MORWENSTOW, Jan. 2, 1850. _My dear Mrs. M——_,—I know not when I have been more shocked than by the sudden announcement of the death of good Bishop Coleridge. For good he verily and really was. What a word that is, “suddenly”! The Lord opened the eyes of the young man, and, behold, there were horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha. May God grant us Sir T. More’s prayer, “that we may all meet and be merry in heaven”! ... I am to do something again for the new series of _Tracts for the Christian Seasons_. Did you detect my “Magian Star” and “Nain, the lovely city”? I hope to hear from you what is going on in the out-world. Here within the ark we hear only the voices of animals and birds, and the sound of many waters. “The Lord shut him in.” Give my real love to P——, and say I will write her soon a letter, with a psalm about “her dear Aunt Mary.” Yours faithfully, R. S. HAWKER. The psalm came in due time with this introduction:— MODRYB MARYA: AUNT MARY. A CHRISTMAS CHANT. [In old and simple-hearted Cornwall, the household names “uncle” and “aunt” were uttered and used as they are to this day in many countries of the East, not only as phrases of kindred, but as words of kindly greeting and tender respect. It was in the spirit, therefore, of this touching and graphic usage, that they were wont, on the Tamar side, to call the Mother of God, in their loyal language, Modryb Marya, or Aunt Mary.] Now, of all the trees by the king’s highway, Which do you love the best? Oh! the one that is green upon Christmas Day, The bush with the bleeding breast! Now, the holly, with her drops of blood, for me; For that is our dear Aunt Mary’s tree! Its leaves are sweet with our Saviour’s name, ’Tis a plant that loves the poor: Summer and winter it shines the same, Beside the cottage door. Oh! the holly, with her drops of blood, for me; For that is our kind Aunt Mary’s tree! ’Tis a bush that the birds will never leave, They sing in it all day long; But, sweetest of all, upon Christmas Eve, Is to hear the robin’s song. ’Tis the merriest sound upon earth and sea, For it comes from our own Aunt Mary’s tree! So, of all that grow by the king’s highway, I love that tree the best: ’Tis a bower for the birds upon Christmas Day, The bush of the bleeding breast. Oh! the holly, with her drops of blood, for me; For that is our sweet Aunt Mary’s tree! The following was sent to the same young girl, P—— M——:—