w 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 with intertwined laurel, and the banner
drooping as if to shade his brow! And there, too, visible in the same
glance, 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 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 Old Blood-and-Thunder's
visage.

"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 gathered about the distant mountain side, and there were
seen the grand and awful features of the Great Stone Face, awful but
benignant, as if a mighty angel were 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 brightening, although without motion of
the lips. It was probably the effect of the western sunshine, melting
the thin vapors that had swept between him and the object that he had
gazed at. But--as it always did--the aspect of his marvelous 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 were
whispering him--"fear not, Ernest."

IV

More years sped swiftly and tranquilly away. Ernest still dwelt in his
native valley, and was now a man of middle age. By slow degrees he had
become known among the people. Now, as heretofore, he labored for his
bread, and was the same 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 calm beneficence
of his daily life, the quiet stream of which had made a wide, green
margin all along its cour