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A WESTERN VILLAGE. 
by GEO. -VV. bungay. 
This is a Western Village—a sample of 
many which arc strung on the iron thread of 
the Michigan Central Railroad. It is neither 
better nor worse than its neighbors. It has 
two fine brick school-houses, where the ac¬ 
complished teachers teach the young idea 
how to shoot and what to shoot at. Tie 
common schools of this State will not su ti 
in comparison with the best common schools 
of New England and New York; indeed 
they embrace the best points to be found m 
the system of instruction which prevails m 
the Empire Stale. The principal ot these 
schools is a graduate of the highest grammai 
class here, and he has eight subordinates who 
assist him. Their united salaries amouut to 
about six thousand dollars per annum and 
the average attendance of scholars is about 
seven hundred each school day. The com¬ 
mon branches are taught thoroughly, and a 
few take lessons iu Latin, French, and Gei- 
man. A few persons have been fitted toi 
college in these schools. 
There are four churches in the place one 
Presbyterian, one Methodist, one Baptist, and 
one ITniversalist—and each one has a bun- 
day School. The preachers are men ot 
“ average ability,” and not averse to theologi¬ 
cal controversy. There is only one papei 
printed here, and that is edited so discreetly 
it seldom roils the blood ot its political oppo¬ 
nents. Every day there is an inundation ol 
newspapers from Chicago, Detroit, and more 
distant cities—consequently the little sheet 
printed here is devoted mainly to local mat¬ 
ters, for it cannot, keep pace with the steam 
and lightning of the metropolitan journals. 
The village has the usual “ per cent age of 
Stores and shops, and mills, and a plenty of 
liquor saloons—those carbuncles on the body 
politic. It seems to be a paradise tor the ne¬ 
groes in the neighborhood. There are sev¬ 
eral well-to-do colored farmers, ft negro black¬ 
smith, a negro carpenter and a negro cooper 
all doing business on their own account, and 
a negro barber who owns considerable real 
estate. Two families of Indians live in the 
town, and having means at their command, 
they are not backward in their expenditures 
to keep pace with the advancing c ivilization 
Their children attend the common school, 
and a son and daughter of one of the fami¬ 
lies are graduates of Olivet College. The 
name of the village (Dowagutc,) indicates its 
Indian origin, (if 1 am not misinformed,)- 
but there are no traces of savage life here, 
save when some of its topers get drunk and 
“ raise a row." 
The handsome cottages with beautiful sur¬ 
roundings—the stores filled with valuable 
articles of merchandise, the streets lined with 
teams from the fine farming country about 
the vicinity—tlu; rosy lads and lasses going 
to and returning from school—the gay equip¬ 
ages dashing here oncl there—the tall spires 
pointing like lingers to heaven, and the well 
dressed men and women hastening to chuieh 
on the Sabbath, show what strides have been 
taken along the path of progress at the West. 
With some persons that are coarse, rude, ig¬ 
norant and pugnacious, arc many whose 
character aud accomplishments would adorn 
any society. Graceful and scholarly men 
and women give a tone to the best society 
Music and painting and the languages are 
cultivated by some individuals with as much 
care as they are at the. East. 
A Western man is an Eastern man en¬ 
larged—he is expanded without loosening 
tluTfiber, lie is broadened by his surround¬ 
ings. Let me illustrate my point. A farmer 
conies from between the hills of some East¬ 
ern town, His money has been coined from 
the sweat of his brow. He looks at it twice 
before spending it once. A greenback is 
something which keeps him olf his own back. 
He hesitates a long time before he parts with 
his “ hard earned” dollar. See him as he 
pulls from his pocket a greasy old wallet, tied 
up with an interminable string. His eyes 
grow wider and wider us he unwinds the 
stingy string—and you trace the financial 
furrow deepening in his fluted forehead as 
he reaches the ten-cent stamp which he pays 
with reluctant hands to tho impatient recipi¬ 
ent. When he has been at the West a few 
months, what a change comes over the man 
who was on the verge of miserhood! His 
face wears a cheerful look—his step is buoy¬ 
ant—im voice is full and clear—his pockets 
are accessible—his pocket-book larger and 
unctions with greenbacks—and there is no 
long yarn of any kind about its fat and larded 
leaves. Why, he pays out five hundred dol- 
lars with fewer words and less loss of time 
than he formerly paid out, a dime. What 
accounts for the change? He has been edu¬ 
cated by his surroundings; the vast lakes 
and prairies have been his teachers, and he 
has widened Ids entire nature. 
The people of the western villages as a 
class are wide-awake, active and spirited. 
They make money rapidly, and seem to 
... 
A CHABACTKEI 3 TIO SCENIC m SWITZBELAOT. 
The above very vivid portrayal ol Swiss 
scenery is at once a study and a suggestion. 
We see in it all the rare, picturesque beauty, 
the wildness, t he naturalness, and the over¬ 
towering majesty of that land which the 10 - 
manco of Tell has made romantic,—the 
name of which is everywhere a synonym for 
Liberty. And from it,-remembering the 
sturdy manliness of the Swiss character, its 
simple truth, its inborn nobleness,—comes 
the suggestion that, alter all, Nature makes 
Manhood. Growing up with a deep love tor 
natural beauty in his heart, his inner life 
broadened and ennobled by the sublime in¬ 
fluences surrounding him, the simple peasant 
develops a more manful soul than is evei 
developed by more art or science, and lives a 
truer life than the affectations of society ren¬ 
der possible. Pull-statured men are not arti¬ 
ficial, hot-houac productions. They are heal¬ 
thy, outdoor growths, cradled amid moun 
tain-tops, nurtured by the (Yce winds ot 
heaven. No Switzerland could ever be the 
dwelling-place of slaves. Our own Alpine 
New England —Swiss in its general fea¬ 
tures—would have reared a Tell had it 
known a Gesi.eh. 
place less value upon it than the same class 
of persons do in the East. The greatest 
drawback to social and literary culture arises 
JYom the brassy aud vulgar men who press 
themselves with their hail manners and worse 
morals into places of public trust. Intem¬ 
perance is another hindrance to progress, 
and I regret to say that multitudes ot young 
men here indulge shamelessly hi habits ot 
drunkenness. . 
Grace Greenwood lias a brother living 
here, and she frequently honors the place 
with her presence. A resident of New Eng¬ 
land who pitches his tent here need not pine 
for the advantages of his home, for he can 
find them here. He can find refined and cul¬ 
tivated society, good schools, sound preach¬ 
ers, and means of swiff locomotion and com¬ 
munication, for the railroad and the telegiaph 
touch every point of the compass. 
--- 
Home Scenery. —The rage for travel 
abroad will not be so manifest in a few years, 
as it now is. Just as many individuals, P (M - 
haps, will wish to see the antique things of 
the old world; but more will appreciate the 
grand scenery of our own land, an<l the an¬ 
nual hegira over the water will not be so 
much noticed. It is needful, may be, that 
Englishmen come hither and honestly tell us 
our mountains arc as grand as those ol Eu¬ 
rope, our rivers as beautiful, our lakes as 
dreamy and poetical. Tlicn we shall believe 
them, and study tip on domestic geography. 
- ■+++ - 
Spain Characterized. — “Ir^BNEtjs,” in 
one of his letters to the New York Observer, 
Spoke of the land ot the Alhambra as the 
most benighted, delightful, bigoted, beautiful, 
barren and fruitful country in Europe, where 
every prospect pleases, and only man and 
woman are not what they ought to be.” 
Stories for Inralists. 
& _ 
THE VINCENTS*. 
OK, THE MYSTERY AT THE BLUE SPRINGS. 
BY MRS. E. P. ELLET, 
Author o* “Worn* or tur. gvowm w Qb«*« 
on Amkhioa* Society, <***“•» «-<-• 
[Continued from puRO 61, last No.] 
VIII. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 
Not many days afterwards, the lawyer 
was busy in his office, when a stranger was 
announced, who said he was going to leave 
Mupleton by the evening’s stage-coach. He 
was a middle-aged man, evidently belonging 
to the laboring class, and an Irishman. 
When he entered the room, Mitchell 
started to his feet with such violence that ho 
nearly overset the table. 
“ You beret” he exclaimed with an oath ; 
then recollecting himself, he ordered the 
wondering servant to begone, and closed and 
bolted the door after him. Then he turned 
angrily to his visitor. 
“ What, does this mean, sir? Did you not 
tell mo you were going to New Orleans the 
very day we parted t" 
“ Sure, I did, your honor.” 
“And what are you here for, now! To 
screw out more money? Remember, sir, it 
is you who are in my power!” 
“No, no, Air. Mitchell, I do not want 
you to pay me more. But my poor R.u ukl, 
she was taken with the fever, and l lost her. 
She died only the day before yesterday.” 
The man covered liis face and turned away. 
“ You swore to me that you would be 
gone long before this,” said tho lawyer in a 
half-suffocated tone. 
“ But, your honor, I could not leave the 
sick mother, and she growing worse every 
day!” . 
“ You think very' little of promises. 
“ No, no! I have kept the other —that I 
made the lady-” 
“Silence! walls have ears 1 What do you 
wish to do now ?” 
«I am going by the coach, your honor, m 
an hour.” 
“ Have you no money?” 
Enough, sir, to take me to the city, hut 
not to pay my passage to Europe. I thought 
you might get me a little help from the 
madam.” 
“Hold your tongue! You deserve noth¬ 
ing, but 1 will do what I can." He wrote a 
direction on a slip of paper, and handed it to 
him. “ Call on that person in New Orleans, 
and he will see that your passage to Europe 
is secured. I shall give you no more money 
to spend in foolery.” 
The man’s honest face contracted at the 
word “ foolery.” He took tho paper, and 
was going out. 
“Stay,” said Mitchell. “I will go to 
the stage office with you.” 
“ Afeured I should give you the slip!” said 
the man, smiling. “ But come ; Lucy is wait¬ 
ing at the office.” 
“ Who is Lucy ?” asked the lawyer, again 
startled. 
“ My child—six years old—the kst I have 
left since poor Rachel is gone,” said the 
man, drawing his hand across his eyes. 
“ And there is one thing 1 want to be sure 
of before I go,” added the Irishman. “ It 
v/i * O * - ( . 
any harm can come to the living, 1 will keep 
the silence no longer.” 
“ What do you mean, fool ? What harm! 
None, but to yourself. Y on would find it an 
ugly business to be involved in. 
“Thruc for you; though it could he 
proved-” 
“ Will you stop talking! Do you want to 
be sent to prison ?’’ 
“That’s it, your honor! They’d put a 
fellow in jail, waiting for a trial that was 
sure to show he had nothing to do with it- 
It it was’nt for that—and who’d take care ot 
my little girl ?” 
“I assure you, George, no harm wilt 
come to any one. We have no time to lose. 
Come.” 
They went together to the coach office, 
where Mitchell saw his companion fairly 
off. Then he returned to his office in a very 
sullen humor. 
Meanwhile Mr. Thorne and Mr. Stewart 
had been for some days at the Blue Springs, 
pursuing their Investigations. One day the 
latter came into Thorne’s room with a face 
that spoke of tidings, and informed him he 
had found the mate to the lady’s long glove 
picked up among the hushes where tbe dead 
body was discovered. 
“ A woman named Bland, who keeps a 
small fancy store in the village, called at Mr. 
Ely’s with a left-hand glove, an exact mate 
to the right-hand one found stained with 
blood.” 
“IIow came she by it?’ asked Thorne, 
somewhat disconcerted; for lie thought tlu* 
discovery might, frustrate his scheme of put¬ 
ting Laura out of the way, and obtaining 
the property by getting tbe custody ol the 
little heiress. 
“ The glove was brought, in by one of her 
customers, who had read the advertisement. 
She lives about three miles from the village, 
and her name is Mills. She had found it 
in one of her drawers, and asked her daugh¬ 
ter, a little girl twelve years old, how it,came 
there. The girl had got. it. one day when 
she went to receive a music lesson from a 
lady who had taken some interest in her 
The lady’s maid was taking some articles 
out of a shell box that stood on a side table, 
when she drew out, this odd glove. She said 
the lady it had belonged to had gone away 
and forgotten her gloves; made some search 
for the other, and not finding it, threw this 
aside as worthless. The little girl took it 
home as a, token of remembrance, hal ing 
seen the la<ly to whom it belonged. 
“ Who was the lady ?” 
“I could not loam her name; but it will 
be easily ascertained; for they said she bad 
been on a visit, to Miss Wingate, who gave 
little Mary Mills her music lessons.” 
“Wingate?" 
“ That was the name. I am going to the 
house at once; it is about six miles distant. 
I shall take the little, girl. Will you go?" 
“Thorne faltered a negative. He could 
not conceal the confusion into which the in¬ 
telligence threw him. 
Mr. Stewart ordered a carriage, took up 
little Mary as he passed, and drove to Mr. 
Wingate’s house. 
Several ladies—morning visitors, were in 
the parlor when the lawyer entered. Ifo 
begged to speak alone with Miss Ada, and 
she took him into the back drawing-room. 
She laughed merrily when be produced the 
odd looking glove, and gravely asked if she 
knew anything about it. 
“What, a horrid, coarse looking thing! 
she exclaimed. “Surely, Mary, I never 
gave you a pair like this 1” 
Mr. Howland explained that the child 
had the glove from her maid, and begged 
that she might be sent for. Ada rang the 
bell, and sent for the girl; then she called 
her friends and asked if any of them had lost 
such a glove. They knew nothing about it. 
The maid, however, remembered it. It 
had belonged, she said, to Mrs. Y indent, 
whose maid had thrown it away when she 
packed her things, because the mate could 
not be found. Ada insisted that so coarse a 
glove could never have been worn by her 
friend Laura, who was very particular. 
Aury, the makl, replied that she had only 
worn those gloves once; the day they went 
to the pic nic she had lost one ol her white 
gloves out of the carriage window; it had 
been smeared with mud; she had thrown it 
away, and sent her maid to buy another pair 
as soon as they arrived at, the village. Mrs. 
Vincent had put on the coarse gloves the 
girl bought, because she had no other. 
Ada did not recollect this; but was posi¬ 
tive that Laitra had on white gloves when 
they came home in the evening. “I am 
sure of it,” she said,” for 1 noticed that they 
were much too large for her. I heard her 
say she would end the day us she began it, 
with white gloves; and that by mistake she 
had exchanged her gloves tor those ot un- 
other lady.” 
The. lawyer took his departure triumphant, 
while Ada first learned from her father when 
he came in, that tho murdered man was sup¬ 
posed to be the. husband of her friend. 
Mr. Stewart waited on the magistrate to 
suggest that Miss WiNgate should he ar¬ 
rested; but Mr. Ely refused to grant the 
warrant, A plan was then concocted be¬ 
tween the lawyer and Mr. Thorne, to bring 
Mrs. Vincent to the spot. The latter set 
out for Long Grove, resolved to entrap her 
through her love for the pretty Ada, by rep¬ 
resenting her in danger. 
