The History of David Grieve

Name: The History of David Grieve
Author: Ward, Humphry, Mrs.

Ward, Humphry, Mrs.

English fiction -- 19th century

'Well, now, look here, Davy. I'm an ignorant person, as I told you,
but I learnt some Latin and Greek at Manchester New College. Come
to me in the evenings, and I'll help you with your Greek, unless
you've got beyond me. Where are you?'

The budding Scaliger reported himself. He had read the 'Anabasis,'
some Herodotus, three plays of Euripides, and was now making some
desperate efforts on Aeschylus and Sophocles. Any Plato? David made
a face. He had read two or three dialogues in English; didn't want
to go on, didn't care about him. Ah! Ancrum supposed not.

'Twelve hours' shop,' said the minister reflecting, 'more or less,--two
hours' work before shop,--three hours or so after shop; that's what you
may call driving it hard. You couldn't do it, Richard Ancrum,' and he
shook his head with a whimsical melancholy. 'But you were always a poor
starveling. Youth that _is_ youth's tough. Don't tell me, sir,' and he
looked up sharply, 'that you don't amuse yourself. I wouldn't believe
it. There never was a man built like you yet that didn't amuse himself.'

David smiled, but said nothing.

'Billiards?'

'No, sir.'

'Betting?'

'No, sir. They cost money.'

'Niggardly dog! Drink?--no, I'll answer that for myself.'

The minister dropped his catechism, and sat nursing his lame leg
and thinking. Suddenly he broke out with, 'How many young women are
you in love with, David?'

David showed his white teeth.

'I only know two, sir. One's my master's daughter--she's rather a
pretty girl, I think--'

'That'll do. You're not in love with her. Who's the other?'

'The other's Mr. Lomax's daughter,--Lomax of the Parlour, that
queer restaurant, sir, in Market Place. She--well, I don't know how
to describe her. She's not good-looking--at least, I don't think
so,' he added dubiously. 'She's very High Church, and fasts all
Lent. I think she does Church embroidery.'

'And doesn't think any the better of you for attending the Hall of
Science? Sensible girl! Still, when people mean to fall in love,
they don't think twice of that sort of thing. I make a note of
Lomax's daughter. Ah! enter supper. David, if you let any 'ism
stand between you and that veal pie, I despair of your future.'

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

The History of David GrieveWard, Humphry, Mrs.

General

The History of David Grieve

Ward, Humphry, Mrs.

English fiction -- 19th century

'Well, now, look here, Davy. I'm an ignorant person, as I told you,
but I learnt some Latin and Greek at Manchester New College. Come
to me in the evenings, and I'll help you with your Greek, unless
you've got beyond me. Where are you?'

The budding Scaliger reported himself. He had read the 'Anabasis,'
some Herodotus, three plays of Euripides, and was now making some
desperate efforts on Aeschylus and Sophocles. Any Plato? David made
a face. He had read two or three dialogues in English; didn't want
to go on, didn't care about him. Ah! Ancrum supposed not.

'Twelve hours' shop,' said the minister reflecting, 'more or less,--two
hours' work before shop,--three hours or so after shop; that's what you
may call driving it hard. You couldn't do it, Richard Ancrum,' and he
shook his head with a whimsical melancholy. 'But you were always a poor
starveling. Youth that _is_ youth's tough. Don't tell me, sir,' and he
looked up sharply, 'that you don't amuse yourself. I wouldn't believe
it. There never was a man built like you yet that didn't amuse himself.'

David smiled, but said nothing.

'Billiards?'

'No, sir.'

'Betting?'

'No, sir. They cost money.'

'Niggardly dog! Drink?--no, I'll answer that for myself.'

The minister dropped his catechism, and sat nursing his lame leg
and thinking. Suddenly he broke out with, 'How many young women are
you in love with, David?'

David showed his white teeth.

'I only know two, sir. One's my master's daughter--she's rather a
pretty girl, I think--'

'That'll do. You're not in love with her. Who's the other?'

'The other's Mr. Lomax's daughter,--Lomax of the Parlour, that
queer restaurant, sir, in Market Place. She--well, I don't know how
to describe her. She's not good-looking--at least, I don't think
so,' he added dubiously. 'She's very High Church, and fasts all
Lent. I think she does Church embroidery.'

'And doesn't think any the better of you for attending the Hall of
Science? Sensible girl! Still, when people mean to fall in love,
they don't think twice of that sort of thing. I make a note of
Lomax's daughter. Ah! enter supper. David, if you let any 'ism
stand between you and that veal pie, I despair of your future.'

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

The History of David Grieve

The History of David Grieve

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