On either side are Profile
and Echo lakes, vieing with each other in their crystal
clearness; behind it are towering cliffs and wooded heights, and
in every direction lead woodland paths and rocky trails offering
ever-changing glimpses of wonderful White mountain scenery.
With what infinite patience has Nature sculptured this great
face! Centuries ago among the American Indians there was a
legend that in time there should appear in the valley a boy
whose features would not only be a resemblance to, but be like
those of the face on the mountain side. When the people of the
valley heard the legend, they too looked for the coming of a
great man who would tower far above the ordinary life of those
who dwelt in the lowly valley. How long they waited in vain for
the appearance of one with features noble, tender and serene as
those upon which they gazed! How many years slipped by and only
rumors came concerning those who were thought to bear a
resemblance to the wonderful "old Man of the Mountains." Yet,
those very people had infinite possibilities with their own
faces while in their youth. Only by having a vision of some day
attaining that far mountain height of purity and victory, as
written on those features, could they carve out a countenance so
divine.
Gazing out over the lake through vistas of maple and beech we
thought of Hawthorne's words: "It was a happy lot for the
children to grow up to manhood or womanhood with the Great Stone
Face before their eyes; for all of the features were noble, and
the expression was at once grand and sweet, as if it were the
glow of a vast, warm heart, that embraced all mankind in its
affections and had room for more."
Truly, this face appears like a great mountain god. A wreath
seems to adorn his brow like that which was worn by the poets of
ancient Greece. A faint light surrounds and illuminates his
features scarcely discernible from the valley below. How one's
earthly schemes seem to pale and fade, as did "Gathergold's"
fortune when he beheld the wealth and beauty of Nature about
him! How sordid the striving for fame and power appear, which as
quickly fade as did that of "Old Blood and Thunder" and "Old
Stoney Phiz!" "Nature is the Art of God." How mighty the forces
that lined these majestic features! How wonderful still the
unseen hands at work to make life richer as the years go by!
You almost imagine you see the natural pulpit set in its rich
framework of verdure and festooned with vines placid in a nook
in the hills. You seem to hear the words of life uttered by the
pure lips of Ernest because "a life of good deeds and holy love
is melted into them." The ancient pines stand hushed and
tranquil in the quiet light as if awaiting a message from those
lips of stone. You gain new faith in the beauty and freshness of
Nature out here. Those lips seem to say "do not live in the mean
valleys of earthly ambition, but strive to gain higher
conceptions of life with truer, nobler aims, that soar above the
sordid world until you attain that benign look of the Great
Stone Face." It comes to you like a far-off echo of a divine
chant, sweeter than any melody you have ever caught.
Many people on first beholding the Great Stone Face ascribe
firmness to its features. They perhaps judge their fellowmen in
like manner. They fail to see the depth of thought or honest
sincerity of soul that shines forth from many a rough exterior,
beneath which beats a heart of purest gold. How many seek high
positions, notoriety, or public approbation, but alas! how few,
like Ernest, put forth the effort to fit them for the places
sought!
Almost as remarkable as the Great Stone Face itself are the
cannon that seem to guard the abode of the Man of the Mountains.
Indeed, they have been sculptured so remarkably well that some
tourists exclaim, "I wonder how they ever got those huge guns up
there." On being told these guns too, had been carved out of
rock and set in place to guard ever this beautiful and vast
domain since the beginning of time, they still were not
convinced that they were only harmless piles of stones, whose
thundering tones never had awakened the echoes of this peaceful
spot. One of the party said, "but see, up there are the gun
carriages!" True, they were very like the original implements of
destruction, but no lurid light ever profaned the night skies,
and no warriors shall ever drag these guns across the ocean to
do grim service in a "Meuse-Argonne."
Again you gaze at Profile lake, the source of the wild and
beautiful Pemigewasset river, which is joined by a few, small
streams the first few miles of its journey, then other branches
unite with it to form the Merrimac, which, after gradually
descending through Concord, supplies immense amounts of water
power to Manchester, Nashua, Lowell, Lawrence and Haverhill
before passing majestically out to sea at Newbury port.
No wonder Whittier wrote so much about the Merrimac river and
Lake Winnepesaukee, because both seem to typify the Indian name
of the latter "The Smile of the Great Spirit."
In the immediate locality about the lake a botanist will find
the hours passing all too swiftly, for here is indeed a place to
commune with Nature. You will find rare flowers and ferns, and
to what rich and lovely places they lead you!
