But all things else about her drawn,
From May-time and the cheerful dawn.”
The features of Adam betrayed his affinity to Eve. It was a brother’s pride hovering over a sister’s loveliness. This imparted the highest moral charm to the association. No unhallowed thought cast an ambiguous shadow on the purity of their bliss. It was dashed by the evil one while yet untouched by sorrow. When all was lost, Adam sustained himself in his irreparable calamity with majestic resignation. In a moment of forgetfulness he cast the blame on his companion, but her silent tears instantly subdued him, and he clasped her to his heart. There is no affection so deep as that which springs from sympathy in sorrow. Tears fell here and there among the spectators, as the exiled pair left forever their own sweet Eden. The birds became silent as if they had sung only for the ear of Eve; the flowers would not lift themselves from the light pressure of her departing footstep; and the streamlet trembled in its flow, as if afraid it might lose the image, which her disappearing form had cast upon its crystal mirror.
Tuesday, Feb. 16. It is past midnight, and I have just come from the house of T. O. Larkin, Esq., where I left the youth, the beauty, the wisdom, and worth of Monterey. There are more happy hearts there than I have met with in any other assemblage since I came to California. This is the sunshine that has followed the war-cloud. This being the last night of the carnival, every one has broken his last egg-shells. But few of them contained cologne or lavender; nearly all were filled with golden tinsel. Ladies and gentlemen too are covered with the sparkling shower, and the lights of the chandeliers are thrown back in millions of mimic rays. Two of the young ladies, remarkable for their sprightliness and beauty, broke their eggs on the head of our commodore, and got kissed by way of retaliation. They blushed, but still enjoyed their triumph. I did not venture the lex taliones in this form, but I had eggs, and came off pretty even in the battle. The hens will now have a little peace, and be allowed to hatch their chickens. The origin of this egg-breaking custom I have not been able to learn. It seems lost in the twilight of antiquity. I must leave it to those walking mummies, who love to grope among the catacombs of perished nations: should they discover it, their shouts will almost shake down the Egyptian pyramids.
Wednesday, Feb. 17. A convict on our public works managed to escape to-day, carrying off his ball and chain. Well, if he only will stop stealing, he may run to earth’s utmost verge. I always like to see a fellow get out of trouble, and sometimes half forget his crimes in his misfortunes. This is not right, perhaps, in one situated as I am; but I cannot help it; it is as much beyond my will as the pulses which throb in my veins.
Friday, Feb. 19. The volunteers, who accompanied Col. Fremont to the south, are beginning to return to their homes on the Sacramento. Several of them have stopped here on their way up, and report every thing tranquil below. They murmur in deep undertones over their failure to reach the Pueblo before the forces under Com. Stockton, and ascribe their disappointment to a want of confidence in their courage and skill. I know not how this may be; but, certainly, many and most of them could have had but very little experience in California modes of warfare. They may have been as brave as Cæsar, and their very daring have contributed to their defeat. The secret of success here, where lances are used, lies in a commander’s keeping his troops compact; but this is almost a moral impossibility where men are well mounted and as full of enthusiasm as a Cape Horn cloud of storms; without the severest discipline, they will dash ahead, and take consequences however fatal. It was this error which cost Capt. Burrows and his brave companions their lives.
Saturday, Feb. 20. We have had a fresh stir to-day, in the arrival of Lieut. Watson, of the navy, with dispatches for Com. Shubrick and Gen. Kearny, and with private letters to many of the officers. I have one dated quite into November, and from my own hearth and home. I rushed into the middle of it, then to each end, to ascertain that all were well; and felt there was still one spot of earth covered with golden light.
Mr. Watson sailed from New York, November twelfth, in the brig Sylvan, landed at Chagres, and reached Panama on the twenty-seventh of the same month; was detained there waiting for a conveyance till December the twenty-fifth, when he took passage in an English steamer for Callao, fell in with the U. S. storeship Erie, at Payta, on January third, went on board of her, and arrived at San Francisco in thirty-nine days. But for the detention in Panama, he would have reached here from New York in sixty-seven days. But even this passage may be still further abridged by a line of steamers. The day is not distant when a trip to California will be regarded rather as a diversion than a serious undertaking. It will be quite worth the while to come out here merely to enjoy this climate for a few months. It is unrivalled, perhaps, in the world.
Sunday, Feb. 21. The American Tract Society has sent me out, by the Lexington, a large box of their publications. Nothing could be more timely. I have not seen a tract circulating in California. Emigrants are arriving, settling here and there, without bringing even their Bibles with them. The same is true of the United States troops. All these are to be supplied from home, and by those two great institutions which are now throwing the light of life over continents and isles. It remains for the Missionary Society to do its duty, and dispatch to this shore the self-denying heralds of the Cross.
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?