From a puroosal o' me Southern files I notice that some o' the papers are makin' a mighty grate noise about the small conthratongs (Frinch) that tuk place in the House a few nights ago. Now, out av frindship for me ould crony V. P., I want to ixplain the whole circumstances o' the case, so I do. The evenin' before the row I invited a few o' the boys to a small tay party an' swarry on the Kay, an' V. P., av coorse, was one o' the number. It was merely a pot-luck affair, although Molly wint to the throuble o' preparin' a few blue monges, an' yallow monges, an' thrifles, an' polonies for the occasion. Sir George an' Mac couldn't come, an' so there was only Dicky Oliver, Tommy Dick, V. P., George Jones, Shrimmy, an' a few more o' the boys prisint. Afther tay the whisky bottle was projooced as usual, an' harmony soon rained taiumphant. The first item on the program was a recitasbun be Misther Oliver. Afther a few preliminery hums an' haws he gave the following varses wid grate sperrit an' effect. I pinned them down in plain vulgar English, jist the way they wor recited:—