“I picked up a bottle half buried in the wet sand, covered with barnacles, but stoppled tight, and half full ofred ale, which still smacked of juniper,all that remainedI fancied from the wreck of a rowdy world,that great saltsea on the one hand, and this little sea of ale on the other, preserving their separate characters. What if it could tell us its adventures over countless ocean waves! Man could not be man through such ordeals as it had passed. But as I poured it slowly out on to the sand, it seemed to me that man himself was like a half-emptied bottle of paleale, which Time had drunk sofar, yet stoppled tight for a while, and drifting about in the ocean of circumstances, but destined ere-long to mingle with the surrounding waves, or be spilled amid the sands of a distant shore.”
