“The political aspirants in California have inflicted upon her since 1836, only a continued succession of evils. They have seized all the national property and all the missions, as though they were their own patrimony. These riches they have distributed with a prodigal hand among their satellites; a multitude of officers were created, for whom there was no employment; and military grades established more abundantly than in Paraguay, though with this difference in the result. Doctor Francia, when he died, left eight millions of dollars in the public coffers; while the military chieftains in this country, at the close of their brief career, have left the country overwhelmed in debt. And now, to gratify their infatuated ambition, and secure further plunder, have again hoisted the Mexican flag, which they have long hated and cursed. The rash step taken by these men at the town of the Angeles has only compromised their brethren, and ruined many families. The wealth of this country consists in cattle and agriculture; to maintain the one and carry on the other, horses are indispensable; but these frantic men have driven off the horses and cattle to meet the exigencies of war. They have given their afflicted country her death-stroke, merely because they are not permitted to retain those offices which they are not capable of filling. And such outrageous ambition is called by them, love of country! If there ever existed a spark of patriotism in their hearts, they would never have attempted the slightest revolutionary act. They would have seen and felt that it could end only in general disaster and ruin.” Thus writes an old Californian, with the frosts of seventy winters on his head. He understands the condition of this country, and the character of her military chieftains, and has the moral courage to tell the world what he thinks. THURSDAY, DEC. 17. The United States brig Julia, a prize to the Cyane, left our harbor this morning for the southern coast. She is a beautiful vessel, rides the water like a duck, and sails with the speed of the wind. Her masts rake to an angle that might almost startle a Baltimore clipper. She is commanded by Lieut. Selden, an officer to whose professional attainments she may be safely confided. She goes south to communicate with Col. Fremont at the Rincon, a narrow pass below Santa Barbara. The colonel’s route will lead him through this pass, which lies hemmed in between the bluff of a mountain range and the dashing surge of the sea. A small force can defend it against immense odds. Its advantages are well known to the Californians. They have often in their previous revolutions made a stand here, though they have never made it quite a Thermopylæ. Should they post themselves in this pass, the well-trained gun of the Julia may dislodge them, or, at least, act in concert with Col. Fremont on his arrival. A man wants the eyes of Argus in this California war.