LITERATURE.

Patea Mail, Volume IX, Issue 1063, 23 July 1883, Page 4

LITERATURE.

GREAT GRANDFATHER’S DESK. I

By J. M. ,

The Manton Manor ‘House was a queer,: old building, 'and'had at 6ne time deserved .-its title;' but alas ! the manor had grown smaller and smaller with the succeeding’ generations, and at the time when my story opens, consisted merely of the"house itself, and a few acres of land surrounding it. ! The house was built by my great grandfather; Sir William Manton, and stood at that lime, some years ago before the Revolution, in the midst of a large estate. ; Sir William was reported to have brought an almost famnlous amount of treasure with him, when he left his native England to seek a Home in America. However, with the exception of the estate, and a few hundred pounds in gold, no property could be found by his executors after'his death f When, the Revolution broke out, he espoused the cause of his adopted country, and died fighting for the cause of freedom; . N , ; ' =He Was-’a 'Widower; with an old son, when ho catne to his country, and his son, my grandfather, inherited all the property. My grandfather was a free liver and fond of company, so that when he died, leaving my father sole heir to the property, the estate bad already shrunk in size l to a marked degree. My father inherited all of my grandfather’s fondness for entertaining, and the estate melted away rapidly. I was sent to college and afterwards educated for the bar, as my grandfather and father had been before me ; but unlike them, I immediately entered upon the practice of my profession, and at the time of which my story opens had succeeded in obtaining a small practice, and was supporting myself in a modest way. •• ':V.. I used often to run down from the city On Saturday night, and spend Sunday at the. dear, old place. My mother had been dead many years, and old Nancy, who had been my nurse for several years, had been a confirmed invalid-' The thought of the treasure which, a legend of the family asserted, my grandfather had buried at the outbreak of the Revolution, always- had a great charm for me. The house was a. place well Calculated to encourage this tendency’of my mind. It was built with thick walls and a high, peaked roof. 'Succeeding owners had added additions, as their needs or fancy had dictated, from time to time, and the result was one of those queer, old; rambling bouses, with'’steps leading up here and down there, with queer closets and unexpected crannies, every where. Many a quiet Sunday afternoon have I passed, sitting in a window seat, and allowing my fancy full scope. The lost treasure formed the principal topic around which my thoughts centred. My father could tell me nothing about it, and he even donbted the truth of the legend. With'my romantic , nature, inherited from my,mother, I clung tenaciously to my belief in the story, r : One l morning, when T entered my office, I found a. telegram waiting for me, which hod arrived only a few minutes before. It was as follows : ‘ Come home immediately. Father very ill.’ { Nancy.’ ■■■. I took the first train, and in a few hours was at Manton Manor. That night, my father breathed his last, and I was left alone with no near relative in the world. It was several weeks ere I recovered from the shock of my father’s death sufficiently, to .permit of my looking into his affairs at all. When I did so, I found that the property was heavily mortgaged, and I saw no way of saving the dear old home where I had passed so many happy days. During his lifetime, my father had manifested one peculiarity, about which I had often twitted him.

He was never know to destroy a letter, but each one was carefully labelled and'-pat away in 1 an old desk which tradition said had once belonged to Sir William. It was a curious old piece of furniture, made entirely of mahogany and elaborately carved. One day I sat down at this desk to look over my father’s papers. They consisted of old letters, receipted bills, cancelled notes, old cheques, and various other papers of no value. Finally my eye was attracted by a package, of paper, yellow with age, and tied with an old piece of faded ribbon. Untying, thO; parcel, I began to examine the contents. The papers consisted of letters written by my great-grandmother to Sir William before the marriage. How they had come to be preserved so long I do not know, but for some reason they had never been opened, apparently, since Sir William had tied them np. As I was taking one of the letters out of its envelope a piece of paper fluttered out and fell upon the desk. Taking it np I read these words : ‘ Search the desk.’ The writing was not in the same hand as the letters, but was evidently that of a man. My heart gave a bound, and almost stopped beating as a thought came into my mind. Was I about to get on the track of the hidden treasure at last ? What else could this have reference to ? At any rate I would search the desk. lat once began and searched every corner and nook of the queer old piece of furniture. (To he continued.)