ernest began to speak, giving to the people of what was in his heart and mind. his words had power, because they accorded with his thoughts; and his thoughts had reality and depth, because they harmonized with the life which he had always lived. it was not mere breath that this preacher uttered; they were the words of life, because a life of good deeds and holy love was melted into them. pearls, pure and rich, had been dissolved into this precious draught. the poet, as he listened, felt that the being and character of ernest were a nobler strain of poetry than he had ever written. his eyes glistening with tears, he gazed reverentially at the venerable man, and said within himself that never was there an aspect so worthy of a prophet and a sage as that mild, sweet, thoughtful countenance, with the glory of white hair diffused about it. at a distance, but distinctly to be seen, high up in the golden light of the setting sun, appeared the great stone face, with hoary mists around it, like the white hairs around the brow of ernest. its look of grand beneficence seemed to embrace the world.