Not far from the last mentioned town of Swaffham, between Watton and Merton, is a place called _Wayland Wood_, which gives name to the Hundred in which it lies. It is commonly called _Wailing Wood_, and tradition has marked it out as the scene of the pitiable, miserable, and horrid catastrophe recorded and commemorated in the old and well-known ballad of “The Children in the Wood; or the Norfolk Gentleman’s last will and testament.” The origin of the tradition, or the time when that shocking event happened, cannot now, it seems, be ascertained. Even Blomefield, with all his antiquarian sagacity, and extensive means of information, was not able to find it out. It was probably the occurrence of a very distant period: but that it really did happen, the ballad and the tradition may be considered as very sufficient proofs; and the latter renders it very probable, or rather more than probable, that Wayland, or Wailing Wood was the very theatre of its perpetration. Of the untimely and tragical ends of helpless and friendless orphans, by the procurement of unprincipled, unfeeling, and cruel relations, who were heirs to their possessions, the history of rude and barbarous ages furnish but too many and very shocking examples; and it is devoutly to be wished that nothing of the kind, or nothing equally inhuman and shocking, could be said of the history of what are usually called civilized and enlightened times. At Saham Tony, not far from Watton and Wayland Wood, lived in the last century a remarkable person of the name of _Shuckforth_. He was a gentleman of good property, and resided there on his own estate. On some occasion, unknown to the present writer, he retired from the world many years before he died, and gave himself up to reading and meditation, and to the practice of piety and charity. His religion appeared to be of that cast that is usually and assumingly denominated orthodox and evangelical, with no slight tincture of credulity, superstition, and fanaticism. These, however, as his life was otherwise so inoffensive and fruitful of good works, lost in him a great part of their deformity. His oddities and eccentricities induced many of his neighbours, of the higher orders, to impute to him a strong twist of insanity; while a great part of their own conduct would have gone, perhaps, quite as far in supporting a similar imputation against themselves. A course of life so singular, unfashionable, and unadmired, as that which he chose and pursued, might excite in many no small degree of surprize and disgust, but it ought not to be taken as a proof of mental derangement. It was probably the result of the sober exercise of his private judgement, and of a full conviction that there was no other course in which he could so well serve God and his fellow creatures, or promote his own present and future happiness. He was seldom seen for many of his latter years, except by a few