The worthy inhabitants of a little Midland village have really abundant reason for complaining. A ghost haunts their garden. The irrepressible apparition as soon as the midnight chime is heard, commences to heave unconsidered trifles into the place, and has already cost the luckless householder a small fortune in broken windows.
Pebbles, clods of turf, stones, and other luxuries, are showered upon the carpet from twelve o’clock to the first wee hour sixty minutes beyond it, and just as silently and as mysteriously as the attack begins it ends. The object of these affectionate attentions alleges that he would not mind in the least if the ghost were only a little reasonable, and while he is on the throw, so to speak, pitch a leg or two of mutton, an occasional beefsteak, a new dress suit, a watch and chain, or even a wheelbarrow or two full of French pennies into the house. All these might be utilised, but a hand-cart filled with garden mould upset upon the back parlour hearthrug, is neither ornamental nor useful. Besides, the unhappy servants have all the trouble of taking it back to the celery trench from which it was excavated.
The Sportsman, 29th April 1887.