tender recollections, and overflowing with the California news. How the intelligence of our proceedings here will strike our friends and the country at large, is mere matter of conjecture. We are acting, however, not only in view of the alleged collision between the American and Mexican forces on the Rio Grande, but in reference to the anarchy and confusion into which this country has been thrown by a revolution which did not originate with us. THURSDAY, JULY 30. To-day I entered on the duties of my office as alcalde of Monterey: my jurisdiction extends over an immense extent of territory, and over a most heterogeneous population. Almost every nation has, in some emigrant, a representative here—a representative of its peculiar habits, virtues, and vices. Here is the reckless Californian, the half-wild Indian, the roving trapper of the West, the lawless Mexican, the licentious Spaniard, the scolding Englishman, the absconding Frenchman, the luckless Irishman, the plodding German, the adventurous Russian, and the discontented Mormon. All have come here with the expectation of finding but little work and less law. Through this discordant mass I am to maintain order, punish crime, and redress injuries. FRIDAY, JULY 31. Nearly all the houses in Monterey are of one story, with a corridor. The walls are built of adobes, or sun-baked brick, with tiled roofs. The centre is occupied by a large hall, to which the dining-room and sleeping apartments seem mere appurtenances. Every thing is in subordination to the hall, and this is designed and used for dancing. It has a wood floor, and springs nightly to the step of those who are often greeted in the whirl of their amusements, by the risen sun. The dance and a dashing horse are the two objects which overpower all others in interest with the Californians. The fiddle has been silent since our flag went up, from the fact that many of the gentlemen have left to join Gen. Castro. But if they return, though covered with disaster, the fiddle will be called upon to resume its fantastic functions. You might as well attempt to extinguish a love of air in a life-preserver as the dancing propensity in this people.