Greenfield Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 12 April 1894 — Page 2

Elizabeth Jane thought and thought of these words, "saved me

BY THOMAS HARDY-

CHAPTER XLI—CONTINUED.

Presently he found himself by the enough to wreak vengeance in the door of his own dwelling. To his name of the law upon the perpetrasurprise, Elizabeth Jane was stand- tors of the mischief. He resolved to ing there. She came forward, spoke, wait till the funeral was over ere be called him "father" just as before, moved in the matter. The time havNewson, then, had not even yet re-1 ing come, he reflected. Disastrous turned. as the result had been, it was obvi"I thought you seemed very sad ously in no way foreseen or intended this morning," she said so I have by the thoughtless crew who arcome again to see you. Not that I ranged the motley procession. The am anything but sad myself. But tempting prospect of putting to everybody and everything seems blush the people who stand at the against you so and I know you must head of affairs that supreme and piqbe suffering." uant enjoyment of those who writhe

How this woman divined things! under the heel of the same—had Yet she had not divined their whole alone animated them, so fur as he extremity.

1

Ho said to her: "Are miracles Jopp's incitements. Other considerastili worked, do you think, Elizabeth? tions were also involved. Lucetta had I am not a read man. I don't know confessed everthing to him before so much as I could wish. I have her death, and it was not altogether tried toperr.se and learn all my life desirable to make much ado about but the more I try to know, the more her history, alike for her sake, for ignorant I seem." Henchard's, and his own. To regard ''1 don't quite think there are any the event as an untoward accident miracles nowadays," she said. seemed to Farfrae truest considera"No interference in the case of tion for the dead one's memory, as desperate intentions, for instance? well as the best philosophy. 'Well, perhaps not. in a direct way. Henchard and himself mutually Perhaps not. But will you come and forbore to meet. For Elizabeth walk with me, and I will show you Jane's sake the former had fettered •what I mean." his pride sufficiently to accept the

She agreed willingl}'-, and he took small seed business which some of her over the highway, and by the lonely path to Ten Hatches. He walked restlessly, as if some haunt-

ing shade, unseen to her, hovered personally concerned, Henchard, round him and troubled his glance. without doubt, would have declined She would gladly have talked of' assistance even remotely brought Xiucetta, but feared to disturb him. about by the man whom he had so When they got near the wear he fiercely assailed. But the sympathy stood still, and asked her to go for-, of the rirl seemed necessary to his ward and look into the pool, and tell: very existence, and on her account him what she saw. pride itself wore the garments of

She went, and soon returned to humility. him. "Nothing," she said. Here they settled themselves "Go again," said Henchard, "and and each day of their lives Henchard look narrowly." anticipated every wish with a watch-

She proceeded to the river brink a fulness in which paternal regard was second time. On her return, after heightened by a burning, jealous some delav, she told him that she dread of saw something floating there but Newson what it was she could not discern, return to It seemed to be a bundle of old her as a clothes. "Are they like mine?" asked Henchard. "Well—they are. Dear me I wonder if—father. let us go a way."

"Go and look once more and then be keen other interests would probwe will ^et home. She went back, and he cOuld see her stoop till her head was close to the margin of the pool. She started up. and hastened back to his side. "Well,'' said Henchard "what do you say now?" "Let us go home." "But teli me—do—what is it floating there?" "The efiigy," she answered, hastily. "They must have thrown it into the river, higher up amongst the willows, to get rid of it, in their alarm at discovery: and it must have floated down here." "Ah—to be sure—the image o' me! But where is the other? Why that one only? That performance of theirs killed her, but saved me alive!"

alive." as thev slowly retraced their frae only at rarest intervals, and way to the town and at length guessed their meaning. "Father, I will not leave you alone like this!" she cried. "May 1 live with you, and tend upon you as I used to do? 1 do not mind your being poor. I would have agreed to come this mornimr. but you did not ask me." ".May you come tome?" he cried, bitterly. "Elizabeth, don't mock me! If you only would come!" "i will."said she. "How will you forgive all my roughness in former days? You can not?" "I have forgotten it. Talk of that no more."

Thus she assured him, and arranged their plans for reunion and at length each went home. Then Henchard shaved for the first time during many da.ys, and put on clean linen, and combed his hair, and was as a man resuscitated thenceforward.

The next, morning the fact turned "tchanged a looming misery for a simout to be as Elizabeth Jane stated: pie sorrow. After that revelation the effigy was discovered a cow- I of her history, which must have come herd, and that of Lucetta a little higher up in the same stream. But little as possible was said of the matter, and the figures were privately destroyed.

Despite this natural solution of the mystery. Henchard no less regarded it as an intervention that the figure should have been floating there. Elizabeth Jane heard him say: "Who is -uich a reprobate as I? And yet it seems that even I am in Somebody's hand!"

CHAPTER XLIT.

But the emotional conviction that he was in Somebody's hand began to •die out of Henchard breast as time slowly removed into distance the event which had given that feeling birth. The apparition of Newson haunted him. He would surely return.

Yet Newson did not arrive. Lucetta had been borne along the churchyard path Casterbridge had for the last time turned its regard upon her, before proceeding to its work as if she had never lived. But Elizabeth Jane remained undisturbed in he. elief of her relationship to Henchard, and now shared liis home! Perhaps, after all, New--80n was gone forevt.-/

In due time the bereaved Farfrae had learned the at least proximate cause of Lueesta's illness and death, *aod his first impulse was naturally

could see: for he knew nothing of

the Town Council, headed by Farfrae, had purchased, to afford him a new opening. Had he been only

rivalry. Yet that would ever now Casterbridge to claim daughter there was

little reason to suppose. He was a wanderer and a stranger almost an alien he had not seen his daughter for several years his affection for her could not in the nature of things

ably soon oDscure his recollections of her and prevent any renewal of inquiry into the past as would lead to a discovery that she was still a creature of the present. To satisfy his conscience somewhat Henchard repeated to himself that the lie which had retained for him the coveted treasure had not been deliberately told to that end, but had come from him as the last defiant word of irony which took no thought of consequences. Furthermore, he pleaded with himself that no Newson could love her as he loved her, or would tend her to his life's extremity as he was prepared to do cheerfully.

Thus they lived on in the shop overlooking the churchyard, and nothing occured to mark their days during the remainder of the year. Going out but seldom, and never on a market day, they saw Donald Far-

then mostly as a transitory object in the distance of the st reet, yet he was pursuing his ordinary avocatios, smiling mechanically to his fellow tradesmen, and arguing with bargainers, as bereaved men do af- I ter a time. "Time, in his own gray style," taught Farfrae how to estimate his experience of Lucetta—all that it I was and all that it was not. There are men whose hearts insist upon a dogged fidelity to some image or cause thrown by chance into their I keeping long after judgment has pronounced it no rarity—even the reverse, indeed and without them the band of the worth}' is incomplete. But Farfrae was not of those. It was inevitable that the insight, brisk- I ness and rapidity of his nature should take him out of the dead blank which his loss threw about him. He could not perceive that by the death of Lucetta he had ex-

sooner or later under any circumstances, it is hard to believe that life with her would have been productive of further happiness.

But as a memory, notwithstanding such conditions. Lucetta's image still lived on with him, her weaknesses provoking only the gentlest criticism, and her sufferings attenuating wrath at her concealments to a momentary spark now and then.

-X-

-X-

By the end of a year Henchard's little retail seed and grain shop, not much larger than a Cupboad, had developed its trade considerably, and the stepfather and daughter enjoyed much serenity in the pleasant, sunny corner in which it stood. The quiet bearing of one who brimmed with inner activity characterized Elizabeth Jane at this period. She took long walks into the country two or three times a week, mostly in the direction of Budmouth. Sometimes it occurred to him when she sat with him in the evening after these invigorating walks she was civil rather than affectionate and he was troubled, one more bitter regret being added to those he had already experienced as having, by his severe censorship, frozen up her precious affection when originally offered.

She had her own way in everything now. In going and coming, in buying and selling, her word was law.

"You have got a new muff. Elizabeth," he said to her one day. quite humbl}'. "Yes I bought it," she said

He looked at it again as it lav on an adjoining table. The fur was of glossy brown, and, though he was no judge of such articles, he thought it seemed an unusually good one for her to possess. "Rather costly, I suppose, my dear, was it not?" he hazarded. "It was rather above my figura," she said, quietly. "But it is not showy." "Oh, no," said the netted lion, anxious not to pique her in the least.

Some little time after, when the year had advanced into another spring, he paused opposite her empty bedroom in passing it. He thought of the time when she had cleared out of his then large and handsome house on Corn Street, in consequence of his dislike and harshness, and he had looked into her chamber in the same way. The present room was much humbler, but what struck him about it was the abundance of books lying everywhere. Their number and quality made the meager furniture that supported them seem absurdly disproportionate, Some, indeed many, must have been recently purchased and though he encouraged her to buy in reason, he had no notion that she indulged her innate passion so extensively in proportion to the narrowness of their income. For the first time he felt a little hurt by what he thought her extravagance and resolved to say a word to her about it. But before he found the courage to speak an event happened that set his thoughts flying in quite another direction.

The busy time of the seed trade was over, and the quiet weeks that preceded they hay making season had come—setting their special stamp upon Casterbrgide by thronging the market with wood rakes, new wagons in yellow, green and red, formidable. scythes, and pitchforks of prone* sufficient to skewer up a small family. Henchard, contrary to his wont, went out one Saturday afternoon to the market place, from a curious feeling that he would like to pass a few minutes on the spot of his former triumphs. Farfrae, to whom he was still a comparative stranger, stood a few steps below the Corn Exchange door—a usual position with him at this hour—and he appeared lost in thought about something he was looking at a little way off.

Henchard's eyes followed Farfrae'y, and he saw that the object of his gaze was no sample showing farmer, but his own stepdaughter, who had just come out of a shop over the way. She, on her part, was quite unconscious of his attention, and in this was less fortunate than those young women whose very plumes, like those of Juno's bird, are set with Argus eyes whenever possible admirers are within ken.

Henchard went away, thiiiTing that perhaps there was nothing significant after all in Farfrae's look at Elizabeth Jane at that juncture. Yei he could not forget that the Scotchman had once shown a tender interest in her, of a fleetiug kind. Thereupon promptly came to the surface that idiosyncrasy of Henchard's which had ruled his courses from the beginning, and had mainly made him what lie was. Instead of thinking that a union between his cherished stepdaughter and the energetic., thriving Donald was a thing to be desired for her good and his own, he hated the very possibility.

Time had been when such instinctive opposition would have taken in action. But he was not now "the Henchard of former days. He schooled himself to accept her will in this as in other matters, as absolute and unquestionable. He dreaded lest an antagonistic word should lose for him such regard as he had regained from her by his devotion, feeling that to retain this under separation was better than to incur her dislike by keeping her near.

But the mere thought of such separation fevered his spirit much, and in the evening he said, with the stillness of suspense, "Have you seen Mr. Farfrae to-day, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth Jane started at the question and it was with some confusion that she replied, "No." "Oh—that's right that's right. It was only that I saw him in the street when we both were there." He was wondering if her embarrassment justified him in a new suspicion—that the long walks which she had latterly been taking had anything to do with the young man. She did not enlighten him, and lest silence should allow her to. shape thoughts unfavorable to their present friendly relations, he diverted the discourse into another channel.

Henchard was, by original make, the last man to act stealthily for good or for evil. But the "solicitius timor" of his love—the dependence upon Elizabeth's i*egard into which he had declined (or, in another sense, to which he had advanced)— denaturalized him. He would often weigh and consider for hours together tlie meaning of such and such a deed or phrase of hers, when a blunt settling question would formerly have been his first instinct. And now, uneasy at the thought of a passion for Farfrae which should entirely usurp her mild filial sympathy with himself, he observed her going and coming more narrowly.

There was nothing secret in Elizabeth Jane's movements beyond what habitual reserve induced and it may at once be owned on her account that she w«is guilt}' of occasional converse tions with Donald when they chanced to meet. Whatever the origin of her w&'J&c en the

Budmouth Road, her return from those walks was often coincident with Farfrae's emergence from Corn Street for a twenty minutes' blow on that rather windy highway—just to winnow the seed and chaff out of him before sitting down to tea, as he said. Henchard became aware of this by going to the Ring, and, screened by its inclosure, keeping his eye upon the road till he saw them meet. His face assumed an expression of extreme anguish. "Of her, too, he means to rob me?" he whispered. "Buthe has the right. I do not wish to interfere."

The meeting, in truth, was of a very innocent kind, and matters were by no means so far advanced between the young people as Henchard's jealous grief inferred. Could he have heard such conversation as he passed, he would have been enlightened thus much:

He—"You like walking this way. Miss Henchard—and is it not so?" (uttered in his undulatorv accent, and with a Scotchman's pondering, world-not-realized gaze at her).

She—"No, sir not more than other ways." He— "But it's true that you often do walk here?"

She—"Oh, yes I have chosen ^his road latterly. I have a reason for it." "He—"And that may make a reason for others." A

She—(reddening)—"I don't know that, sir. My reason, hower, is not what you may think."

He—"Is it a secret?" She (reluctantly)—"Yes." He (with the pathos of one of his native ballads)—"Ah, I doubt there will be any good in secrets! A secret cast a deep shadow over my life. And well you know what it was."

Elizabeth Jane admitted that she did but she refrained from confessing hers and thus talking they proceeded along the road together till they reached the town and their paths diverged.

Henchard vowed that he would leave them to their own devices, put nothing in the way of their-'courses, whatever they might mean. If he were doomed to be bereft of her, so it must be. In the situation which their marriage would create he could see no locus standi for himself at all. Farfrae would never recognize him more than superciliously his poverty insured that, no less than his past conduct. And so Elizabeth would grow to be a stranger to him, and the end of his life would be friendless solitude.

With such a possibility impending he could not help watchfulness. Indeed, within certain lines, he had the right to keep an eye upon her as his charge. The meetings seemed to become matters of com\se with them on special days of the week.

Once he was standing beside a wall close to the place at which Farfrae encountered her, and he thought he heard the young man address her as "Dear Elizabeth Jane."

But what struck Elizabeth's stepfather as odd was the fact that she never allowed Farfrae to intercept her on her homeward journey, which she always performed alone.

The absorbing interest which the courtship—as it evidently now was— had for Henchard, led him on to a further step. A quarter of a mile from the highway was a prehistoric earthen fort of huge dimensions and many ramparts, within or upon whose inclosures a human being, as seen from the road, was but an insignificant speck. Hither Henchard resorted, glass in hand, and scanned the hedgeless via '—for it was the original track laid cut by the legions of the empire—to a distance of two or three miles. His step-daughter had passed by on her walk some time before, and she presently emei'ged from a cutting in the hill, bound homeward.

Then a figure came from behind the Ring at the other edge of the landscape'and advanced to meet her halfway. Applying his glass. Farfrae was disclosed. They met, shook hands, and Donald kissed her, Elizabeth Jane looking round quickly to assure herself that nobody was near.

When they were gone their way, Henchard came out from the fort and' mournfully followed them to Casterbridge. The chief looming troiibte in this engagement had not decreased. Both Farfrae and Elizabeth' Jane, unlike the rest of the people, supposed Elizabeth to be his actual daughter, from his own assertion while he himself had the same belief and though Farfrae must have SO' far forgiven him as to have no objection to own him as a father-in-law, intimate they could never be. Thus would the girl, who was his only friend, be withdrawn from him bv degrees through her husband's influence, and learn to despise him.

Had she lost her heart to any other man in the world than the one he hadriva.cd, cursed, wrestled with for life, in days before his spirit was broken, Henchard would have said, "I am content." But content with the prospect as now depicted was hard to acquire.

There is an outer chamber of the brain in which thoughts unknown, unsolicited, and of noxions kind are sometimes allowed to wander for a moment prior to being sent off whence they came. One of these thoughts sailed into Henchard's ken now.

Suppose he were to communicate to Farfrae the fact that his betrothed was not the child of Michael Henchard at all—legally, nobody's child how would that correct and leading townsman receive the information? He might possibly forsake Elizabeth Jane, and then she would be her step-sire's own again.

Henchard shuddered, and ex­

claimed. "God forbid such a thing! I Why should I still bo subject tc these visitations of the devil, whea I I try so hard to keep him awaj

CHAPTER XLIII.

What Henchard saw thus earlj was, naturally enough, seen at a little later date by other people. Thai Mr. Farfrae "walked with that reprobate Henchard's stepdaughter, ol all women," became a common topic in the town, the simple perambulating term being used thereabouts tc signify a wooing: and the nineteen superior young ladies of Casterbridge, who had each looked upoc herself as the only woman capable of making the merchant councilman happy, indignantly left off going tc the church Farfrae attended, left of) conscious mannerisms, left off putting him in their prayers at nighl among their blood relations in short, reverted to their natural courses.

Perhaps the only inhabitants oi the town to whom this looming choice of the Scotchman's gave unmixed satisfaction were the members of the philosophic party, which included Longways, Christopher Coney. Billy Wills, Mr. Buzzford and the like. The King of Prussia having boeny! not many years before, the house in which they had witnessed the young man and woman's first humble appearance on the Casterbridge stage, they took a kindly interest in their career, not unconnected, perhaps, with visions of festive treatment at their hands hereafter.

Not a hint of the matter was thrown out to her stepfather' bv Elizabeth herself, or by Farfrae either. Reasoning on the cause ol I their reticence, he concluded that, estimating him by his past, the I throbbing pair were afraid to broach the subject, and looked upon him as a lion in the path who.m they would be heartilv glad to get out of the way. Imbittered as he was against society, this moody view of himscll took deeper and deeper hold ol Henchard, till the daily necessity ol facing mankind, and of them particularly Elizabeth Jane, became more than he could endure. Ho determined to get out of the way of those who did not want him, and hide his head forever.

With this in view he took his measures and one morning surprised the young woman whom he had looked upon as his all in this world by saying to her. as if he did not care about her more: "I am going to leave Casterbridge, Elizabeth Jane. This little shop can be managed by you alone as well as by us both: I don'1 care about shops, and streets, and folks—I would rather get into the country by myself out of sight, and follow my own ways, and leave you to vour.s." "I am sorry you have decided c.n this," she said, with disciplined firmness. "For it is probable—possible —that I may marrv Mr. Farfrae some little time hence, and I shoi'ld like you to stay and approve o£ the step at least." "I approve of anything you desire to do, Izzy," said Henchard, huskily. "But I wish to go away. My presence might make things awkward for Mr. Farfrae, and in short, it is best that I go."

Nothing that she could urge would induce him to reconsider his determination and it must be confessed that there was a leaven ol half-heartedness in her deprecations, which after events explained. "Then," she said at last, "you will not come to my wedding, and that is not as I should wish it to be." "I don't want to see it—I don't want to see it!" he exclaimed add- I ing more softiy. "But think of me sometimes in your future life—you'll do that, Izzy? Think of me when you are living as the wife of the rich-, est, the foremost man in the town, and don't let my sins cause ye to quite forget that though I loved 'ee late I loved 'ee well."

She promised and the same evening at dusk Henchard left the town, to whose development he had been one of the chief stimulants for many years.

During the day he had bought a new tool basket, cleaned up: his old hay-knife and wimble, set himself up in fresh leggins, kneecaps, and corduroys, and in other ways gone back to the working clothes of hi's-younjj manhood, discarding forever the shabby-genteel suit of cloth and rusty silk hat that since his decline had characterized him in the Casterbridge streets as a man who had seen better days.

He went secretly and alone, not a soul of the many who had known him being aware of his departure. Elizabeth Jane accompanied him as far as the second bridge on the highway,, and parted from him wi-th unfeigned regret—keeping him back minute or two, as if she- had something to explain, but finally lett-iny him go without explaining it. Sir.: watched his form diminish)

acros.

th&moor, the yellow sbraw basket, at his back moving up and (Iowa wit each tread, and the- creases in his leggins coming and going alternately till she could no longer see them. Though she did not know it. Henchard formed at this moment much the same picture as he had presented when entering Casterbridge for the first time nearly a quarter of a century before except, to be sure, that the serious addition to his years had considerably lessened the spring o: his stride, and imparted to his shoul ders, as weighted by the basket, a perceptible bend. (TO BE CONTINUED. ),

Either 100 breeding ducks or 20C early-hatched pullets, properly kepL, and the eggs of the former hatched and raised for market, and the lat ter kept for eggs in fall and winter, would soon remove the mortgagf from the farm, says a poultrymaD

G. A. R. ENCAMPMENT.

Fifteenth Annual Meeting of the" Indiana Department.

Lafayette Gives the Veterans a Roya) Welcome—The "tar" Cltv in Holiday Attire.

The fifteenth annual Encampment G. A. R.. Department of Indiana, convened at Lafayette, Wednesday, April 4, at the Grand Opera House. Department Commander Johnson presided. As he called the Encampment to order the venerablo form of General Manson was seen and the delegates stood to their feet and Rave him a soldiers'welcome. A committee representing the

Commercial Glut) of Louisville

was introduced, hearing a gavel made from an oak taken from the birthplace of Abraham Lincoln. This was presented by Marmaduico 15. JSowden. president of ihe club, who paid a glowing tribute to the great emancipator. The morning session was devoted to hearing officers' reports. Tne Commander in his annual report reviewed the work of the yeari at length. He recommended that permanent Grand Army headquarters be established at the Slate Capital, and the Genral Assembly be requested to set apart a room for the preservation of records in

U&

',?, vf-/ 'y.vV-N^.-

Wlf'

COMMA XIETC-IX CIIIHF A.

o.

M.\nsn.

the Capitol building. The question of seniority of departments yet pending in the National Encampment was discussed and the Department was urged to select delegates to the Pittsburg Encampment who would be-sure to attend and look after he interests of Indiana. Reference was made, lo the report o:' the assistant quartermaster general relative to the condition of the department finances. Although additional expense was entailed, growing out of the National meeting last September, the cash on hands and receipts lor the year showed a total of £.. 131.43, an it re $ 7 a cash on hand, The assets, including first mortage loans, interest- due, etc., were ^lo.ot'.'.).ill—an increase of '. during the year. While tin statistics showed a slight increase memiier.ship during the year, the commander regretted that the increase had not been as great as was desirable, 'i he proposition to erect and maintain a rstate Soldiers' Home, indorsed by previous encampments, was enthusiastically commented upon. and. on behalf of the department, the Commander returned thanks to the generous citizens of Lai ayet.te who had made a magnificent donation of land and money for the home. Tho citizens pronose to convey to the encampment:*!:) acres of land ami.?."».) )0 cash, and the commander regretted that no assistance was secured from the last Legi.-sla-Uire. Reference was made, to the. Soldiers' Monument, and the Encampment was congratulated upon the success of the light upon the Mexican dates. A feeling tribute, to departed comrades was paid, and especial mention made of the death of C. A. Zollinger, of Ft. Wayne. Tho general observance of Decoration Day was recommended.

The State Encampment of the W. R. C. was held at Trinity church. An address of welcome was made by Mrs. Oscai Craig. Mrs. Julia S. Conklin, Department President, submitted her annua! report, which showed number of corps orgnnized during tho year to be fifteen members April 1. IS'.)!. 7.331: total number of corps. 183: expended for relief during the year, ?4.~n.70.

The great event of theday was the annua) parade. In addition to the great gathering of Grand Army men and their friends, th« surrounding cities contributed iarge delegations and the. country people for miles around came in, until the streets of tho Star City were thronged as they never had been before. The Grand Army wstJ elated with all the attention shown, ant1 the "old boys'' marched their best. The city schools were dismissed for tho occasion, and two thousand children wer« mobilized on tho steps on all four sides ol the courthouse to review the parade. "Each child was provided with a flag and lusty lungs for cheering, which they did witli great enthusiasm. The parade was said to be one of tho largest the State Department ever gave. All tho fraternal societies of the city were out in uniform as an escort and guard to the ve erans. making a very showy appearance. The infantrv conpanies of Purdue also tooU part.."and called: forth the applause of the veterans for their soldierly bearing.

A close contest developed at the business meeting between several cities for the ue\t Encampment.. On the second ballot Muncie. was selected'. At night two rousing camp lircttv- were- held and numerous receptions were given by hospitable citizens. The Department unanimously indorsed Col. L\ y. Walker for commander-in-chief of thie National G. A. It.

The final session was bold, Thursday. The committee on resolutins reported. The resolution suggesting that the statue of (Jen. Manson be chosen to represent the Mexican war period at the. Sold tare' Monument was indefinitely postponed. Other resolutions were adopted approving the act.ioa. of the Mayor of Brooklyn in refusing to substitute the Irish Hag for the Stars and Stripes on St. Patrick'* Day: recommending the payment of pensions hy checks or drafts sent to the postoffice of pensioners: looking to tho preservation of the, rolls of membership thanking the city of Lafayette for hospitality extended disapproving general laws on the subject, of pensioning widows holding that a pension is a vested right.

Alberto. Marsh, of Winchester, was elected department commander, and James Barney Shaw, of Lafayette, senioi vice-commander both by acclamation. A similar compliment befell II. Ii. Iteagon, of Lowell, junior vice-commai.der, and Dr. Charles S. Doynton, of Indianapolis, medical director. John A. Maxwell, of Delphi, and C. It. Strickland, of Huntington were nominated for chaplain, and Maxwell was elected on the first ballot. Irvin liobbins, of lndianapolis.waschosen delegatc-at-large to the National Encampment, with William P. Drilo, ol Peru, alternate.

Tho Encampment adjourned at 1 o'clock, After selecting a council of Administration.