iture, a rude copy of satirical verses,
headed, "A Simple Lay in Praise of Tar, by one of the Feathered Tribe,"
was printed and widely circulated through the town and neighbourhood.
Nor was there much sympathy, under their ignominious defeat, between the
members and friends of the Free-thought Club. After a few nights, spent
chiefly in personalities and mutual recriminations, which well-nigh
terminated in a general stand-up fight, the meetings of the club were
adjourned _sine die_, and the institution itself fell to pieces in a few
weeks, and its existence was speedily forgotten.

The heaviest weight of trouble, however, had fallen upon poor Ned
Taylor. He had suffered very serious injuries by his fall into the old
well, and, having utterly ruined his constitution by intemperance, was
unable to rally from the shock and the wounds and bruises he had
received. So he lay a miserable, groaning wreck of humanity on his
wretched bed, in the comfortless kitchen of his bare and desolate home.

His old companions soon came to see him; not from any real care for
himself or his sufferings, but partly to coax and partly to threaten him
into silence, so that he might not reveal the names of his companions in
the attempt on Foster. But Ned's wife soon gave them to understand that
her husband had already had more than enough of their company; that they
needn't trouble themselves to call again; and that she hoped, if he was
spared, that he would have nothing more to say to any of them as long as
he lived. So his old companions in evil, taking this "broad hint" as it
was meant, left him in peace, and he had leisure to look a little into
the past, and to ponder his sin and folly.

He was a man, like many others of his class, not without kindly feelings
and occasional good intentions; but these last had ever been as "the
morning cloud and the early dew," and like all good resolutions
repeatedly broken, had only added fresh rivets to the chains of his evil
habits. And so he had plunged deeper and deeper into the mire of
intemperance and ungodliness, till scarce the faintest trace of the
divine image could be discerned in him.

But now his conscience woke up, and he was not left without helpers.
Thomas Bradly visited him on the day after his accident, and saw that he
was properly cared for. William Foster also called on him in a day or
two, and assured him of his hearty forgiveness. The poor unhappy man
was deeply touched at this