THE DISASTER WHICH ECLIPSED HISTORY THE JOHNSTOWN FLOOD ILLUSTRATED PUBLISHED BY RICHARD K. FOX, FRANKLIN SQ., NEW YORK. PRICE, 10 CENTS. Copyrighted 1889, by Richard K. Fox. PARIS UNVEILED --OR-- An Expose of Vice AND Crime --IN THE-- GAY FRENCH CAPITAL. Depicting in a truly graphic manner the doings and sayings of the liveliest people on the face of the earth in the liveliest capital in the world. Handsomely and profusely illustrated with innumerable Engravings. Translated from the French Expressly for Richard K. Fox PRICE BY MAIL, 25 CENTS. RICHARD K. FOX, Publisher, Franklin Square, New York HORROR! THE JOHNSTOWN DISASTER WHICH ECLIPSED HISTORY. A DEATH-DEALING DAM. Hundreds upon Hundreds of People Swept Away by the Flood. There is not one chance in a million that the Conemaugh river would ever have been heard of in history had it not been for its action on Friday evening, May 31. The Conemaugh river is, or rather was, a simple little stream that meandered through Northwestern Pennsylvania and made glad by its peaceful murmurings those who dwelt by its bankside, or bore tokens of affection in the way of pleasure-seeking picnickers, moonlight parties or across-stream excursionists upon its placid bosom. It was one of those inoffensive creeks, termed by courtesy a river, that the Hudson river of the East, the Mississippi of the Middle or the Red river of the West might call a stripling. There are times when even the still, small voice arises in its might and asserts its supremacy, and the wee small river of Conemaugh did that self-same thing on Friday evening, May 31. All along the banks of the listless, yet ever flowing, little alleged river the farmers were preparing for their anticipated harvests; the fishermen of the section--amateur fishermen indeed, for they were only equal to the fish--small and incomplete as was the Conemaugh, such as you and I, reader, who took pleasure in flinging their worm-crowded hooks into the stomach of a log and then going home for more bait; bonny fairies, brisk young tillers of the soil, toilers, and seeming-tired miners, these and all other human concomitants that go to make up such a quiet, thriving bailiwick dwelt in the locality. And so went on the listless life of the denizens of the Conemaugh Valley, nestling at the foot of the Allegheny range. Snuggling in the cosiest nook, right where no prying reporter or trout-fishing President ever bent his way was Johnstown. The word “was” is used advisedly, Johnstown is no more. At four o’clock on the fateful day all was serene. At six o’clock all was desolation and destruction. [Illustration: THE OLD JOHNSTOWN.]