It is an old story, and one which will last while rogues endure--be they broken-down politicians, craving, like Buchanan, a little more paltry notoriety, or any other variety of the great family of the Dishonest. And they will go their way adown the road of time and into history, properly brandmarked. The truth ever comes to light. 'And that isn't all--either.' For even as we write, the following is handed us by a friend: Take, oh, take his pen away, That so feebly runs on paper; Keep him quiet, or he'll play Other trait'rous prank and caper. Why apologize for treason, Or for stealing give a reason? Hide, oh, hide his pens and ink; Try to keep him silent: do! Would you let him lower sink, He'd defend the Devil too. Keep him silent, let him be: He has _not_ escaped Scott-free. Not he--nor the opinion of the whole world, either. There--let him go--_his_ place in the future is at any rate decided on. And yet the vindicator of Floyd intends, we are told, to vindicate himself! * * * * * A late 'horrible and agonizing execution' of two murderers in cultivated and Christian England was witnessed by one hundred thousand people!--according to the London _Times_. In the first-class English journals a large space is always devoted to police reports, in which the vilest and most vulgar criminal cases are always given in full detail, to gratify the almost universal British craving for filth and cruelty. A drunken vagabond cannot maim his wife but all England must know all about it. Let it be borne in mind that while English writers are never weary of speaking of the blackguardism of the American press, nine tenths of our journals abandoned many years ago the abominable practice of regularly publishing police cases; and that, making every allowance, English newspapers at present publish on an average ten times as much demoralizing matter as the American. * * * * * We clip the following from the Boston _Post_: 'Speaking of the heathen names reminds the London Athenaeum of what M. Salverte says with respect to that fairest of the heroines in that poem for all spring time, "Lalla Rookh." Everybody, in his happy turn, has been in love with that lady of the peerless enchantments: perhaps they will be taken a little aback when they hear that before the lord of the East gave her the name of Nourmahal, 'Light of the Harem,' or, in the later excess of his love, Nourdjihan, 'Light of the World,' she was known to her family and friends as Mher-ul-Nica, or, in equivalent Saxon, the 'Strapping Wench;' and that this 'tallest of women,' of whom it is said her lover, Djihanguyr, ----preferred in his heart the least ringlet that curl'd Down her exquisite neck, to the throne of the world,