The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 51: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

But it is no new phenomenon in the history of the human heart to find that some of the most gentle and loveliest of human creatures are capable of the highest efforts of perversion; and when Johanna Oakley told herself, which she did, she was determined to devote her existence to a discovery of the mystery that enveloped the fate of Mark Ingestrie, she likewise made up her mind that the most likely man for accomplishing that object should not be rejected by her on the score of danger, and she at once set to work considering what those means should be. This seemed an endless task, but still she thought that if, by any means whatever, she could get admittance to the barber’s house, she might be able to come to some conclusion as to whether or not it was there where Thornhill, whom she believed to be Ingestrie, had been stayed in his progress. “Aid me, Heaven,” she cried, “in the adoption of some means of action on the occasion. Is there any one with whom I dare advise. Alas! I fear not, for the only person in whom I have put my whole heart is my father, and his affection for me would prompt him at once to interpose every possible obstacle to my proceeding, for fear danger should come of it. To be sure, there is Arabella Wilmot, my old school fellow and bosom friend, she would advise me to the best of her ability, but I much fear she is too romantic and full of odd, strange actions, that she has taken from books, to be a good adviser; and yet what can I do? I must speak to some one, if it be but in case of any accident happening to me, my father may get news of it, and I know of no one else whom I can trust but Arabella.” After some little more consideration, Johanna made up her mind that on the following morning she would go to the house of her old school friend, which was in the immediate vicinity, and hold a conversation with her. “T shall hear something,” she said, “at least of a kindly and consoling character; for what Arabella may want in calm and steady judgement, she fully compensates for in actual feeling, and what is most of all, I know I can trust her word implicitly, and that my secret will remain as safely locked in her breast as if it were in my own.” It was something to come to a conclusion to ask advice, and she felt that some portion of her anxiety was lifted from her mind by the mere fact that she had made so firm a mental resolution, that neither danger nor difficulty should deter her from seeking to know the fate of her lover. She retired to rest now with a greater hope, and while she is courting repose, notwithstanding the chance of the discovered images that fancy may present to her in her slumbers, we will take a glance at the parlour below, and see how far Mrs. Oakley is conveying out the pacific intention she had so tacitly expressed, and how the supper is going forward, which, with not the best grace in the world, she is preparing for her husband, who for the first time in his life had began to assert his rights, and for Big Ben, the beef-eater, whom she as cordially disliked as it was possible for any woman to detest any man. Mrs. Oakley by no means preserved her taciturn demeanour, for after a little she spoke, saying— “There’s nothing tasty in the house; suppose I run over the way to Waggarge’s, and get some of those Epping sausages * with the peculiar flavour.” “Ah, do,” said Mr. Oakley, “they are beautiful, Ben, I can assure you.” “Well, I don’t know,” said Ben the beef-eater, “sausages are all very well in their way, but you need such a plaguey lot of them; for if you only eat them one at a time, how soon will you get through a dozen or two?” “A dozen or two,” said Mrs. Oakley; “why, there are only five to a pound.” “Then,” said Ben, making a mental calculation, “then, I think, ma’am, you ought not to get more than nine pounds of them, and that will be a matter of forty-five mouthfuls for us.” “Get nine pounds of them,” said Mr. Oakley, “if they are wanted; I know Ben has an appetite.” “Indeed,” said Ben, “but I have fell off lately, and don’t take to my wittals® as I used; you can order, missus, if you please, a gallon of half-and-half® as you go along. One must have a drain of drink of some sort; and mind you don’t be going to any expense on my account, and getting anything but the little snack I have mentioned, for ten to one I shall take supper when I get to the Tower; only human nature is weak, you know, missus, and requires something to be a continually a-holding of it up.” “Certainly,” said Mr. Oakley, “certainly, have what you like, Ben; just say the word before Mrs. Oakley goes out, is there anything else?” “No, no,” said Ben, “oh dear no, nothing to speak of; but if you should pass a shop where they sells fat bacon, about four or five pounds, cut into rashers, you’ll find, missus, will help down the blessed sausages.” “Gracious Providence,” said Mrs. Oakley, “who is to cook it?” “Who is to cook it, ma’am? why, the kitchen fire, I suppose; but mind ye if the man ain’t got any sausages, there’s a shop where they sells biled® beef at the corner, and I shall be quite satisfied if you brings in about ten or twelve pounds of that. You can make it up into about half a dozen sandwiches.” “Go, my dear, go at once,” said Mr. Oakley, “and get Ben his supper. I am quite sure he wants it, and be as quick as you can.” “Ah,” said Ben, when Mrs. Oakley was gone, “I didn’t tell you how I was sarved last week at Mrs. Harvey’s. You know they are so precious genteel there that they don’t speak above their blessed breaths for fear of wearing themselves out; and they sits down in a chair as if it was balanced only on one leg, and a little move one way or t’other would upset them. Then, if they sees a crumb a-laying on the floor they rings a bell, and a poor half-starved devil of a servant comes and says, ‘Did you ring, ma’am?’ and then they says, “Yes, bring a dust shovel and a broom, there is a crumb a-laying there,’ and then says I—‘Damn you all,’ says I, ‘bring a scavenger’s cart, and a half-dozen birch brooms, there’s a cinder just fell out of the fire.’ “Then in course they gets shocked, and looks as blue as possible, and arter that when they sees as I ain’t a-going, one of them says, ‘Mr. Benjamin Blumergutts, would you like to take a glass of wine?’ ‘I should think so,’ says I. Then he says, says he, ‘Which would you prefer, red or white?’ says he. CORniclooo S CO)