The tenth of August, which was the one hundredth anniversary of the settlement of our village, dawned bright and clear, for which we were thankful, though it was very hot.  The exercises were to begin at eleven o’clock in the morning with the procession.  We were to assemble at the old Shaw house at half-past twelve; the dinner was to be at half-past one, after an hour of social intercourse which would afford people an opportunity of viewing the house, and a few of us an opportunity of preparing the dinner.  After dinner were to be the speeches and readings, which must be concluded in season for the out-of-town celebrities to take the Grover stage-coach to connect with the railroad train.

By eight o’clock people began to arrive from other villages, and to gather on the street corners to view the procession.  It was the very first procession ever organized in our village, and we were very proud of it.  For the first time Mrs. Jameson began to be regarded with real gratitude and veneration as a local benefactress.  We told all the visitors that Mrs. H. Boardman Jameson got up the centennial, and we were proud that she was one of us when we saw her driving past in the procession.  We thought it exceedingly appropriate that the Jamesons—­Mr. Jameson had come on from New York for the occasion—­should ride in the procession with the minister and the lawyer in a barouche from Grover.  Barouches seemed that day to be illustrative of extremest progress in carriages, in contrast with the old Linnville and Wardville stage-coaches, and the old chaise and doctor’s sulky, all of which had needed to be repaired with infinite care, and were driven with gingerly foresight, lest they fall to pieces on the line of march.  We really pitied the village doctor in the aged sulky, for it seemed as if he might have to set a bone for himself by reason of the sudden and total collapse of his vehicle.  Mrs. Jameson had decreed that he should ride in it, however, and there was no evading her mandate.

Mrs. Jameson looked very imposing in her barouche, and we were glad that she wore one of her handsome black silks instead of her sensible short costume.  There was a good deal of jet about the waist, and her bonnet was all made of jet, with a beautiful tuft of pink roses on the front, and she glittered resplendently as she rode past, sitting up very straight, as befitted the dignity of the occasion.

“That is Mrs. H. Boardman Jameson,” said we, and we mentioned incidentally that the gentleman beside her was Mr. Jameson.  We were not as proud of him, since all that he had done which we knew of was to lose all his money and have his friends get him a place in the custom-house; he was merely a satellite of his wife, who had gotten up our centennial.