The scenes at the different relief agencies, where food, clothing, and provisions were given out on the order of the Citizens Committee, were extremely interesting. These were established at the Pennsylvania Railroad depot, at Peter's Hotel, in Adams Street, and in each of the suburbs. At the depot, where there was a large force of police, the people were kept in files, and the relief articles were given out with some regularity, but at such a place as Kernsville, in the suburbs, the relief station was in the upper story of a partly wrecked house. The yard was filled with boxes and barrels of bread, crackers, biscuit, and bales of blankets. The people crowded outside the yard in the street, and the provisions were handed to them over the fence, while the clothing was thrown to them from the upper windows. There was apparently great destitution in Kernsville. "I don't care what it is, only so long as it will keep me warm," said one woman, whose ragged clothing was still damp. The stronger women pushed to the front of the fence and tried to grab the best pieces of clothing which came from the windows, but the people in the house saw the game and tossed the clothing to those in the rear of the crowd. A man stood on a barrel of flour and yelled out what each piece of clothing was as it came down. At each yell there was a universal cry of "That's just what I want. My boy is dying; he must have that. Throw me that for my poor wife," and the likes of that. Finally the clothing was all gone, and there were some people who didn't get any. They went away bewailing their misfortune. A reporter was piloted to Kernsville by Kellog, a man who had lost his wife and baby in the flood. "She stood right thar, sir," said the man, pointing to a house whose roof and front were gone. "She climbed up thar when the water came first and almost smashed the house. She had the baby in her arms. Then another house came down and dashed against ours, and my wife went down with the baby raised above her head. I saw it all from a tree thar. I couldn't move a step to help 'em." Coming back, the same reporter met a man whose face was radiant. He fairly beamed good nature and kindness. "You look happy," said the reporter. "Yes, sir; I've found my boy," said the man. "Is your house gone?" asked the reporter. "Oh, of course," answered the man. "I've lost all I've got except my little boy," and he went on his way rejoicing. A wealthy young Philadelphian named Ogle had become engaged to a Johnstown lady, Miss Carrie Diehl. They were to be wedded in the middle of June, and were preparing for the ceremony. The lover heard of the terrible flood, but, knowing that the residence of his dear one was up in the hills, felt little fear for her safety. To make sure, however, he started for Johnstown. Near the Fourth Street morgue he met Mr. Diehl. "Thank God! you are safe," he exclaimed, and then added: "Is Carrie well?"