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Mrs. Lincoln and her husband.

--A writer in the Nashville Banner is publishing a series of Sketches of ‘"The Yankee Capital, from the Fall of Fort Sumter to the Battle of Manassas."’ From the third number of the series, which describes the condition of the city immediately after the Baltimore attack upon the Massachusetts regiment, we extract the following graphic and amusing paragraph. Truly, old Abe's wife must be ‘"all sorts of a woman:"’

Mob law at once asserted itself. The legion of Cassius M. Clay, composed of Lane's Kansas assassins and the desperate hundreds of disappointed office seekers yet remaining, assumed a ruling influence over everything The President quaked with trepidation.-- The Cabinet knew not what moment a bomb-shell might come booming over from Arlington Heights, then unoccupied. Peaceful citizens were in danger of arrest at all hours.--

The States (the only Southern-Rights journal in the Capital) was at once suppressed, after its endorsement of the Baltimore rioters, and its editorial staff scattered and dispersed. Every prominent advocate of the South was either forced to fly or hold a degrading silence and tacit acquiescence. Bands of ruffians stalked about in every direction. Threats of halters were profuse. There was no security, nor peace, nor law for any but the rabid followers of the wild horde which grasped the reins of authority. A complete reign of terror — more frightful because founded upon the basis of fear and trepidation — was inaugurated. Of all the Black Republican family, there was but one brave member. That was Mrs. Lincoln. She was not at all appalled. Whilst her husband cringed and cowered with apprehension, she stood firm as a rock, and abused the whole concern. They were all fools and cravens, she said. She refused a body guard; ordered Lane, who posted a band of men in the Executive Mansion, to leave the house; avowed her determination to preserve her own reputation at all hazards. In truth, she did so. Nobody can question the pluck of that woman. She is full of spirit, fire and purpose. She looks like a red-hot cannon ball, dressed in profuse hoops, with eyes, and nose, and mouth cut on one side of it — a little, chubby, flushed-faced woman, used to command. Nothing could suppress her. She walked the street with a lofty air. She rode out in the afternoon in her carriage, unattended. She stood, her ground, in a word, with the courage of St. George, and the Dragon to boot, and came out of the ordeal, a fortnight later, when troops arrived, and mob gave way to martial law, looking healthier and heartier than ever. Bravo, Mrs. Lincoln!

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