The Sun. — 1858-04-17 (London, England)

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 domestic 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 farmyard 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 trembling 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 myself, 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 another 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 happened. (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 churchyard. 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 warrannt for her interment between the hours of nine and twelve o'clock.—Notttnyharn Review.  It is stated that Messrs. Calvert and Cu., for the satisfaction 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 examination. 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.