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
farmer had ideas unlike those of other men, and a tranquil majesty as if
he had been talking with the angels as his daily friends. Ernest
received these visitors with the gentle sincerity that had marked 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 and shine upon them, as with a mild evening light.
When his guests took leave and went their way, and passing up the
valley, paused to look at the Great Stone Face, they imagined 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 he had
celebrated it in a poem which was grand enough to have been uttered by
its lips.

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 said, 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