In the town of Chesterfield the Centenary was celebrated most befittingly. It was there the father of railways spent his latter days, and there he died. Although there was not such a flood of oratory as at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, many interesting speeches were delivered in connection with the event. We give some extracts from an address delivered by the Rev. Samuel C. Sarjant, B.A., Curate-in-Charge at that time—delivered at Holy Trinity Church, Chesterfield. An address which, for ability, nice discrimination of thought, and true appreciation of the subject, would not disgrace any pulpit in Christendom:— “We meet to-day for the highest of all purposes, the worship of Almighty God. But we also meet to show our regard for the memory of one of the great and gifted dead. It is no small distinction of this town that the last days of George Stephenson were spent in it. And it adds to the interest of this church that it contains his mortal remains. With little internally to appeal to the eye, or to gratify taste, this church has yet a spell which will draw visitors from every part of the world. Men will come hither from all lands to look with reverence upon the simple resting place of him who was the father of the Locomotive and of the Railway system. And perhaps the naked simplicity which marks that spot is in keeping with a life, the grandeur of which was due solely to the man himself, and not to outward helps and circumstances . . . “Toil has its roll of heroes, but few, if any, of them are greater than he whose birth we commemorate to-day. He was pre-eminently a self-made man, one who ‘achieved’ greatness by his own exertions. Granting that he was gifted with powers of body and mind above the average, these were his only advantages. The rest was due to hard work, patient, persistent effort. He had neither wealth, schooling, patrons, nor favouring circumstances. He comes into the arena like a naked athlete to wrestle in his own strength with the difficulties before him. And these were many and great! “I need not dwell upon the details of a life which is so well known to most, and to some present so vividly, from personal intercourse and friendship. We all know what a battle he fought, how nobly and well, first striving by patient plodding effort to remove his own ignorance, cheerfully bending himself to every kind of work that came in his way, and seeking to gain not only manual expertness, but a mastery of principles. We know how he went on toiling, observing, experimenting, saying little—for he was never given to the ‘talk of the lips’—but doing much, letting slip no chance of getting knowledge, and of turning it to practical account. He was one of those, who While his companions slept Was toiling upwards in the night.