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Updated: May 29, 2025
I like to make people happy, if they are not so; and if they are, even though that happiness may be the creation of a delusion, I like to leave them so. I, therefore, encouraged Mr Pridhomme to pour all his raptures into, what he thought, an approving ear, and Jemima was the theme, until he left me at the door of the hotel at which I was to dine with Captain Reud.
"I'm stepping into life," thought I, as I went downstairs, "and with no measured strides either." "What do you think of Jemima?" said Mr Pridhomme, as we walked arm-in-arm towards the ramparts. "Pretty." "Pretty! why she's an angel! If there was ever an angel on earth, it is Jemima Tapes. But what is mere beauty? Nothing compared to sincerity and innocence she is all innocence and sincerity."
Pridhomme had been lying in wait for me, and picked me up as I left the hotel. We went to the theatre, a wretched affair certainly, the absurdities of which I should have much enjoyed, had I not been bored to death by the eternal Jemima. That lady was like Jemima and that was not. Was the person in the blue silk dress as tall as Jemima; or the other in the white muslin quite as stout?
Mr Pridhomme was smoking in a lover-like and melancholy fashion, against orders, a short pipe in the midshipmen's berth. As the ashes accumulated, he became at a loss for a tobacco-stopper, and I very good-naturedly handed him over the broken, broad-topped, vulgar-looking pencil-case, the gift of the adorable Jemima.
Now, the cutter pulled eight oars, there were two good-looking jollies, with their muskets between their knees, stuck up in the bows, six in the stern-sheets, Mr Pridhomme, the enamoured master's mate, and the Irish young gentleman, who had seen as much service and as many years as myself; with the coxswain, who was steering.
This way you must not come up, Mr Pridhomme, your boots are so abominably dirty. There, isn't it a nice room? you pretty, pretty boy," said she, jumping up, and giving me a long kiss, that almost took my breath away. "Don't tell old leather-chops, will you, and I shall love you so." "Who is old leather-chops your father?" "Dear me, no; never mind him. I mean your messmate, Mr Pridhomme."
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