“George Moody, alias ‘The Irresistible,’ arrived this afternoon, and will leave in the morning, and I cannot let so good an opportunity of writing to you escape. I must scribble a brief epistle. “The drive down from Powhatan was delightful. I found Mr. Belt extremely pleasant, full of anecdote, a great talker, yet, withal—as Mr. Miller had told me—a good listener. A very necessary qualification, by-the-way, for any one with whom I may chance to be in company. “The first thing I heard when I reached home was tidings of that worst of bugbears to a Southern woman—an impending insurrection. A double guard was on duty at the capitol, and a detachment of military from the armory paraded the streets all night. I was, I confess, somewhat alarmed, and not a little startled, but gradually my fears wore away, and I slept as soundly that night as if no such thing were in agitation. “‘Puss Sheppard was in to supper, and her parting salutation to us at going was: ‘Farewell! If I am alive in the morning I will come and see if you are!’ “The whole matter ended, like Mr. C.’s sermon—‘just where it began—_viz._, in nothing.’ “Richmond is rather dull at present. The Texas excitement has subsided almost entirely, and those who gave credence to the report of the insurrection are desirous to keep as still as possible. “_Morning._—I can write no more. I am sure your good-nature will acquit me of blame so far as matter, chirography, and quality go, when I tell you that I have written this partly by the light of a lamp which finally went out, self-extinguished for want of oil, and partly this morning, when I am suffering with a sick-headache. I feel more like going to bed than writing, but ‘The Unexceptionable’ is about to take his departure, and waits for this. Write soon and much. I will try to treat you better next time.” There is much reading between the lines to be done for the right comprehension of that letter. My _genre_ pictures of days that are no more would be incomplete were I to fail to touch upon the “worst of bugbears” I feigned to pass over lightly. In the debate upon the abolition of slavery in my native State, lost by one vote in the Legislature of 1831-32, while Nat Turner’s insurrection was fresh in the public mind, John Randolph declared, “Whenever the fire-alarm rings in Richmond every mother clasps her baby closer to her breast.”