Mr. WADDLES (Union, Border State) protested against the decency of a Constitutional body like Congress being insulted with the infamous and seditious abolition doggerel just quoted by his friend, the despicable incendiary from New Hampshire. We were waging this war solely to put down treason, and not to hear a rose, the fairest of flowers, mentioned in the same breath with the filthy colored man-- Mr. CHUNKY was sorry to observe that his Honorable friend had misunderstood his language. The line he had used was simply this: "The rose you deftly _cull-ed, man_." Mr. WADDLES was glad that his valued friend from New Hampshire had apologized. He had only taken exception to what he considered a fatal heresy. That was enough for me, my boy, and I left the hall of legislation; for I sometimes become a little wearied when I hear too much of one thing, my boy. I mentioned my impression to the Venerable Gammon, and says he: "Congress is the soul of the nation. Congress," says the Venerable Gammon, with fat benignity, "_is something like a wheel, whose spokes tend to tire_." He said this remarkable thing in an overtowering way, my boy, and I felt myself to be a crushed infant before him. Early in the week, I took my usual trip to Paris, and found Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, making an advance from the further shore of Duck Lake, for sanitary reasons. It was believed to be detrimental to the health of the gay Mackerels to be so near a body of pure water, my boy, for they were not accustomed to the element. "Thunder!" says the general, brushing off a small bit of ice that had adhered to his nose, "they'll be drinking it next." Captain Samyule Sa-mith was ordered to command the advance; but when he heard that the Southern Confederacy had two swivels over there, he was suddenly taken very sick, and cultivated his bed-clothes. When the news of the serious illness of this valiant officer got abroad, my boy, there was an immediate rush of free and enterprising civilian chaps to his bedside. One chap, who was an uncombed reporter for a discriminating and affectionate daily press, took me aside, and says he: "Our paper has the largest circulation, and is the best advertising mejum in the United States. As soon as our brother-in-arms expires," says the useful chap, feelingly, "just fill up this printed form and send it to me, and I will mention you in our paper as a promising young man." I took the printed form, my boy, which I was to fill up, and found it to read thus: "BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE LATE ----. "This noble and famous officer, recently slain at the head of his ---- (I put the word 'bed' in this blank, my boy), was born at ---- on the ---- day of ----, 1776, and entered West Point in his ---- year. He won immortal fame by his conduct in the Mexican campaign, and was created brigadier-general on the -- of ----, 1862."