A French Ghost.
There is a ghost in Calais, or rank sorcery, or wicked powers of some sort working. In that town dwells a certain Topham, who keeps a factory. In front of the factory is a wall of considerable height, which protects its ground floor from passers-by. A house overlooks it, however.
Last Wednesday the row began. A volley of stones, descending from unknown regions and thrown by unseen hands, suddenly smashed all the windows and hurt two girls at work. All day the bombardment lasted, in spite of police.
Thursday the gendarmes occupied the factory, not doubting that all evil powers would be stilled before the magisterial presence of the law. But stones fell in a shower beneath their very noses, and the utmost activity of the police could not discover whence they came.
The Commissary and a half-dozen of his trusted minions betook themselves to the spot and searched and watched to no better purpose. They went across and occupied the house opposite, holding its strategic points and settin gup an observatory on the roof. Quite fruitlessly as yet. The bombardment recommences from time to time with a vigour that recalls the great sieges of history. So the affair stands as yet, and people say spirits.
Belfast Weekly Telegraph, 18th September 1875.