FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION IN SAN

DIEGO.

(Reported expressly for the San Diego Herald.)

TUESDAY last, the 4th of July, being the anniversary of the discovery of San Diego by the Hon. J. J. Warner, in 1846 as well as that of our National Independence ("long may it wave,” &c.), was celebrated in this city with all that spirit and patriotism for which it has ever been distinguished.

Every citizen, with the exception of those who had retired in a state of intoxication, was aroused at 2 A. M. by the soulstirring and tremendous report of the Plaza Artillery, which had been carefully loaded the previous evening with two pounds of powder, and half a bushel of public documents franked to this place by our late honorable representatives. Each citizen on being awakened in this manner (if he imitated the example of your respected reporter), reflected a moment with admiration on our glorious institutions; with pride on our great and increasing country, and with gratitude

on the efforts of those patriotic spirits who had thus aroused him, and after murmuring some aspiration for their future happiness, was about to sink again to sleep, when—Bang! No. 2, more powder, more public documents, effectually aroused him again, to go through the same train of thought, murmur the same aspirations, a little warmer, perhaps, this time, and again become sleepy in time for Bang! No. 3. In this agreeable manner the attention was occupied, and the mind filled with patriotic ideas until just before daylight, when the powder unfortunately gave out, though four bushels of public documents still remained (but they wouldn't go off), and the firing ceased. At sunrise the National Banner would have unfolded its "broad stripes and bright stars" to the breeze, but for the unlucky circumstance of there being no halliards to our flag-staff. We are gratified to learn that a new set will probably be furnished by the Board of Trustees before the next anniversary.

At 8 A. M. a procession was formed, and moved to the sound of an excellent military band, consisting of a gong and a hand-bell, across the Plaza, where it separated into two divisions, one proceeding to the Union House, the other to the Colorado Hotel. At each of these excellent establishments an elegant dejeuner was served up, of the sumptuousness of which the following bill of fare will give some faint idea:

At 9 A. M. precisely, the San Diego Light Infantry in full uniform, consisting of Brown's little boy in his shirt-tail, fired a National salute with a large bunch of fire crackers. This part of the celebration went off admirably; with the exception of the young gentleman having set fire to his shirttail, which was fortunately extinguished immediately, without accident.

At 12 м. an oration was delivered by a gentleman, in the Spanish language, in front of the Exchange, of which your reporter regrets to say he has been unable to remember but the concluding sentence, which, however, he is informed contains many fine ideas. It was nearly as follows:

"Hoy es el dia de Santa Refugia! Hic, Los Americanos son abajos, no vale nada! (Hic,) nada, nada, nada, (hiccup.) Mira! hombre, dar me poco de aguadiente Caramba."

This oration was remarkably well received, and shortly after, the band commencing its performance, the procession was again formed, and dividing as before, moved off to dinner.

The afternoon passed pleasantly away, in witnessing the performances of a gentleman who had been instituting a series of experiments to test the relative strength of various descriptions of spirituous liquor, and who becoming excited and enthusiastic thereby, walked round the Plaza and howled dismally.

Upon the whole, every thing passed off in the most creditable manner, and we can safely say that never in our recollection have we witnessed such a celebration of the glorious anniversary of our Nation's Independence.

MELANCHOLY ACCIDENT.—DEATH OF A

YOUNG MAN.

MR. MUDGE has just arrived in San Diego from Arkansas; he brings with him four yoke of oxen, seventeen American cows, nine American children, and Mrs. Mudge. They have encamped in the rear of our office, pending the arrival of the next coasting steamer.

Mr. Mudge is about thirty-seven years of age, his hair is light, not a "sable silvered," but a yaller, gilded; you can see some of it sticking out of the top of his hat; his costume is the national costume of Arkansas, coat, waistcoat, and pantaloons of homespun cloth, dyed a brownish yellow, with a decoction of the bitter barked butternut―a pleasing alliteration; his countenance presents a determined, combined with a sanctimonious expression, and in his brightly gleaming eye -a red eye we think it is-we fancy a spark of poetic fervor may be distinguished.

Mr. Mudge called on us yesterday. We were eating

watermelon. Perhaps the reader may have eaten watermelon, if so, he knows how difficult a thing it is to speak, when the mouth is filled with the luscious fruit, and the slippery seed and sweet though embarrassing juice is squizzling out all over the chin, and shirt-bosom. So at first we said nothing, but waved with our case knife toward an unoccupied box, as who should say sit down. Mr. Mudge accordingly seated himself, and removing his hat (whereat all his hair sprang up straight like a Jack in the box), turned that article of dress over and over in his hands, and contemplated its condition with alarming seriousness.

Take some melon, Mr. Mudge? said we, as with a sudden bolt we recovered our speech and took another slice ourself. "No, I thank you," replied Mr. Mudge, "I wouldn't choose any, now."

There was a solemnity in Mr. Mudge's manner that arrested our attention; we paused, and holding a large slice of watermelon dripping in the air, listened to what he might have to say.

"Thar was a very serious accident happened to us,” said Mr. Mudge, as we wos crossin the plains. 'Twas on the bank of the Peacus river. Thar was a young man named Jeames Hambrick along, and another young feller, he got to fooling with his pistil, and he shot Jeames. He was a good young man and hadn't a enemy in the company; we buried him thar on the Peacus river we did, and as we went off, these here lines sorter passed through my mind." So saying, Mr. Mudge rose, drew from his pocket-his waistcoat