Ghosts.
Some two or three months ago one of the quietest streets diverging from Botchergate, in this city, was haunted by a particularly energetic ghost. The spectre manifested its presence by a resounding thump on the bedroom floors, succeeded by sounds upstairs as of wild horses galloping away. One tenant, at least, was scared away, and another was so shaken that he declared if he heard it again he must leave the neighbourhood.
A very pretty story, which might have developed into a respectable legend, got afloat that the phantom was that of a woman whose dying injunctions had been disregarded. Alack and alas, we have nothing more to tell. This most unsatisfactory ghost died away, and nothing more has been heard of it. By judicious management it might have kept the city alive through the coming winter. But now-a-days ghosts have a hard time of it – if they do not die of their own accord they are dragged into “the light of common day” and perish there. [a tale of someone dressing up as a ghost follows].
Carlisle Express and Examiner, 27th September 1879.