tter. Every ripple of water that passes through or under it
carries the germs of possible disease with it."

At the Schoolhouse Morgue.

Away from the devastation in the valley and the gloomy scenes along the
river, on Prospect Hill, stands the school-house, the morgue of the
unidentified dead. People do not go there unless they are hunting for a
friend or relative. They treat it as a pest house. They have seen enough
white faces in the valley and the living feel like fleeing from the
dead.

This afternoon at sunset every desk in every classroom supported a
coffin. Each coffin was numbered and each lid turned to show the face
within. On the blackboard in one of the rooms, between the pretty
drawing and neat writing of the school children, was scrawled the
bulletin "Hold No. '59' as long as possible; supposed to be Mrs.
Paulson, of Pittsburgh." "But '59' wasn't Mrs. Paulson," said a little
white-faced woman. "It is Miss Frances Wagner, of Market street,
Johnstown." Her brother found her here. "Fifty-nine" has gone--one of
the few identified to-day, and others had come to take its place.

Strongly appealing to the sympathies of even those looking for friends
and relatives was the difference in the size of the coffins. There were
some no larger than a violin case hidden below large boxes, telling of
the unknown babies perished, and there were coffins of children of all
years. On the blackboards were written such sentences as "Home sweet
home;" "Peace on earth, good will toward men." For all the people who
looked at their young faces knew, they might have stood by the coffin of
the child who helped to write them.

The bodies found each day are kept as long as possible and then are sent
away for burial with their numbers, where their names should be, on
rough boards, their only tombstones.

Just as a black storm-cloud was driving hard from the West over the
slope of the hills yesterday the body of young Henry G. Rose, the
district attorney of Cambria County, was lowered into a temporary grave
beside unknown victims. Three people attended his burial--his
father-in-law, James A. Lane, who saw him lost while he himself was
struggling for life in their floating house; the Rev. Dr. H.L. Chapman,
of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and the Rev. L. Maguire. Dr. Chapman
read the funeral services, and while he prayed the thunder rumbled and
the cloud darkened the scene. The coffins are taken there in wagonloads,
lowered quick