SUNDAY, JAN. 17. As I was passing this morning one of the little huts sprinkled around the skirts of Monterey, my steps were arrested by the low moans which issued from its narrow door. On entering, I found on a straw pallet a mother whom disease had wasted to a mere shadow, but whose sufferings were now nearly over. She did not notice my entrance, or any thing around; her eyes were lifted, fixed, and glassed in death. A slight motion drew my attention to another corner of the hut, where I discovered, in the dim twilight of the place, a little boy lying on a mat, whom I supposed asleep; his young sister was near him, and trying to cross his hands on his breast. She did not seem to notice me, spake not a word, but went on with her baffled task, for the hand which she had adjusted would roll off while she was attempting to recover the other. Now and then she stopped for a moment and kissed the lips which could return none, while her tears fell silently on the face of her dead brother. In a few minutes two women entered, who, it seems, had gone out to call their clergyman to administer the last rites to the mother. He was too late: her spirit had fled. He spoke to her, called her by name—but there was no answer; he turned to the little boy, whispered Raphael, but all was silent and still. Directing the women where to procure grave-clothes at the expense of the alcalde’s office, I wended my way home. How little heeds the great stream of life the silent rivulets of sorrow which mingle with its noisy tide! MONDAY, JAN. 18. It is deeply to be regretted that the military operations in California should prevent, at this time, an experimental proof of the fertility of her soil. The rain that has already fallen is so abundant, that all the arable land will retain its moisture sufficiently to enable the crops to come to maturity. But this war has broken up every agricultural arrangement, and defeated every possibility of a generous harvest. The calamity will be felt most severely by the emigrants. They arrive here with very slender means; and the idea of paying twenty dollars a barrel for flour covers them with dismay. Instead of having reached a land of plenty, they hastily conclude that they are to suffer the miseries of destitution, and yield to a despondency deeper than that which shook the faith of the Israelites before their wants were miraculously supplied. But there is no manna here, and no quails, except those which are secured by the hunter’s skill. The day of miracles is over, even in California.