-now towards the north,
now towards the south--as the currents carried it. In other respects
it was its own master; but one can become tired even of that.

The written paper--the last farewell from the bridegroom to his
bride--would only bring deep sorrow if it ever reached the proper
hands. But where were these hands, that had looked so white when they
spread the tablecloth on the fresh grass in the green wood on the
betrothal-day? Where was the furrier's daughter? Nay, where was her
country? and to what country was it nearest? The bottle knew not. It
drifted and drifted, and it was so tired of always drifting on; but it
could not help itself. Still, still it had to drift, until at last it
reached the land; but it was a foreign country. It did not understand
a word that was said, for the language was not such as it had been
formerly accustomed to hear; and one feels quite lost if one does not
understand the language spoken around.

The bottle was taken up and examined; the slip of paper in it was
observed, taken out, and opened; but nobody could make out what was
written on it, though every one knew that the bottle must have been
cast overboard, and that some information was contained in the paper;
but what _that_ was remained a mystery, and it was put back into the
bottle, and the latter laid by in a large press, in a large room, in a
large house.

Whenever any stranger came the slip of paper was taken out, opened,
and examined, so that the writing, which was only in pencil, became
more and more illegible from the frequent folding and unfolding of the
paper, till at length the letters could no longer be discerned. After
the bottle had remained about a year in the press it was removed to
the loft, and was soon covered with dust and cobwebs. Ah! then it
thought of its better days, when red wine was poured from it in the
shady wood, and when it swayed about upon the waves, and had a secret
to carry--a letter, a farewell sigh.

It now remained in the loft for twenty mortal years, and it might have
remained longer, had not the house been going to be rebuilt. The roof
was taken off, the bottle discovered and talked about; but it did not
understand what was said. One does not learn languages, living up
alone in a loft, even in twenty years. "Had I but been down in the
parlour," it thought, and with truth, "I would, of course, have
learned it."

It was now washed and rinsed. It certainly wanted cleaning sadly, and
very