ity is nobility, even when filled with
blacking.

All the bottles were packed up, and our bottle was among them. At that
time it did not think to finish its career as a bottle-neck, or that
it should work its way up to be a bird's glass, which is always an
honourable thing; for one is of some consequence, after all. The
bottle did not again behold the light of day till it was unpacked with
the other bottles in the cellar of the wine merchant, and rinsed out
for the first time; and that was a strange sensation. There it lay,
empty and without a cork, and felt strangely unwell, as if it wanted
something, it could not tell what. At last it was filled with good
costly wine, and was provided with a cork, and sealed down. A ticket
was placed on it, marked "first quality;" and it felt as if it had
carried off the first prize at an examination; for, you see, the wine
was good and the bottle was good. When one is young, that's the time
for poetry! There was a singing and sounding within it, of things
which it could not understand--of green sunny mountains, whereon the
grape grows, where many vine dressers, men and women, sing and dance
and rejoice. "Ah, how beautiful is life!" There was a singing and
sounding to all this in the bottle, as in a young poet's brain; and
many a young poet does not understand the meaning of the song that is
within him.

One morning the bottle was bought, for the tanner's apprentice was
dispatched for a bottle of wine--"of the best." And now it was put in
the provision basket, with ham and cheese and sausages; the finest
butter and the best bread were put into the basket too, the tanner's
daughter herself packed it. She was young and pretty; her brown eyes
laughed, and round her mouth played a smile as elegant as that in her
eyes. She had delicate hands, beautifully white, and her neck was
whiter still; you saw at once that she was one of the most beautiful
girls in the town: and still she was not engaged.

The provision basket was in the lap of the young girl when the family
drove out into the forest. The bottle-neck looked out from the folds
of the white napkin. There was red wax upon the cork, and the bottle
looked straight into the girl's face. It also looked at the young
sailor who sat next to the girl. He was a friend of old days, the son
of the portrait painter. Quite lately he had passed with honour
through his examination as mate, and to-morrow he was to sail away in
a ship, far off to a