“Much good might be done,” said Emily, thoughtfully, “with such a fortune.”

“Much good is done,” cried her aunt, with fervor.  “I am told by every one who knows him, his donations are large and frequent.  Sir Herbert Nicholson said he was extremely simple in his habits, and it leaves large sums at his disposal every year.”

“The bestowal of money is not always charity,” said Emily, with an arch smile and a slight color.

Mrs. Wilson smiled in her turn as she answered, “not always, but it is charity to hope for the best.”

“Sir Herbert knew him, then?” said Emily.

“Perfectly well; they were associated together in the service for several years, and he spoke of him with a fervor equal to my warmest expectations.”

The Moseley arms in F——­ was kept by an old butler of the family, and Sir Edward every year, in going to or coming from L——­, spent a night under its roof.  He was received by its master with a respect that none who ever knew the baronet well, could withhold from his goodness of heart and many virtues.

“Well, Jackson,” said the baronet, kindly, as he was seated at the supper table, “how does custom increase with you—­I hope you and the master of the Dun Cow are more amicable than formerly.”

“Why, Sir Edward,” replied the host, who had lost a little of the deference of the servant in the landlord, but none of his real respect, “Mr. Daniels and I are more upon a footing of late than we was, when your goodness enabled me to take the house; then he got all the great travellers, and for more than a twelvemonth I had not a title in my house but yourself and a great London doctor, that was called here to see a sick person in the town.  He had the impudence to call me the knight barrow-knight, your honor, and we had a quarrel upon that account.”

“I am glad, however, to find you are gaining in the rank of your customers, and trust, as the occasion has ceased, you will be more inclined to be good-natured to each other.”

“Why, as to good-nature, Sir Edward, I lived with your honor ten years, and you must know somewhat of my temper,” said Jackson, with the self-satisfaction of an approving conscience; “but Sam Daniels is a man who is never easy unless he is left quietly at the top of the ladder; however,” continued the host, with a chuckle, “I have given him a dose lately.”

“How so, Jackson?” inquired the baronet, willing to gratify the man’s wish to relate his triumphs.

“Your honor must have heard mention made of a great lord, the Duke of Derwent; well, Sir Edward, about six weeks agone he passed through with my Lord Chatterton.”

“Chatterton!” exclaimed John, interrupting him, “has he been so near us again, and so lately?”

“Yes, Mr. Moseley,” replied Jackson with a look of importance:  “they dashed into my yard with their chaise and four, with five servants, and would you think it, Sir Edward, they hadn’t been in the house ten minutes, before Daniels son was fishing from the servants, who they were; I told him, Sir Edward—­dukes don’t come every day.”