To the paternity of the next in order--the Bristol Tragedy, or Death of Sir Charles Baldwin--Chatterton confessed; and such an admission might have satisfied any one but Dean Milles. The language is modern--the measure flowing without interruption; and, though the orthography affects to be antiquated, there is but one word (bataunt) in the whole series of quatrains, ninety-eight in number, that would embarrass any reader in his teens; though a boy that could generate such a poem as that, might well be believed the father of other giants whom he chose to disown. It is a masterpiece in its kind, almost unexceptionable in all its parts. The subject is supposed to have been suggested by the fate of Sir Baldwin Fulford, a zealous Lancastrian, beheaded at Bristol in 1461, the first year of the reign of Edward IV., who, it is believed, was actually present at the execution. Now comes Ella, a tragical interlude, or discoursing tragedy, by Thomas Rowley, prefaced by two letters to Master Canning, and an introduction. In the first letter, among various sarcasms on the age, is one, complaining that "In holy priest appears the baron's pride." A proposition, we fear, at least as true in our day as in the fifteenth century. From the same epistle we would recommend to the consideration of the Pontius Pilates of our era, the numerous poets who choose none but awfully perilous themes, and who re-enact tremendous mysteries more confidently than if they were all Miltons, the annexed judicious admonition:-- "Plays made from holy tales I hold unmeet; Let some great story of a man be sung; When as a man we God and Jesus treat, In my poor mind we do the Godhead wrong." And the following piece of advice, from the same letter, would not be ill bestowed on modern shopocracy:-- "Let kings and rulers, when they gain a throne, Show what their grandsires and great-grandsires bore; Let trades' and towns'-folk let such things alone, Nor fight for sable on a field of ore."