But, taking an habitual breadth of view, with all his simplicity, hecontended that Providence should choose its own method of blessingmankind, and could conceive that this great end might be effected evenby a warrior and a bloody sword, should inscrutable wisdom see fitto order matters so.
"The general! the general!" was now the cry. "Hush! silence! OldBlood-and-Thunder's going to make a speech."Even so; for, the cloth being removed, the general's health hadbeen drunk amid shouts of applause, and he now stood upon his feetto thank the company. Ernest saw him. There he was, over the shouldersof the crowd, from the two glittering epaulets and embroideredcollar upward, beneath the arch of green boughs with inter-twinedlaurell and the banner drooping as if to shade his brow! And there,too, visible in the same glance, through the vista of the forest,appeared the Great Stone Face! And was there, indeed, such aresemblance as the crowd had testified? Alas, Ernest could notrecognize it! He beheld a war-worn and weather-beaten countenance,full of energy, and expressive of an iron will; but the gentle wisdom,the deep, broad, tender sympathies, were altogether wanting in OldBlood-and-Thunder's visage; and even if the Great Stone Face hadassumed his look of stern command, the milder traits would stillhave tempered it.
"This is not the man of prophecy," sighed Ernest to himself, ashe made his way out of the throng. "And must the world wait longeryet?"The mists had congregated about the distant mountain-side, andthere were seen the grand and awful features of the Great StoneFace, awful but benignant, as if a mighty angel were sitting among thehills, and enrobing himself in a cloud-vesture of gold and purple.
As he looked, Ernest could hardly believe but that a smile beamed overthe whole visage, with a radiance still brightening, althoughwithout motion of the lips. It was probably the effect of thewestern sunshine, melting through the thinly diffused vapors thathad swept between him and the object that he gazed at. But- as italways did- the aspect of his marvellous friend made Ernest as hopefulas if he had never hoped in vain.
"Fear not, Ernest," said his heart, even as if the Great Facewere whispering him, "fear not, Ernest; he will come."More years sped swiftly and tranquilly away. Ernest still dweltin his native valley, and was now a man of middle age. Byimperceptible degrees, he had become known among the people. Now, asheretofore, he labored for his bread, and was the samesimple-hearted man that he had always been. But he had thought andfelt so much, he had given so many of the best hours of his life tounworldly hopes for some great good to mankind, that it seemed asthough he had been talking with the angels, and had imbibed aportion of their wisdom unawares. It was visible in the calm andwell-considered beneficence of his daily life, the quiet stream ofwhich had made a wide green margin all along its course. Not a daypassed by, that the world was not the better because this man,humble as he was, had lived. He never stepped aside from his own path,yet would always reach a blessing to his neighbor. Almostinvoluntarily, too, he had become a preacher. The pure and highsimplicity of his thought, which, as one of its manifestations, tookshape in the good deeds that dropped silently from his hand, flowedalso forth in speech. He uttered truths that wrought upon andmoulded the lives of those who heard him. His auditors, it may be,never suspected that Ernest, their own neighbor and familiar friend,was more than an ordinary man; least of all did Ernest himself suspectit; but, inevitably as the murmur of a rivulet, came thoughts out ofhis mouth that no other human lips had spoken.
When the people's minds had had a little time to cool, they wereready enough to acknowledge their mistake in imagining a similaritybetween General Blood-and-Thunder's truculent physiognomy and thebenign visage on the mountain-side. But now, again, there were reportsand many paragraphs in the newspapers, affirming that the likenessof the Great Stone Face had appeared upon the broad shoulders of acertain eminent statesman. He, like Mr. Gathergold and OldBlood-and-Thunder, was a native of the valley, but had left it inhis early days, and taken up the trades of law and politics. Insteadof the rich man's wealth and the warrior's sword, he had but a tongue,and it was mightier than both together. So wonderfully eloquent washe, that whatever he might choose to say, his auditors had no choicebut to believe him; wrong looked like right, and right like wrong; forwhen it pleased him, he could make a kind of illuminated fog withhis mere breath, and obscure the natural daylight with it. His tongue,indeed, was a magic instrument: sometimes it rumbled like the thunder;sometimes it warbled like the sweetest music. It was the blast of war-the song of peace; and it seemed to have a heart in it, when there wasno such matter. In good truth, he was a wondrous man; and when histongue had acquired him all other imaginable success- when it had beenheard in halls of state, and in the courts of princes andpotentates- after it had made him known all over the world, even asa voice crying from shore to shore- it finally persuaded hiscountrymen to select him for the presidency. Before this time- indeed,as soon as he began to grow celebrated- his admirers had found out theresemblance between him and the Great Stone Face; and so much werethey struck by it, that throughout the country this distinguishedgentleman was known by the name of Old Stony Phiz. The phrase wasconsidered as giving a highly favorable aspect to his politicalprospects; for, as is likewise the case with the Popedom, nobodyever becomes president without taking a name other than his own.
