Judge — February 1, 1896 — page 3: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

——— Es BERNHARD GILLAM. BERNHARD GILLAM is dead. The torch of his life was turned down and out on Sunday morning at his Mohawk- valley home in Canajoharie. We who knew him long, lovingly and well find it hard, between the heart-sobs, to speak his eulogy. So simple and kind, so genial and hand-warm, so friendly and helping to the helpless, a satirist of egotism and sham, yet a very Samaritan to distress. He had had but thirty-nine birthdays, and life was seemingly a long perspective before him. His sun had not even climbed to its ze- nith, yet in this spring-time he had won his place as one of the greatest and most powerful delineators of the time. The spirit of his work never was sardonic, and its pungency was in the idea, not the ex- aggeration. The abundant resources of a splendid scholarship, broad and selective reading, his familiarity with all the treas- ures of English poetry and prose, his knowledge of the world’s legends, were but re-enforcements for his pencil. He was innocent as a child, enthusiastic as a girl, generous as a prince, tender as the touch of a feather, yet keen when called to defend as the edge of a Damascus blade. It is useless, however, now and so early, to give a just estimate of the wonderful fertility and skill of this peerless man, Gillam is dead. Wee ———_—— as HER MISTAKE. She has just called him ** darling Jack,” but Jack was not his name, but that of her first husband. HOW NICE THAT WILL BE! Cawker (reading)—"An artificial larynx has been invented, and per- sons who lose their voices can have new ones put in at short notice.” Cumso—" Then I suppose we shall soon be reading the sign, * Your voice extracted while you wait.’ ” WHY PAPA SHUDDERED. AVIE was pulling nails— creaky, raspy, rusty nails — with a claw- hammer. “Here, boy, what are you doing ?” said papa. “ Playin’ pullin’ teeth ‘thout pain,” replied Davie. Wesrapdibppepe pn Had A DEAD GULCH BOMB. Catamounr Car—"" Friend, I is delergated ter say thet yer assistant wot fires th’ bullet_you ketch in yer teeth is loaded ter th’ nozzle wi’ bug-juice, an’ we hev elected Alkali Ike, who insists on usin’ his own gun—bein’ used ter it—ter fire ther shot.” | -ONCE MORE TRIUMPHANT. THE barber-shop porter was manipulating the whisk-brocm after the man- MAKING EXERCISE CONGENITAL. ner of his kind, and after many flourishes and extravagant gyrations bowed Now, as I understand, you want this half of the the customer out. dumb-bell I've jest cut welded on to the whole one like this 7” There was a look of triumph on the face of the latter as he said to himself, yeh Mesa OcKMEIM Yaw. und gid id. Mela bus pa Jor ordered glancing at his overcoat, “ He never touched me.” are." comicbooks.com