Passing down Commercial-street one fine day, I observed a lady standing
alone in the middle of the sidewalk, with no obvious business there,
but with apparently no intention of going on. She was outwardly very
calm, and seemed at first glance to be lost in some serene
philosophical meditation. A closer examination, however, revealed a
peculiar restlessness of attitude, and a barely noticeable uneasiness
of expression. The conviction came upon me that the lady was in
distress, and as delicately as possible I inquired of her if such were
not the case, intimating at the same time that I should esteem it a
great favour to be permitted to do something. The lady smiled blandly
and replied that she was merely waiting for a gentleman. It was
tolerably evident that I was not required, and with a stammered apology
I hastened away, passed clear around the block, came up behind her, and
took up a position on a dry-goods box; it lacked an hour to dinner
time, and I had leisure. The lady maintained her attitude, but with
momently increasing impatience, which found expression in singular
wave-like undulations of her lithe figure, and an occasional
unmistakeable contortion. Several gentlemen approached, but were
successively and politely dismissed. Suddenly she experienced a quick
convulsion, strode sharply forward one step, stopped short, had another
convulsion, and walked rapidly away. Approaching the spot I found a
small iron grating in the sidewalk, and between the bars two little
boot heels, riven from their kindred soles, and unsightly with snaggy
nails.
Heaven only knows why that entrapped female had declined the proffered
assistance of her species—why she had elected to ruin her boots in
preference to having them removed from her feet. Upon that day when the
grave shall give up its dead, and the secrets of all hearts shall be
revealed, I shall know all about it; but I want to know now.