t still, though a peer, he is of the youngest branch of my
family, being descended from the fourth son of Werndee, who was your
ancestor, and settled at Perthir; whereas I am descended from the eldest
son. Indeed, my cousin Jones of Lanarth is of an older branch than you, and
yet he never disputes that I am the head of the family." "Why, cousin
Proger, I have nothing more to say; so, good night to you." "Stop a moment,
Mr. Powell," said the stranger, "you see how it pours; do admit me at
least; I will not dispute with you about our families." "Pray, sir, what is
your name, and where do you come from?" "My name is * * *, and I come from
the county of * * *." "A Saxon of course; it would be very curious indeed,
sir, should I dispute with a Saxon about families; no, sir, you must suffer
for the obstinacy of your friend, and so a pleasant ride to you both."

PUNCTUALITY.

A Quarter of an Hour.--When Lord Nelson was leaving London, on his last,
but glorious, expedition against the enemy, a quantity of cabin furniture
was ordered to be sent on board his ship. He had a farewell dinner party at
his house; and the upholsterer having waited upon his lordship, with an
account of the completion of the goods, was brought into the dining-room,
in a corner of which his lordship spoke with him. The upholsterer stated to
his employer, that everything was finished, and packed, and would go in the
wagon, from a certain inn, at _six o'clock_. "And you go to the inn, Mr.
A., and see them off?" "I shall, my lord; I shall be there _punctually at
six_." "_A quarter before six_, Mr. A.," returned Lord Nelson, "be there _a
quarter before six_. To that _quarter of an hour_ I owe everything in
life."

Mr. Scott, of Exeter, travelled on business till about eighty years of age.
He was one of the most celebrated characters in the kingdom for
punctuality, and by his methodical conduct, joined to uniform diligence, he
gradually amassed a fortune. For a long series of years, the proprietor of
every inn he frequented in Devon and Cornwall knew the day, and the very
hour, he would arrive. A short time before he died, a gentleman on a
journey in Cornwall stopped at a small inn at Port Isaac to dine. The
waiter presented him with a bill of fare, which he did not approve of; but
observing a fine duck roasting, "I'll have that," said the traveller. "You
cannot, sir," said the landlord; "it is for Mr. Scott of Exeter." "I know
Mr. Scott very well,"