table of black marble, on which lay extended a
monster of at least fourteen feet long, and ten round the body, with a
sword beside him. He therefore deemed it prudent to make his way back
to the first house where the servant reconducted him, and informed him
that if he had knocked at the second door he never would have
returned. He then took his leave, and once more ascended to the light
of the sun.'"

But, leaving rooms of this supernatural kind, we may allude to those
which have acquired a strange notoriety from certain peculiarities of
a somewhat gruesome character; and, with tales of horror attached to
their guilty walls, it is not surprising that many rooms in our old
country houses have long been said to be troubled with mysterious
noises, and to have an uncanny aspect. Wye Coller Hall, near Colne,
which was long the seat of the Cunliffes of Billington, had a room
which the timid long avoided. Once a year, it is said, a spectre
horseman visits this house and makes his way up the broad oaken
staircase into a certain room, from whence "dreadful screams, as from
a woman, are heard, which soon subside into groans." The story goes
that one of the Cunliffes murdered his wife in that room, and that the
spectre horseman is the ghost of the murderer, who is doomed to pay an
annual visit to the house of his victim, who is said to have predicted
the extinction of the family, which has literally been fulfilled. This
strange visitor is always attired in the costume of the early Stuart
period, and the trappings of his horse are of a most uncouth
description; the evening of his arrival being generally wild and
tempestuous.

At Creslow Manor House, Buckinghamshire, there is another mysterious
room which, although furnished as a bedroom, is very rarely used, for
it cannot be entered, even in the daytime, without trepidation and
awe. According to common report, this room, which is situated in the
most ancient portion of the building, is haunted by the restless
spirit of a lady, long since deceased. What the antecedent history of
this uncomfortable room really is no one seems to know, although it is
generally agreed that in the distant past it must have been the silent
witness of some tragic occurrence.

But Littlecote House, the ancient seat of the Darrells, is renowned,
writes Lord Macaulay, "not more on account of its venerable
architecture and furniture, than on account of a horrible and
mysterious crime which was perpetrat