"Why, yer see, yer honour, after the doctor experimented on me by waccinatin' me agin' small-pox, cholera, and the measles, together wi' 'oopin' cough and several other baby complaints as 'ev a hinjurious effect upon people as 'ev cut their wisdom teeth, you know as I told yer honour that I caught that 'ere werry disease of small-pox which spiled my beauty for ever. Well, as I told yer months ago, I went to the 'ousemaid for a mite 'o comfort, and catches 'er a-courtin' wi' the coachman. So I goes 'ome, and I says I'll write 'er a letter as would charm a dead duck in a saucepan. So I begins my letter this yer way: 'My dearest dear,' I says, 'times es bad, and people be glad to catch anything; so I, thinkin' small-pox better than nothin', catched that. Forgive me, and I'll never do so no more. I'm cryin' all the day, as though I got my livin' wi' skinnin' onions. Relieve me, my dear, or my feelin's will be too much for me. They be fillin' me faster 'n I can dispose of 'em; and if you don't leave that 'ere coachman and smile on me, I shall either go up like a baloon, or else there'll be a case of combustion.' I went on in that 'ere style, yer know, thinkin' she'd melt like a h'yster in a fryin'-pan, but she didn't; and the next thing I hears wus that the coachman wur at the willage alehouse readin' my letter. Since then I've guv up the tender passion and guv up writin' letters."
"Well, you have had bad luck, Simon; but perhaps you'll be more fortunate next time. Mr. Temple tells me you have something to tell me about the ghost. What is it?"
"You ain't a-seen that 'ere hinfidel willain since he went away from 'ere, Mr. Blake, have 'ee?"
"I saw him in Hyde Park one day, but have never spoken to him."
"Well, I'm in a fog."
"In a fog! How?"
"Why, I can't understand a bit why that 'ere ghost wur a got up."
"You think it was got up, then?"
"Certain of it, yer honour."
"Well, tell us about it."