in continual trepidation about it, though she tried not to believe it.  She was on the point of rebelling and declaring that the world should not come to an end.  But on the whole she felt that the government of the universe was one affair in which she would have to give up all hope of having her own way.  Meantime there was no increase of religion.  Some were frightened out of their vices for a time, but a passionate terror of that sort is the worst enemy of true piety.

“Fer my part,” said Cynthy Ann, as she walked home with Jonas, “fer my part, I don’t believe none of his nonsense.  John Wesley” (Jonas was a New-Light, and Cynthy always talked to him about Wesley) “knowed a heap more about Scripter than all the Hankinses and Millerses that ever was born, and he knowed how to cipher, too, I ’low.  Why didn’t he say the world was goin’ to wind up?  An’ our persidin’ elder is a heap better instructed than Hankins, and he says God don’t tell nobody when the world’s goin’ to wind up.”

“Goin’ to run down, you mean, Cynthy Ann.  ‘Kordin’ to Hankins it’s a old clock gin out in the springs, I ’low.  How does Hankins know that ‘Zek’el’s livin’ creeters means one thing more’n another?  He talks about them wheels as nateral as ef he was a wagon-maker fixin’ a ole buggy.  He says the thing’s a gone tater; no more craps of corn offen the bottom land, no more electin’ presidents of this free and glorious Columby, no more Fourths, no more shootin’ crackers nor spangled banners, no more nothin’.  He ciphers and ciphers, and then spits on his slate and wipes us all out.  Whenever Gabr’el blows I’ll b’lieve it, but I won’t take none o’ Hankins’s tootin’ in place of it.  I shan’t git skeered at no tin-horns, and as for papaw whistles, why, I say Jericho wouldn’t a-tumbled for no sech music, and they won’t fetch down no stars that air way.”

Here old Gottlieb Wehle, who had just joined the Millerites, came up.  “Yonas, you mags shport of de Piple.  Ef dem vaces in der veels, and dem awvool veels in der veels, and dem figures vot always says aideen huntert vordy dree, ef dem tond mean sompin awvool, vot does dey mean? mean?  Hey?”

“My venerated friend and feller-citizen of forren birth,” said Jonas, “you hit the nail on the crown of the head squar, with the biggest sort ov a sledge-hammer.  You gripped a-holt of the truth that air time like the American bird a-grippin’ the arries on the shield.  What do they mean?  That’s jest the question, and you Millerites allers argies like the man who warranted his dog to be a good coon-dog, bekase he warn’t good fer nothin’ else under the amber blue.  Now, my time-honored friend and beloved German voter, jest let me tell you that on the coon-dog principle you could a-wound up the trade and traffic of this airth any time.  Fer ef they don’t mean 1843, what do they mean?  Why, 1842 or 1844, of course.  You don’t come no coon-dog argyments over me, not while I remain sound in wind and limb.”