'We find a great deal said about 'Mr. PRIESTLY' here. He has fled to the United States 'for freedom from the rod of lawless power, and the arm of violence.' He is every where received with marked honor, his whereabout regularly recorded, and eminent individuals and public institutions are emulous to make their attentions acceptable to him. In juxtaposition with this, is one of the bloody ROBESPIERRE's plausible reports, just promulgated. We will not pause to read that. 'Stay! Let us see what all this theatrical display is about, before you turn the leaf.' The manager is going to give a 'Benefit' for the suffering Americans in the prisons of Algiers. Good! 'I wonder if that JEFFERSON, who is to be one of the attractions, was the father of our Philadelphia favorite, whylear?' This interrogation lights up Memory, with the suddenness of a 'loco-foco' match. The image is evoked; and that prince of comedians is before us. A very clever theatrical performance is now going on in the 'Dome of Thought.' Ah, 'Old Jefferson!' When shall we look upon _his_ like again? For years, we could never meet him, in ever so retired a lane of the city, without being presently seated in the play-house, devouring, with lively gusto, his inimitable comicalities. We had spirited performance going on, with nothing to pay. 'Where he walked, sate, or stood still, there was the theatre. He carried about with him pit, boxes, and galleries, and set up his portable play-house at corners of streets, and in the market-places. Upon flintiest pavement, he trod the boards still.' ''Well, vot of it?' Turn over.' That long original poem is by PETER PINDAR. He is ridiculing the monarchical notions of the opposition, and the folly of paying court to mere outward form and show. His illustration is homely, but forcible. 'Who,' says he, 'Who would not laugh to see a TAYLOR bow Submissive to a pair of satin breeches? Saying, 'O Breeches, all men must allow There's something in your aspect that betwitches! 'Let me admire you, Breeches, crown'd with glory; And though _I made_ you, let me still _adore_ ye;' Who would not quick exclaim, 'The TAYLOR's mad?' Yet Tyrant-adoration is as bad.' In reading Pindar, as has been observed of some other obsolete author, you may find fault with the antique setting, but intellectual jewels of truth are there, which can never grow out of date.