A correspondent, writing to the _Derbyshire Courier_ the week following the Stephenson Centenary celebration at Chesterfield, remarks:—“The other day I met a kindly and venerable gentleman who possesses quite a fund of anecdotes relating to the Stephensons, father and son. It appears we have, or had, relations of old George residing in Derby. Years ago, says my friend, an old gentleman, who by his appearance and carriage was stamped as a man distinguished among his fellow-men, was inquiring on Derby platform for a certain engine-driver in the North Midland or the Birmingham and Derby service, whose name he gave. On the driver being pointed out, the gentleman, with the rough but pleasing north-country burr in his voice, said, after asking his name, “Did you marry —?” “Yes, sir.” “Then she’s my niece, and I hope you’ll make her a good husband. I have not had the chance of giving you a wedding present until now.” Then slipping into his hand a bank note for £50, he talked of other matters. The joy of the engine-driver at receiving so welcome a present was not greater than being recognised and kindly received by his wife’s illustrious uncle, George Stephenson.” THE POLITE IRISHMAN. It’s a small matter, but a gentleman always feels angry at himself after he has given up his seat, in a railway car, to a female who lacks the good manners to acknowledge the favour. The following “hint” to the ladies will show that a trifle of politeness properly spread on, often has a happy effect. The seats were all full, one of which was occupied by a rough-looking Irishman; and at one of the stations a couple of evidently well-bred and intelligent young ladies came in to procure seats, but seeing no vacant ones, were about to go into a back car, when Patrick rose hastily, and offered them his seat, with evident pleasure. “But you will have no seat yourself?” responded one of the young ladies with a smile, hesitating, with true politeness, as to accepting it. “Never ye mind _that_!” said the Hibernian, “ye’r welcome to ’t! I’d ride upon the cow-catcher till New York, any time, for a smile from such _jintlemanly_ ladies;” and retreated hastily to the next car, amid the cheers of those who had witnessed the affair. AN ENTERTAINING COMPANION. Once, during a tour in the Western States, writes Mr. Florence, the actor, an incident occurred in which I rather think I played the victim. We were _en route_ from Cleveland to Cincinnati, an eight or ten-hour journey. After seeing my wife comfortably seated, I walked forward to the smoking car, and, taking the only unoccupied place, pulled out my cigar case, and offered a cigar to my next neighbour. He was about sixty years of age, gentlemanly in appearance, and of a somewhat reserved and bashful mien. He gracefully accepted the cigar, and in a few minutes we were engaged in conversation. “Are you going far west?” I inquired.