Another smitten woman’s feet have pressed the costly Wiltons of the Executive Mansion as sorrowfully as Hagar’s did the parched sward of the wilderness. It is the wife of Dr. Mudd, the man who was tried with the other conspirators, and is now serving out his life term at the desolate “Dry Tortugas.” During the last dreadful yellow fever epidemic, our officers on the island testify to the almost superhuman efforts of Dr. Mudd in behalf of the prisoners and soldiers. He seemed to have a charmed life among the dead and dying. There was no duty so loathsome that he shrank from it, and when he could do no more for the sufferers in life he helped to cover their remains with the salted sands. Armed with this testimony of the officers, for months Mrs. Mudd has attended Andrew Johnson like a shadow. One day last summer a personal friend of the President’s was admitted to the Executive presence. As he took the lady’s hand, he smilingly remarked: “I am sorry that I kept you waiting.” She replied, “There is another lady who has been waiting longer than I have.” “Do you know her?” asked the President. “I never saw her before,” said the lady. The President called a messenger, saying, “See who is in the ante-room waiting.” A smile crept over the messenger’s face as he answered, “It’s only Mrs. Mudd.” “Only Mrs. Mudd,” echoed the President, while a spasm of pain chased over his countenance. “That woman here again, after all I have said?” At the same time the President put both hands to his face. “Why do you allow yourself to be so annoyed?” said the friend, using the license which belongs to a woman’s friendship. “The President of the United States ought not be annoyed at anything; besides, I have no right to put any one out of this house who comes to see me on business and behaves with propriety. Don’t let us talk about that; let us think of something else.”