A doctor friend of mine, a big hearted, broad shouldered Nature’s nobleman, was pushing his way here and there through the crowd. I noted him towering above those about him as he jostled the people about, and called to him, “Will you take a table?” But he did not answer. He did not seem to see or hear. He went on through the crowd from table to table and finally disappeared. I marvelled then, for I did not know. Poor fellow, his two daughters, beautiful young women, had gone to the Iroquois that day. He was looking, and looking,--for that which was bound to crush him, and hoping,--ah! hoping against hope, as the sequence proved. His light had gone out--and it has stayed out. And I have just an inkling of what it all meant to the bereaved ones. I had not yet had time to ascertain whether my own wife and children had chanced to go to the Iroquois that afternoon. I recalled however, that I had taken them to see the same play a few days before, and concluded that they were not likely to attend it again soon, but still-- The horrible doubt had just begun to befog my mind, when a new subject was laid upon the table where I was working. It was the body of a young girl. As I took the first hasty glance at this latest unfortunate, I was almost stunned. The resemblance to my younger daughter was so startling that I was all but sure it was she. It was but a fleeting moment before I knew, but that ephemeral space of time was enough. And then I understood, oh, so well. “A father’s heart should not be deceived, even for a moment,” I fancy I hear some one say. Perhaps not, yet there was one unhappy man in that frantic throng of those who were seeking their beloved ones, whom I beheld, thrice in succession, identifying a strange child as his own. And that father had a heart of hearts, as I have occasion to know. Lying beneath one of the tables lay the body of a beautiful little girl of about twelve years of age. Fair was she, with golden hair and cheeks still red. A doctor saw her lying there and paused, wondering to himself whether his brethren had worked quite long enough. She surely did not look as if she were dead. As the doctor stood wondering thus, a group of young lads approached him from the other side of the table. One of them cried appealingly: “Oh, doctor, won’t you please try once more to save that little girl. We know her, and know her folks, and it will kill them if she dies.” Another physician who was passing by, overhearing said, “No use, old man. We worked over her for forty minutes before we gave her up,” and he hurried on to another table. “Oh, but doctor,” said one of the boys appealingly, “I just saw her eyes quiver.” “Yes,” said another, “and one of her fingers just moved.”