In the lifetime this writer has spent in the sagebrush, it is interesting to recall these celebrations. The first was in the last and fiercest year of the war, when news came slowly on the Overland Stage and all we had to cheer us, was the grim message from Grant. The little mining camp had representatives from all sections, and while the undercurrent of feeling was intense, a spirit of mutual forbearance seemed to possess all alike, and the few flags that floated from saloon staffs told us the country was not yet dismembered. The only demonstrations were the gatherings in congenial groups, where some indulged in songs led by that lover of melody, genial Dan Morgan. We were discussing statehood then and ways for inducing capital from the east to invest in our mines, mill sites and wood ranches and the natural meadow lands of the Reese River Valley. Then, in 1865, a year later, we celebrated in Austin. The mines were yielding, eastern capital was building mills and money was easy for all who worked. In 1866 we observed the day in rock-ribbed Ophir Canyon, where the operations of the Twin River S.M. Co. furnished occupation and a living to some 500 laborers, miners and millmen. We had no orator nor poet, but flags floated; a general holiday was indulged in, and the canyon echoed with song led by that old stalwart Billy Smith, now the U.S. Postmaster of Eureka, and his brothers, in melodious voice that rings in memory yet. The celebration was a success, but we all went hungry the next day, for all the cooks got drunk and rations were short until they sobered up.

In 1867 we all celebrated in Ophir again much in the same style, winding up with a stag dance, for there wasn't but three white women in camp. In 1868, everybody celebrated in Austin, And, to accommodate all, instead of one procession, we had two in the forenoon, another in the afternoon. The first were intensely partisan, one being led by Major Bradley and the other by Major Sherman, and each was elaborate and imposing, made so by all the means at command and regardless of expense. Party feeling was intense, angry looks were on every face, and when the two processions countermarched past each other, the moment was fraught with critical interest. Each held its literary exercises separate and apart from the other but sober counsels prevailed and no conflict occurred. A happy inspiration took possession of the minds of representative men, who, to placate the bitter feeling of the factions, suggested a burlesque parade for the afternoon. The proposition took like wildfire; everybody was in for it; the news spread rapidly, and by 4 o'clock in the afternoon, the procession formed and all those in the rival processions of the forenoon joined in making the afternoon parade the opportunity for fraternizing in a devil-may-care spirit of brotherly love that was infectious and contagious.

The immense procession, for it was immense, burlesqued everything contained in the two former, and each new and comical feature as it passed was cheered with wildest mirth by the spectators that swarmed on the sidewalks. And, when the roundup was made in front of the National Bank and the reader, poet, orator and president, all in mask, were, however, recognized by their voices and manners, and the crowd discovered that they included such prominent men as Judge W.H. Beatty, Colonel Harry I. Thornton, John Dennis, Judge John H. Boalt, Mayor J.S. Slanson, the Honorable Tom Wren and others, then and since then, known to fame, the jollity spread and swept away every vestige of the ill feeling that marked the commencement of the day.