"Forty-three" glided by, however, as if no such man as William Miller had calculated the symbols of Daniel and John. But then the "Jewish forty"-three, it was announced, would justify the theory. That passed. The "tenth day of the seventh month" was soon discovered to be the true time. When that, too, slipped by, the poor man was in a chaos of prophetic and doctrinal speculation. Not that he thought any more highly of the cooler judgment of the brethren, whom he had denounced for their dullness and hardness of heart for not believing in the period set by his fallible guides, or that he had any less complacent idea of his own superior piety and biblical wisdom—not he. But then, in order to adjust the theory to the passing of the time, new opinions were constantly started; gourds, which came up in a night to perish in a night, and all the old doctrines in which his faith had been nurtured, in the wild excitements of the hour were being overturned, till he had little in common with his previous theological faith. However, his ingenuity did not forsake him, and he settled down upon this device, that Mr. Miller's calculations were true; the end had come, but in a different way; the mistake had been in the "manner" of the event, and not in the time; the six thousand years, supposed to be allotted to our globe in its present state, had passed, and the great Sabbath of rest had come. In accordance with this belief, he now strictly rested from all labor, deeming it wrong to do any thing for the support of his family, or for the spiritual good of others, albeit he still had to eat, and his wife do the cooking, and wherever he went he was ready to argue for the truth's sake. In this state of idle, morbid, talkative "waiting," he embraced a thousand vagaries—among the least harmful of which was, perhaps, when he became a non-resistant.