Street, where it may still be seen by the benighted traveller, just
a-going for two-and-half-and never gone!

The poor maiden after this misfortune felt a bitter resentment
swelling in her heart, and scorning to remain among her kind in that
costume, took her way to the Cliff House, where she arrived, worn
and weary, about breakfast-time.

The landlord received her kindly, and offered her a pair of his best
trousers; but she was of noble blood, and having been reared in
luxury, respectfully declined to receive charity from a low-born
stranger. All efforts to induce her to eat were equally unavailing.
She would stand for hours on the rocks where the road descends to
the beach, and gaze at the playful seals in the surf below, who
seemed rather flattered by her attention, and would swim about,
singing their sweetest songs to her alone. Passers-by were equally
curious as to her, but a broken lyre gives forth no music, and her
heart responded not with any more long metre hymns.

After a few weeks of this solitary life she was suddenly missed. At
the same time a strange seal was noted among the rest. She was
remarkable for being always clad in an overcoat, which she had
doubtless fished up from the wreck of the French galleon
Brignardello, which went ashore there some years afterward.

One tempestuous night, an old hag who had long done business as a
hermitess on Helmet Rock came into the bar-room at the Cliff House,
and there, amidst the crushing thunders and lightnings spilling all
over the horizon, she related that she had seen a young seal in a
comfortable overcoat, sitting pensively upon the pinnacle of Seal