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An Impressive epistle. A young woman, named Mary Moore, poisoned herself at Trowbridge, on the 8th, because her sweetheart had intimated to her that, in consequence of some alleged bad conduct on her part, he intended to leave home, and wander as an outcast, and beg his bread. Before taking the poison, she wrote the following letter to him: "Trowbridge, March 8, 1862. My Dear William — By the time you read this, I shall, in all probability, he cold in death. Do not, I beseech you, cherish Ill will and hatred towards me even in my grave. I love you more than I do my life-- If I live, it must be without you, but what comfort have I of my life. It is very wrong and wicked, I know, to wish to rush headlong into the presence of my Maker. But what can I do ? My very soul recoils at the prospect of death My hopes and fears start up alarmed and o'er Life's narrow verge, look down — on what; A fathomless shays — a dread eternity, New surely noise. Yet, William, could I be assu<