Many years afterward a negro from San Domingo made some improvements at the same place; but John Kinzie is generally regarded as the first settler at Chicago, for he made a permanent home there in 1804. For a quarter of a century the village had less than one hundred inhabitants. A wild onion that grew there, called by the Indians Chikago, gave the name to the city. After a few years of hard, labor and strict economy a land-holder was indebted to Daymon the sum of one hundred and fifty dollars. Daymon wished to collect his dues and emigrate farther west. By the persuasion of Roxie he was induced to accept a deed to fifteen acres of land. In a short time he sold one acre for more than the cost of the whole tract, and was soon selling by the foot instead of the acre. The unparalleled growth of the city made. Daymon rich in spite of himself. . The ever wakeful eye of the Angel of observation is peering into the parlor of the Daymon _palace_, to see Roxie surrounded with all the luxuries of furniture, sitting by an ornamented table, upon which lay gilt-edged paper; in the center of the table sat a pearl ink-stand and a glass ornament set with variegated colors. Roxie's forehead rested upon the palm of her left hand, elbow on the table. Profound reflections are passing through her brain; they carry her back to the days of her childhood. Oh, how she loved Suza; the little bright eyes gazed upon her and the red lips pronounced the inaudible sound, “_dear sister_.” “Yes, I will write,” said Roxie, mentally. She takes the gold pen in her right hand, adjusting the paper with her left, she _paused_ to thank from the bottom of her heart old Ben Robertson, who in the country school had taught her the art of penmanship. _Hush!_ did the hall bell ring? In a few minutes a servant appeared at the door and announced the name of Aunt Patsy Perkins. “Admit Aunt Patsy--tell her your mistress is at home,” said Roxie, rising from the table. Aunt Patsy Perkins was floating upon the surface of upper-tendom in Chicago. She understood all of the late styles; a queen in the drawing-room, understood the art precisely of entertaining company; the grandest ladies in the city would listen to the council of Aunt Patsy, for she could talk faster and more of it than any woman west of the Alleghany Mountains. The visitor enters the room; Roxie offers Aunt Patsy an easy chair; Aunt Patsy is wiping away the perspiration with a fancy kerchief, in one hand, and using the fan with the other. When seated she said: