y clergyman was earnestly
inquiring after him: "Sir," said he, "let us walk out of this labyrinth,
& I dare say we shall find this poor man preaching to his wife already."
And indeed we found it true; for coming to the edge of the wood, we
perceived Atkins and his savage wife sitting under the shade of a bush,
in very earnest discourse; he pointed to the sun, to the quarters of the
earth, to himself, to her, the woods, and the trees. Immediately we
could perceive him start upon his feet, fall down upon his knees, and
lift up both his hands; at which the tears ran down my clergyman's
cheeks; but our great misfortune was, we could not hear one word that
passed between them. Another time he would embrace her, wiping the tears
from her eyes, kissing her with the greatest transports, and then both
kneel down for some minutes together. Such raptures of joy did this
confirm in my young priest, that he could scarcely contain himself: And
a little after this, we observed by her motion, as frequently lifting up
her hands, and laying them on her breast, that she was mightily affected
with his discourse, and so they withdrew from our sight.

When we came back, we found them both waiting to be called in; upon
which he agreed to examine him alone, and so I began thus to discourse
him. "Prithee, Will Atkins," said I, "what education have you? What was
your father?"

_W.A._ A better man than ever I shall be; he was, Sir, a clergyman, who
gave me good instruction, or correction, which I despised like a brute
as I was, and murdered my poor father.

_Pr._ Ha! a murderer!

[_Here the priest started and looked pale, as thinking he had really
killed his father_.]

_R.C._ What, did you kill him with your hands?

_W.A._ No, Sir, I cut not his throat, but broke his heart by the most
unnatural turn of disobedience to the tenderest and best of fathers.

_R.C._ Well, I pray God grant you repentance: I did not ask you to
exhort a confession; but I asked you because I see you have more
knowledge of what is good than your companions.

_W.A._ O Sir, whenever I look back upon my past life, conscience
upbraids me with my father: the sins against our parents make the
deepest wounds, and their weight lies the heaviest upon the mind.

_R.C._ You talk, Will, too feelingly and sensibly for me; I am not able
to bear it.

_W.A._ You bear it, Sir! you know nothing of it.

_R.C._ But yes, Atkins, I do; and every shore, valley, and tree in this
isla