’And why not?  He’s the greatest man of this or any other age, beyond a doubt.’

And then all three of the speakers gave a great shout, which communicated electricity to the crowd, and called forth a roar from a thousand voices, that went reverberating for miles among the mountains, until you might have supposed that the Great Stone Face had poured its thunder-breath into the cry.  All these comments, and this vast enthusiasm, served the more to interest our friend; nor did he think of questioning that now, at length, the mountain-visage had found its human counterpart.  It is true, Ernest had imagined that this long-looked-for personage would appear in the character of a man of peace, uttering wisdom, and doing good, and making people happy.  But, taking an habitual breadth of view, with all his simplicity, he contended that providence should choose its own method of blessing mankind, and could conceive that this great end might be effected even by a warrior and a bloody sword, should inscrutable wisdom see fit to order matters so.

‘The general! the general!’ was now 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, through the vista of the forest, 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; and even if the Great Stone Face had assumed his look of stern command, the milder traits would still have tempered it.

‘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 congregated about the distant mountainside, 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 through the thinly diffused vapors that had swept between him and the object that he gazed at.  But—­as it always did—­the aspect of his marvellous friend made Ernest as hopeful as if he had never hoped in vain.