that adorned his hall. The gentleman admired the picture very much,
and, when told by the baron that his son painted it, said: "Your son is
an excellent painter."

The baron then took his visitor into the garden, and showed him many
beautiful flowers, arranged in the most perfect order. "Who has the
direction of this garden?" said the gentleman. "My son," said the
baron. "Indeed," said the gentleman; "I begin to think he is something
uncommon."

The baron then took him into the village, and showed him a small, neat
cottage, where his son had established a school, in which a hundred
orphans were fed and taught at his expense. "What a happy man you
are," said the gentleman, "to have so good a son!"

"How do you know that I have so good a son?" replied the baron.
"Because I have seen his works," said the gentleman, "and I know he
must be talented and good." "But you have never seen him," said the
baron. "I have seen what he has done, and am disposed to love him,
without having seen him," said the gentleman.

"Can you see anything from that window?" asked the baron. "The
landscape is beautiful," said the gentleman; "the golden sun, the
mighty river, the vast forest, are admirable. How lovely, and pleasant
and cheerful, every object appears!"

"How happens it," said the baron, "that you could see such proof of my
son's existence, in the imperfect work of his hands, and yet you can
see no proof of the existence of a Creator, in the wonders and beauties
which are now before you? Let me never hear you say again that you