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 my own choice
among poor and mean realities. Sometimes, even--shall I dare to say
it?---I lack faith in the grandeur, the beauty, and the goodness, which
my own works are said to have made more evident in nature and in human
life. Why, then, pure seeker of the good and true, shouldst thou hope to
find me, in yonder image of the divine?'

The poet spoke sadly, and his eyes were dim with tears. So, likewise,
were those of Ernest.

At the hour of sunset, as had long been his frequent custom, Ernest was
to discourse to an assemblage of the neighboring inhabitants in the open
air. He and the poet, arm in arm, still talking together as they went
along, proceeded to the spot. It was a small nook among the hills, with
a gray precipice behind, the stern front of which was relieved by the
pleasant foliage of many creeping plants that made a tapestry for the
naked rock, by hanging their festoons from all its rugged angles. At a
small elevation above the ground, set in a rich framework of verdure,
there appeared a niche, spacious enough to admit a human figure, with
freedom for such gestures as spontaneously accompany earnest thought and
genuine emotion. Into this natural pulpit Ernest ascended, and threw a
look of familiar kindness around upon his audience. They stood, or sat,
or reclined upon the grass, as seemed good to each, with the departing
sunshine falling obliquely over them, and mingling its subdued
cheerfulness with the solemnity of a grove of ancient trees, beneath and
amid the boughs of which the golden rays were constrained to pass. In
another direction was seen the Great Stone Face, with the same cheer,
combined with the same solemnity, in its benignant aspect.

Ernest began to sp