MONDAY, FEB. 1. The forces under Col. Fremont were within a few leagues of the town of the Angels when Com. Stockton entered it. Their approach cut off the retreat of the Californians to the north. The forces of the commodore were on foot, and of course unable to follow up their brilliant successes. The enemy were mounted, and might have held the country around. If attacked, they had only to retreat, and return again on the retiring footsteps of their foes. But at this critical juncture, Col. Fremont, with his battalion, came down upon them, leaving them no alternative but to capitulate or attempt a disastrous flight into Mexico. They wisely, with the exception of a few, determined to abide the conditions of a treaty. The terms of capitulation are couched in a spirit of great liberality and justice. One would hardly think that men so amiable and confiding in their terms of peace, could have just been on the eve of taking each others lives. But this is one of those exhibitions of forbearance and generosity which not unfrequently relieve the calamities of war. The articles of capitulation, in substance, were, that the Californians shall surrender their arms to Col. Fremont, return peaceably to their homes, and not resume hostilities during the continuance of the war with Mexico;—that they shall be guarantied the protection of life and property, and equal rights and privileges with the citizens of the United States. These terms were duly subscribed by the commissioners appointed by the parties to the compact, and ratified by Col. Fremont. They were liberal in their spirit, wise in their purpose, and just in their application. More rigorous terms would have involved a sense of humiliation in one party, without any advantage to the other. The Californians were defeated, but not crushed. They have those salient energies which rebound from misfortune, as their native forests sweep back into the face of heaven, when the tempest has passed. They never took the field out of reverence for the Mexican flag: it was a wild impulse, deriving its life from a love of adventure, and the excitements of the camp. They had had their tragedy, acted their part, and were now willing the dim curtain should drop; and Col. Fremont very wisely clenched it to the stage. A few in the orchestra still piped; but the actors were away, the sidescenes vacant, and the spectators at their homes; and there may they remain, till the sword shall be beaten into the ploughshare, and the spear into the pruning-hook, and the art of war be known no more.