The Argosy — page 274: what you’re looking at

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

In the Dead of Night. 253 ‘“Which means, in my case, I suppose, that because I was born in Duxley, I ought to have earned my bread there, died there, and been buried there.” ‘Something of the kind, doubtless. Old-fashioned prejudices, you would call them, Mr. Bristow.” ““T daresay I should. But they are worthy of respect for all that.” ‘Ts not that somewhat of a paradox ? ” ‘¢ Hardly so, I think. Men like Mr. Culpepper, with their conserva- tivism, and their traditions of a past—which, it should not be forgotten, was not a past, but a present, when they were young people, and is, consequently, not so very antiquated —with their faith in old institutions, old modes of thought, old friendships, and—and old wine, are simply invaluable in this shifty, restless, out-of-breath era in which we live. They are like the roots of grass and tangle which bind together the sandhills on a windy shore. They conserve for us the essence of an experience which dates from years before we were born ; which will sweeten our lives, if we know how to use it: as yonder pot-nourri of faded rose-leaves sweetens this room, and whispers to us that, in sum- mers long ago, flowers as sweet bloomed and faded, as those which blossom for us to-day and will fade and leave us to-morrow.” ‘‘When you areas old as papa, Mr. Bristow,” said Jane, with a laugh, ‘“ T believe you will be just as conservative and full of prejudices as he is.” | | ‘“‘T hope so, I’m sure,” said Tom, earnestly. ‘‘ Only, my prejudices will differ in some degree from his—as his would doubtless differ in degree from those of his father—because I happen to have been born some thirty years later in the world’s history.” At this moment the servant ushered in Mr. Cope the banker, and _Mr. Edward Cope the banker’s son. Jane rose, and introduced Tom to them as “‘ Mr. Bristow, a friend of papa’s.”” The banker’s son stared at Tom fora moment, nodded his bull head, and then drawing a chair up to the piano, proceeded to take possession of Jane with an air of proprietorship which brought the colour for a moment into that young lady’s face. The banker himself was more affable, in'the pompous way that was habitual with him. He never remembered to have heard the name of Bristow before, but being a friend of the squire, the young man was probably worth cultivating, and, in any case, there was nothing lost by _ alittle politeness. So Mr. Cope cleared his throat, and planting him- self like a colossus before the vacant grate, entered with becoming seriousness upon the state of the weather and the prospects of the crops. When the squire came in, five minutes later, Tom and the banker were chatting together as if they had known each other for years. They all went in to dinner. Over the soup, said the Squire to Mr. CONnlE Oe SS (C(O)