ponderous granite substance into spirit； might here be sought in vain。
Something had been originally left out； or had departed。 And therefore
the marvellously gifted statesman had always a weary gloom in the deep
caverns of his eyes； as of a child that has outgrown its playthings；
or a man of mighty faculties and little aims； whose life； with all its
high performances； was vague and empty； because no high purpose had
endowed it with reality。
Still； Ernest's neighbor was thrusting his elbow into his side； and
pressing him for an answer。
〃Confess！ confess！ Is not he the very picture of your Old Man of
the Mountain？〃
〃No！〃 said Ernest； bluntly； 〃I see little or no likeness。〃
〃Then so much the worse for the Great Stone Face！〃 answered his
neighbor； and again he set up a shout for Old Stony Phiz。
But Ernest turned away。 melancholy； and almost despondent； for this
was the saddest of his disappointments； to behold a man who might have
fulfilled the prophecy； and had not willed to do so。 Meantime； the
cavalcade； the banners； the music； and the barouches； swept past
him； with the vociferous crowd in the rear； leaving the dust to settle
down； and the Great Stone Face to be revealed again； with the grandeur
that it had worn for untold centuries。
〃Lo； here I am； Ernest！〃 the benign lips seemed to say。 〃I have
waited longer than thou； and am not yet weary。 Fear not； the man
will come。〃
The years hurried onward； treading in their haste on one
another's heels。 And now they began to bring white hairs； and
scatter them over the head of Ernest； they made reverend wrinkles
across his forehead； and furrows in his cheeks。 He was an aged man。
But not in vain had he grown old： more than the white hairs on his
head were the sage thoughts in his mind； his wrinkles and furrows were
inscriptions that Time had graved； and in which he had written legends
of wisdom that had been tested by the tenor of a life。 And Ernest
had ceased to be obscure。 Unsought for； undesired； had come the fame
which so many seek； and made him known in the great world； beyond
the limits of the valley in which he had dwelt so quietly。 College
professors； and even the active men of cities； came from far to see
and converse with Ernest； for the report had gone abroad that this
simple husbandman had ideas unlike those of other men； not gained from
books； but of a higher tone… a tranquil and familiar majesty； as if he
had been talking with the angels as his daily friends。 Whether it were
sage； statesman； or philanthropist； Ernest received these visitors
with the gentle sincerity that had characterized him from boyhood； and
spoke freely with them of whatever came uppermost； or lay deepest in
his heart or their own。 While they talked together； his face would
kindle； unawares； and shine upon them； as with a mild evening light。
Pensive with the fulness of such discourse； his guests took leave
and went their way； and； passing up the valley； paused to look at
the Great Stone Face； imagining that they had seen its likeness in a
human countenance； but could not remember where。
While Ernest had been growing up and growing old； a bountiful
Providence had granted a new poet to this earth。 He； likewise； was a
native of the valley but had spent the greater part of his life at a
distance from that romantic region； pouring out his sweet music amid
the bustle and din of cities。 Often； however； did the mountains
which had been familiar to him in his childhood lift their snowy peaks
into the clear atmosphere of his poetry。 Neither was the Great Stone
Face forgotten； for the poet had celebrated it in an ode； which was
grand enough to have been uttered by its own majestic lips。 This man
of genius； we may say； had come down from heaven with wonderful
endowments。 If he sang of a mountain； the eyes of all mankind beheld a
mightier grandeur reposing on its breast； or soaring to its summit；
than had before been seen there。 If his theme were a lovely lake； a
celestial smile had now been thrown over it； to gleam forever on its
surface。 If it were the vast old sea； even the deep immensity of its
dread bosom seemed to swell the higher； as if moved by the emotions of
the song。 Thus the world assumed another and a better aspect from
the hour that the poet blessed it with his happy eyes。 The Creator had
bestowed him； as the last； best touch to his own handiwork。 Creation
was not finished till the poet came to interpret； and so complete it。
The effect was no less high and beautiful； when his human
brethren were the subject of his verse。 The man or woman； sordid
with the common dust of life； who crossed his daily path； and the
little child who played in it； were glorified if he beheld them in his
mood of poetic faith。 He showed the golden links of the great chain
that intertwined them with an angelic kindred； he brought out the
hidden traits of a celestial birth that made them worthy of such
kin。 Some； indeed； there were； who thought to show the soundness of
their judgment by affirming that all the beauty and dignity of the
natural world existed only in the poet's fancy。 Let such men speak for
themselves； who undoubtedly appear to have been spawned forth by
Nature with a contemptuous bitterness； she having plastered them up
out of her refuse stuff； after all the swine were made。 As respects
all things else； the poet's ideal was the truest truth。
The songs of this poet found their way to Ernest。 He read them；
after his customary toil； seated on the bench before his cottage door；
where； for such a length of time； he had filled his repose with
thought by gazing at the Great Stone Face。 And now； as he read stanzas
that caused the soul to thrill within him； he lifted his eyes to the
vast countenance beaming on him so benignantly。
〃O； majestic friend；〃 he murmured； addressing the Great Stone Face；
〃is not this man worthy to resemble thee？〃
The Face seemed to smile； but answered not a word。
Now it happened that the poet； though he dwelt so far away； had not
only heard of Ernest； but had meditated much upon his character； until
he deemed nothing so desirable as to meet this man； whose untaught
wisdom walked hand in hand with the noble simplicity of his life。
One summer morning； therefore； he took passage by the railroad； and；
in the decline of the afternoon； alighted from the cars at no great
distance from Ernest's cottage。 The great hotel； which had formerly
been the palace of Mr。 Gathergold； was close at hand； but the poet
with his carpet…bag on his arm； inquired at once where Ernest dwelt；
and was resolved to be accepted as his guest。
Approaching the door； he there found the good old man； holding a
volume in his hand； which alternately he read； and then； with a finger
between the leaves； looked lovingly at the Great Stone Face。
〃Good evening；〃 said the poet。 〃Can you give a traveller a
night's lodging？〃'
〃Willingly；〃 answered Ernest； and then he added； smiling； 〃Methinks
I never saw the Great Stone Face look so hospitably at a stranger。〃
The poet sat down on the bench beside him； and he and Ernest talked
together。 Often had the poet held intercourse with the wittiest and
the wisest； but never before with a man like Ernest； whose thoughts
and feelings gushed up with such a natural freedom； and who made great
truths so familiar by his simple utterance of them。 Angels； as had
been so often said； seemed to have wrought with him at his labor in
the fields； angels seemed to have sat with him by the fireside； and；
dwelling with angels as friend with friends； he had imbibed the
sublimity of their ideas； and imbued it with the sweet and lowly charm
of household words。 So thought the poet。 And Ernest； on the other
hand； was moved and agitated by the living images which the poet flung
out of his mind； and which peopled all the air about the
cottage…door with shapes of beauty； both gay and pensive。 The
sympathies of these two men instructed them with a profounder sense
than either could have attained alone。 Their minds accorded into one
strain； and made delightful music which neither of them could have
claimed as all his own； nor distinguished his own share from the
other's。 They led one another； as it were； into a high pavilion of
their thoughts； so remote； and hitherto so dim； that they had never
entered it before； and so beautiful that they desired to be there
always。
As Ernest listened to the poet； he imagined that the Great Stone
Face was bending forward to listen too。 He gazed earnestly into the
poet's glowing eyes。
〃Who are you； my strangely gifted guest？〃 he said。
The poet laid his finger on the volume that Ernest had been
reading。
〃You have read these poems；〃 said he。 〃You know me； then… for I
wrote them。〃
Again； and still more earnestly than before； Ernest examined the
poet's features； then turned towards the Great Stone Face； then
back； with an uncertain aspect； to his guest。 But his countenance
fell； he shook his head； and sighed。
〃Wherefore are you sad？〃 inquired the poet。
〃Because； replied Ernest； 〃all through life I have awaited the
fulfilment of a prophecy； and； when I read these poems； I hoped that
it might be fulfilled in you。〃
〃You hoped；〃 answered the poet； faintly smiling； 〃to find in me the
likeness of the Great Stone Face。 And you are disappointed； as
formerly with Mr。 Gathergold； and Old Blood…and…Thunder； and Old Stony
Phiz。 Yes； Ernest； it is my doom。 You must add my name to the
illustrious three； and record another failure of your hopes。 For… in
shame and sadness do I speak it； Ernest… I am not worthy to be
typified by yonder benign and majestic image。〃
〃And why？〃 asked Ernest。 He pointed to the volume… 〃Are not those
thoughts divine？〃
〃They have a strain of the Divinity；〃 replied the poet。 〃You can
hear in them the far…off echo of a heavenly song。 But my life； dear
Ernest； has not corresponded with my thought。 I have had grand dreams；
but they have been only dreams； because I have lived… and that； too；
by own choice… among poor and