The pure and high simplicity of his thought, which, as one of its manifestations, took shape in the good deeds that dropped silently from his hand, flowed also forth in speech.  He uttered truths that wrought upon and moulded the lives of those who heard him.  His auditors, it may be, never suspected that Ernest, their own neighbour and familiar friend, was more than an ordinary man; least of all did Ernest himself suspect it; but, inevitably as the murmur of a rivulet, came thoughts out of his mouth that no other human lips had spoken.

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 favourable 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.