To use its own phraseology, it came there “flush” and went away “busted.”

After that, the Commission got itself into systematic working order, and for weeks the contributions flowed into its treasury in a generous stream.  Individuals and all sorts of organizations levied upon themselves a regular weekly tax for the sanitary fund, graduated according to their means, and there was not another grand universal outburst till the famous “Sanitary Flour Sack” came our way.  Its history is peculiar and interesting.  A former schoolmate of mine, by the name of Reuel Gridley, was living at the little city of Austin, in the Reese river country, at this time, and was the Democratic candidate for mayor.  He and the Republican candidate made an agreement that the defeated man should be publicly presented with a fifty-pound sack of flour by the successful one, and should carry it home on his shoulder.  Gridley was defeated.  The new mayor gave him the sack of flour, and he shouldered it and carried it a mile or two, from Lower Austin to his home in Upper Austin, attended by a band of music and the whole population.  Arrived there, he said he did not need the flour, and asked what the people thought he had better do with it.  A voice said: 

“Sell it to the highest bidder, for the benefit of the Sanitary fund.”

The suggestion was greeted with a round of applause, and Gridley mounted a dry-goods box and assumed the role of auctioneer.  The bids went higher and higher, as the sympathies of the pioneers awoke and expanded, till at last the sack was knocked down to a mill man at two hundred and fifty dollars, and his check taken.  He was asked where he would have the flour delivered, and he said: 

“Nowhere—­sell it again.”

Now the cheers went up royally, and the multitude were fairly in the spirit of the thing.  So Gridley stood there and shouted and perspired till the sun went down; and when the crowd dispersed he had sold the sack to three hundred different people, and had taken in eight thousand dollars in gold.  And still the flour sack was in his possession.

The news came to Virginia, and a telegram went back: 

“Fetch along your flour sack!”

Thirty-six hours afterward Gridley arrived, and an afternoon mass meeting was held in the Opera House, and the auction began.  But the sack had come sooner than it was expected; the people were not thoroughly aroused, and the sale dragged.  At nightfall only five thousand dollars had been secured, and there was a crestfallen feeling in the community.  However, there was no disposition to let the matter rest here and acknowledge vanquishment at the hands of the village of Austin.  Till late in the night the principal citizens were at work arranging the morrow’s campaign, and when they went to bed they had no fears for the result.  At eleven the next morning a procession of open carriages, attended by clamorous bands of music and adorned with a moving display of