“There was a kind of fear,” he told us, “that was very nearly alee-a-nated to love: so nearly, that it was not worth while splitting hairs for the difference.” He then went on to describe this kind of fear. He grew more and more involved as he proceeded with his description, until at length, quite bewildered, he paused and exclaimed, “Come, let’s stop a little while, and clear away the brush.” He unravelled, as well as he was able, the tangled thread of his ideas, and went on with his subject. But soon again losing his way, he came to a second halt. “Now,” said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with a red cotton handkerchief many degrees from clean, “now, suppose we drive back a little piece.” Thus he recapitulated what he wished to impress upon us, of the necessity of cherishing a fear that maketh wise unto salvation, “which fear,” said he, “may we all enjoy, that together we may soar away, on the rolling clouds of æther, to a boundless and happy eternity, which is the wish of your humble servant.” And, flourishing abroad his hands, with the best of dancing-school bows, he took seat.
It will be readily imagined that we felt our own religious exercises at home to be more edifying than such as this, and that we confined ourselves to them for the future.
The return of our brother, Robert Kinzie, from Palestine (not the Holy Land, but the seat of the Land Office), with the certificate of the title of the family to that portion of Chicago since known as “Kinzie’s Addition,” was looked upon as establishing a home for us at some future day, if the glorious dreams of good Dr. Harmon, and a few others, should come to be realized. One little incident will show how moderate were, in fact, the anticipations of most persons at that period.
The certificate, which was issued in Robert’s name, he representing the family in making the application, described only a fractional quarter section of one hundred and two acres, instead of one hundred and sixty acres, the river and Lake Michigan cutting off fifty-eight acres on the southern and eastern lines of the quarter. The applicants had liberty to select their complement of fifty-eight acres out of any unappropriated land that suited them.
“Now, my son,” said his mother, to Robert, “lay your claim on the cornfield at Wolf Point. It is fine land, and will always be valuable for cultivation—besides, as it faces down the main river, the situation will always be a convenient one.”
The answer was a hearty laugh. “Hear mother,” said Robert. “We have just got a hundred and two acres—more than we shall ever want, or know what to do with, and now she would have me go and claim fifty-eight acres more!”
“Take my advice, my boy,” repeated his mother, “or you may live one day to regret it.”
“Well, I cannot see how I can ever regret not getting more than we can possibly make use of.” And so the matter ended. The fifty-eight acres were never claimed, and there was, I think, a very general impression that asking for our just rights in the case would have a very grasping, covetous look. How much wiser five and twenty years have made us!