Oulton House, Suffolk, long known as the “Haunted House,” acquired its ill-omened name from a tragic occurrence traditionally said to have happened many years ago, and the peasantry in the neighbourhood affirm that at midnight a wild huntsman, with his hounds, accompanied by a lady carrying a poisoned cup, is occasionally seen.  The story is that, in the reign of George II., a squire, returning unexpectedly home from the chase, discovered his wife with an officer, one of his guests, in too familiar a friendship.  High words followed, and the indignant husband, provoked by the cool manner in which the officer treated the matter, struck him, whereupon the guilty lover drew his sword and drove it through the squire’s heart, the faithless wife and her paramour afterwards making their escape.

Some years afterwards, runs the tale, the Squire’s daughter, who had been left behind in the hasty departure, having grown to womanhood, was affianced to a youthful farmer of the neighbourhood.  But on their bridal eve, as they were sitting together talking over the new life they were about to enter, “a carriage, black and sombre as a hearse, with closely drawn curtains, and attended by servants clad in sable liveries, drew up to the door.”  The young girl was seized by masked men, carried off in the carriage to her unnatural mother, while her betrothed was stabbed as he vainly endeavoured to rescue her.  A grave is pointed out in the cemetery at Namur, as that in which was laid the body of the unhappy girl, poisoned, it is alleged, by her unscrupulous and wicked mother.  It is not surprising, we are told, that the locality was supposed to be haunted by the wretched woman—­both as wife and mother equally criminal.

Family romance, once more, has many a dark page recording how despairing love has ended in self-destruction.  At the beginning of the present century, a sad catastrophe befell the Shuckburghs of Shuckburgh Hall.  It appears the Bedfordshire Militia were stationed near Upper Shuckburgh, and the officers were in the habit of visiting the Hall, whose hospitable owner, Sir Stewkley Shuckburgh, received them with every mark of cordiality.  His daughter, then about twenty years of age, was a young lady of no ordinary attractions, and her fascinations soon produced their natural effect on one of the officers, Lieutenant Sharp, who became deeply attached to her.  But as soon as Sir Stewkley became aware of this love affair, he gave it his decided disapproval.  Lieutenant Sharp was forbidden the house, and Miss Shuckburgh resolved to smother her love in deference to her father’s wishes.  It was accordingly decided between the young people that their intimacy should cease, and that the letters which had passed between them should be returned.  An arrangement was, therefore, made that the lady should leave the packet for Lieutenant Sharp in the summer-house in the garden on a specified evening, and that on the following morning she should find