The City.
--About a week since several potentials rumors reached this place which, together with certain movements thought to be consequent thereon, were well calculated to excite alarm in the breasts of the timid. Happily all rumors and surmises based on the state of affairs alluded to, have proved baseless as the fabric of a vision. As has been well said recently, Richmond has once more resumed its wonted atmosphere — sunshine and hopefulness have taken the place of gloom and despair. Whatever may have been our tribulations, and whatever fears or misgivings our people may have entertained, these are forgotten — at the worst were temporary and evanescent, and are now among the things that were. Men, women, and children now sleep the sleep of security; their dreams are not disturbed by visions of Yankee cannons; by the paddle of Yankee gunboats, or worse, by the vile rows of a drunken soldiery. Our streets are quiet. Brawl are rare. Pistol-shots do not disturb the unstrung nerves of delicate or antique dames. Our bloated, well fed, and, in an animal sense, handsome bar-keepers are in-the ranks of the militia, learning bayonet exercise, instead of smash making. The streets are, morning, noon, and night, being patrolled by guards, who arrest all loiterers, vagabonds, and suspicious-looking characters. No place is so sacred as to exclude their vigilance — not even the temples dedicated to Divine worship. And the consequences are, peace, serenity, security, respect for life and property, and a thorough revival of patriotism and enthusiasm. Our noble regiments are being rapidly filled up. Soon, very soon, the Confederacy will be not only in a condition of defence, but of aggression.
