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poked itself out of the coach-window, and dropt some copper coins upon the ground; so that, though the great man's name seems to have been Gathergold, he might just as suitably have been nicknamed Scattercopper. Still, nevertheless, with an earnest 5 shout, and evidently with as much good faith as ever, the people bellowed: “He is the very image of the Great Stone Face!”

But Ernest turned sadly from the wrinkled shrewdness of that sordid visage, and gazed up the valley, where, amid a gathering

mist, gilded by the last sunbeams, he could still distinguish those 10 glorious features which had impressed themselves into his soul.

Their aspect cheered him. What did the benign lips seem to say? “He will come! Fear not, Ernest; the man will come!” The years went on, and Ernest ceased to be a boy. He had grown

to be a young man now. He attracted little notice from the other 15 inhabitants of the valley, for they saw nothing remarkable in his

way of life, save that, when the labor of the day was over, he still loved to go apart and gaze and meditate upon the Great Stone Face. According to their idea of the matter, it was a folly, indeed,

but pardonable, inasmuch as Ernest was industrious, kind, and 20 neighborly, and neglected no duty for the sake of indulging this

idle habit. They knew not that the Great Stone Face had become a teacher to him, and that the sentiment which was expressed in it would enlarge the young man's heart, and fill it with wider and

deeper sympathies than other hearts. They knew not that thence 25 would come a better wisdom than could be learned from books,

and a better life than could be moulded on the defaced example of other human lives. Neither did Ernest know that the thoughts and affections which came to him so naturally, in the fields, and

at the fireside, and wherever he communed with himself, were of 30 a higher tone than those which all men shared with him. A simple soul — simple as when his mother first taught him the old prophecy

he beheld the marvellous features beaming adown the valley, and still wondered that their human counterpart was so long in

making his appearance. 35 By this time poor Mr. Gathergold was dead and buried; and

the oddest part of the matter was, that his wealth, which was the body and spirit of his existence, had disappeared before his death, leaving nothing of him but a living skeleton, covered over with a

wrinkled yellow skin. Since the melting away of his gold, t had 40 been very generally conceded that there was no such striking re

semblance, after all, betwixt the ignoble features of the ruined merchant and that majestic face upon the mountain-side. So the people

ceased to honor him during his life-time, and quietly consigned him to forgetfulness after his decease. Once in a while, it is true, his memory was brought up in connection with the magnificent palace which he had built, and which had long ago been turned 5 into a hotel for the accommodation of strangers, multitudes of whom came, every summer, to visit that famous natural curiosity, the Great Stone Face. Thus, Mr. Gathergold being discredited and thrown into the shade, the man of prophecy was yet to come.

It so happened that a native-born son of the valley, many years 10 before, had enlisted as a soldier, and, after a great deal of hard

fighting, had now become an illustrious commander. Whatever he may be called in history, he was known in camps and on the battle-field under the nickname of Old Blood-and-Thunder.

This war-worn veteran, being now infirm with age and wounds, 15 and weary of the turmoil of a military life, and of the roll of the

drum and the clangor of the trumpet, that had so long been ringing in his ears, had lately signified å purpose of returning to his native valley, hoping to find repose where he remembered to have

left it. The inhabitants, his old neighbors and their grown-up 20 children, were resolved to welcome the renowned warrior with a

salute of cannon and a public dinner; and all the more enthusiastically, it being affirmed that now, at last, the likeness of the Great Stone Face had actually appeared. An aid-de-camp of Blood

and-thunder, traveling through the valley, was said to have been 25 struck with the resemblance. Moreover, the schoolmates and

early acquaintances of the general were ready to testify, on path, that, to the best of their recollection, the aforesaid general had been exceedingly like the majestic image, even when a boy, only

that the idea had never occurred to them at that period. Great, 30 therefore, was the excitement throughout the valley; and many

people, who had never once thought of glancing at the Great Stone Face for years before, now spent their time in gazing at it, for the sake of knowing exactly how General Blood-and-Thunder looked.

On the day of the great festival, Ernest, with all the other people 35 of the valley, left their work, and proceeded to the spot where the

sylvan banquet was prepared. As he approached, the loud voice of the Rev. Dr. Battle-blast was heard, beseeching a blessing on the good things set before them, and on the distinguished friend of

peace in whose honor they were assembled. The tables were 40 arranged in a cleared space of the woods, shut in by the surround

ing trees, except where a vista opened eastward, and afforded a distant view of the Great Stone Face. Over the general's chair,

which was a relic from the home of Washington, there was an arch of verdant boughs, with the laurel profusely intermixed, and surmounted by his country's banner, beneath which he had won

his victories. Our friend Ernest raised himself on his tiptoes, in 5 hopes to get a glimpse of the celebrated guest; but there was a mighty crowd about the tables anxious to hear the toasts and speeches, and to catch any word that might fall from the general in reply; and a volunteer company, doing duty as a guard, pricked

ruthlessly with their bayonets at any particularly quiet person To among the throng. So Ernest, being of an unobtrusive character,

was thrust quite into the background, where he could see no more of Old Blood-and-Thunder's physiognomy than if it had been still blazing on the battle-field. To console himself, he turned towards

the Great Stone Face, which, like a faithful and long-remembered 15 friend, looked back and smiled upon him through the vista of the

forest. Meantime, however, he could overhear the remarks of various individuals, who were comparing the features of the hero with the face on the distant mountain-side.

“'Tis the same face, to a hair!” cried one man, cutting a caper 20 for joy. “Wonderfully like, that's a fact!” responded another.

"Like! Why, I call it Old Blood-and-Thunder himself, in a monstrous looking-glass!” cried a third. “And why not?' He's

-a the greatest man of this or any other age, beyond a doubt.”

And then all three of the speakers gave a great shout, which com25 municated electricity to the crowd, and called forth a roar from a

thousand voices, that went reverberating for miles among the mountains, until you might have supposed that the Great Stone Face had poured its thunder-breath into the cry. All these com

ments, and this vast enthusiasm, served the more to interest our 30 friend; nor did he think of questioning that now, at length, the

mountain-visage had found its human counterpart. It is true, Ernest had imagined that this long looked-for personage would appear in the character of a man of peace, uttering wisdom, and

doing good, and making people happy. But, taking an habitual 35 breadth of view, with all his simplicity, he contended, that Provi

dence should choose its own method of blessing mankind, and could conceive that this great end might be effected even by a warrior and a bloody sword, should inscrutable wisdom see fit to order matters



“The general! The general!” was now the cry. “Hush! Silence! Old Blood-and-Thunder's going to make a speech.”

Even so; for, the cloth being removed, the general's health had been drunk amid shouts of applause, and he now stood upon his feet to thank the company. Ernest saw him. There he was, over the shoulders of the crowd, from the two glittering epaulets

and embroidered collar upward, beneath the arch of green boughs 5 with intertwined laurel, 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 a resemblance as the crowd had testified? Alas,

Ernest could not recognize it! He beheld a war-worn and weather10 beaten countenance, full of energy, and expressive of an iron will;

but the gentle wisdom, the deep, broad, tender sympathies, were altogether wanting in Old-Blood-and-Thunder's visage; and even if the Great Stone Face had assumed his look of stern command,

the milder traits would still have tempered 15 “This is not the man of prophecy,” sighed Ernest to himself,

as he made his way out of the throng. “And must the world wait longer yet?"

The mists had congregated about the distant mountain-side, and there were seen the grand and awful features of the Great 20 Stone Face, awful but benignant, as if a mighty angel was sitting

among the hills, and enrobing himself in a cloud-vesture of gold and purple. As he looked Ernest could hardly believe but that a smile beamed over the whole visage, with a radiance still brighten

ing, although without motion of the lips. It was probably the 25 effect of the western sunshine melting through the thinly diffused

vapors that had swept between him and the object that he gazed at. But as it always did the aspect of his marvellous friend made Ernest as hopeful as if he had never hoped in vain.

“Fear not, Ernest,” said his heart, even as if the Great Face 30 were whispering him— "fear not, Ernest; he will come.”

” More years sped swiftly and tranquilly away. Ernest still dwelt in his native valley, and was now a man of middle age. By imperceptible degrees, he had become known among the people.

Now, as heretofore, he labored for his bread, and was the same 35 simple-hearted man that he had always been. But he had thought

and felt so much, he had given so many of the best hours of his life to unworldly hopes for some great good to mankind, that it seemed as though he had been talking with the angels, and had

imbibed a portion of their wisdom unawares. It was visible in the 40 calm and well-considered beneficence of his daily life, the quiet

stream of which had made a wide green margin all along its course. Not a day passed 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. Almost involuntarily, too, he had become a preacher. The pure and high simplicity of his thought, which, as one of its manifesta5 tions, took shape in the good deeds that dropped silently from his hand, flowed also forth in speech. He uttered truths that wrought upon and moulded 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 10 Ernest himself suspect it; but, inevitably as the murmur of a rivu

let, came thoughts out of his mouth that no other human lips had spoken.

When the people's minds had had a little time to cool, they were ready enough to acknowledge their mistake in imagining a similar15 ity between General Blood-and-Thunder's truculent physiognomy

and the benign visage on the mountain-side. But now, again, there were reports and many paragraphs in the newspapers, affirming that the likeness of the Great Stone Face had appeared upon

the broad shoulders of a certain eminent statesman. He, like Mr. 20 Gathergold and Old Blood-and-Thunder, was a native of the valley,

but had left it in his early days, and taken up the trades of law and politics. Instead of 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 was he, that whatever he might choose to 25 say, his auditors had no choice but to believe him; wrong looked

ike right, and right like wrong; for when it pleased him, he could make a kind of illuminated fog with his mere breath, and obscure the natural daylight with it. His tongue indeed, was a magic

instrument; sometimes it rumbled like the thunder; sometimes 30 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 was no such matter. In good truth, he was a wondrous man; and

when his tongue had acquired him all other imaginable success; : when it had been heard in halls of state, and in the courts of princes 35 and potentates; after it had made him known all over the world,

even as a voice crying from shore to shore; it finally persuaded his countrymen to select him for the Presidency. Before this time indeed, as soon as he began to grow celebrated his admirers had

found out the resemblance between him and the Great Stone Face; 40 and so much were they struck by it, that throughout the country

this distinguished gentleman was known by the name of Old Stony Phiz.


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