<p>"The sea, the sea, the open sea;<br>The blue, the fresh, the ever free,"<br>chanted the fresh and delicious voice of a young girl walking along the sands of the seashore in the summer sunshine at Cape May.<br>"Cross my palm with silver, and I'll tell your fortune, bonnie maid," said a cracked, discordant voice.<br>The singer paused abruptly, and looked at the owner of the voice?a lean, decrepit old hag, who extended her withered hand imploring...