The Sun.
London, England, 1858-04-17 00:00:00

A MELANCHOLY STORY.

On Wednesday morning Mr. Coroner iiitchene
was called upon to investigate a very melancholy
case of suicide. The inquiry was touching the
death of a young girl named Fanny Coxon, a domes-
tic in the aorvic. of Mr. Joseph Brockiebank, of
Carlton-le-Moorland, who on the previous Monday
night had destroyed herself in a pond in the farm-
yard of her matter. The following letter in her
handwriting, directed to her father, was found on
her table :

" Dear Father, Mother, and Sister,—With a trem-
bling hand and a sad heart for the last time I now take
up my pen to write these few lines to you, hoping they
will find all in better health and spirits than they leave
me, for my heart is well nigh broken. You will be
horrorstruck with surprise when you see this note front
your own daughter's hand ; but before it reaches you I
shall have found a watery grave, for I have the news to
tell which, if I was to live, it would disgrace both my- -
self and you all; but, my dearest friends, it never was
my wish. I was led astray, and it has been my grief for
weeks past, but I never dare tell any one. There is not
one in our house knows how I am fixed ; neither can I
bear the idea of itbeing known to any one ; but lam silZ
months gone with child ; so I can see the difference my-
self, and feel it too, and I cannot bear it any longer. It
will be a sad stroke for you all ; but do not grieve ; for
I have grieved myself, and it is no use. You have an-
other daughter ; but it is one who ought to have been
her guide through the path of youth. Give my love to
her, and tell her to think of me, but not to do as I have
done; tell her to follow the steps of her dear mother
more than I have done. There is a little book in my
box that Edwin gave to me ; give it to her, and tell her
it was the last wish of her dear sister that she should
have it, and keep it ; and it is my wish that Edwin
should have my Bible for a keepsake from me. I
hope you will look upon him as ono of your own,
for he would have been if this dishonour had
not befallen me. So take pity on him, for Ido
not know how he will get over it, for he does not know
any nacre about it than you do. It is not him that has
done me this dishonour, or I could have borne it better ;
but it was one that was nothing to me, but shall not say
who. This is my box-key ;so come and see me as soon
as you get this note ; but if I am not found before
then, you will find me at the bottom of the stack-yard. I
have no money in my box. I owe John Wright for a new
frock that is in my box now, 4s. tid. ; and I owe Mrs.
Ash 2s. 3d. for making me one ; and Miss Wade 10g. for
doing my bonnet ; and Mr. Wade for two pairs of new
boots ; and I owe Mr. Wilson a bill for some things, but
do not know how much it is, so I cannot say. 1 hope
you will pay them all. lam afraid I shall not be allowed
to be buried in the churchyard."
Edwin Key, who was much affected while giving
his evidence, stated that it was near 10 o'clock
when he left the deceased in the back kitchen. She
had said to him she should not live long; but he
had no thought that she would destroy herself.
They had had no words ; she seemed as usual. He
was ignorant of her being in the familyway. He
had kept company with her for two years, and never
heard of any other ycung man keeping company
with her. She had left him a letter, and until ho
had received it he was not aware what had hap-
pened. (Latter produced, and read as follows)
My dearest Ed win, —With a trembling hand and a
half-broken heart, I now, for the first time, write these
few lines to you ; but I know not how to tell you the
news. You will be horror-struck with surprise to see it
from one you have loved so dear that I am with child ;
but before this note arrives to you I /than have found
watery grave. It never was my wish to be in this ways
but I was led astray ; but I hope, my dear, you will not
think me deceitful for not telling you ; but I could not
bear the idea of parting with you till I was obliged ;
but, my dear, I cannot live in this way any longer. I
hope you will go to see them at home after I am gone,
to bear them company sometimes. It is my wish, my dear,
for you to have my Bible, and keep it for my sake. 1 have
chosen my bearers if I am allowed to be buried in the church-
yard. I hope, my dear, let me be buried wherelruay, you
will come to my funeral, but do not grieve much for me;
but if we had parted sooner I should have died sooner,
for it would have broken rey heart before now. No one
knows the hours I have passed in silent grief. I hope
you will have a company keeper to behave well to you
while you are single ; also when you are married, for I
am sure you are worthy of the best that steps ; and, my
dear, I do sincerely wish you well through life, and a
happy death. I hope when you have read this you will
forgive me. So good-bye,
and a long farewell.—From
till death, " F. CoxoN."
Tue jury returned a verdict that the death of the
deceased was caused by herself, being at the time
of a sane mind ; and the coroner issued his war-
rannt for her interment between the hours of nine
and twelve o'clock.—Notttnyharn Review.

It is stated that Messrs. Calvert and Cu., for the satis-
faction of all persons interested in their affairs, have
placed their batiks in the hands of Messrs. Quilter and
Co., the accountants, to undergo a thorough examina-
tion. In the position in which they have lately found
themselves this step became essential.
The advises iron all the commutcial centres of the
Continent de:crite a stagnation (f business and a general
exercise of caution as has perhaps never previously been
witnessed to a e:milar extent. At most places the rates
for money are unaltered. At Paris the charge is ;at
Hamburg, 14 to 2; at Amsterdam, 3 ; and at BruB"l9'
3 per cent.