When the people’s minds had had a little time to cool, they were ready enough to acknowledge their mistake in imagining a similarity 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. 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 say, his auditors had no choice but to believe him; wrong looked like 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 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 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; and so much were they struck by it, that throughout the country this distinguished gentleman was known by the name of Old Stony Phiz.  The phrase was considered as giving a highly favorable aspect to his political prospects; for, as is likewise the case with the Popedom, nobody ever becomes President without taking a name other than his own.

While his friends were doing their best to make him President, Old Stony Phiz, as he was called, set out on a visit to the valley where he was born.  Of course, he had no other object than to shake hands with his fellow-citizens, and neither thought nor cared about any effect which his progress through the country might have upon the election.  Magnificent preparations were made to receive the illustrious statesman; a cavalcade of horsemen set forth to meet him at the boundary line of the State, and all the people left their business and gathered along the wayside to see him pass.  Among these was Ernest.  Though more than once disappointed, as we have seen, he had such a hopeful and confiding nature, that he was always ready to believe in whatever seemed beautiful and good.  He kept his heart continually open, and thus was sure to catch the blessing from on high, when it should come.  So now again, as buoyantly as ever, he went forth to behold the likeness of the Great Stone Face.