New Jersey - The crusade of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company - against the tramp evil Detectives surrounding a camp of the vagabonds near Rahway.
The Earliest Bath of the Year, at Atlantic City
Great baseball match between the Atlantic and Boxford Clubs of Brooklyn.
Young and Ardent Bob Toppin, a Newark, N. J., youth, does some tall climbing in order to meet his sweetheart, pretty Miss Hobbie, a parson’s daughter.
She backed Harrison, and had to wheel Henry Singer in a barrow, at Atlantic City, N. J.
A “friendly” poker scheme exposed at Bogota, N. J., by one of the players squealing.
Miss Belle Collis, of Newark, N. J., surprises the neighbors by her want of thought.
The great game recently played between teams representing the colleges of Princeton and Yale, on the former's grounds, Thanksgiving Day.
Farmers with their wives and buxom daughters enjoy their annual bath in old ocean, at Spring Lake Beach, N. J.
Miss Mamie Gannon, of Jersey City, attacks reporter Lenhart with a horsewhip for traducing her character in his newspaper.
The frightful picture of crime and debauchery which has given notoriety to Mary Jane Cawley’s backwoods dive at Cookstown, N. J.
Downed by Kindness After defying a host of armed keepers, James Driscoll, in the Trenton, N. J. State prison succumbs to a gentle word.
Poster for the 1898 Broadway show "Have You Seen Smith?"

The masque is over and, she alone,
The Queen of the Revel, sits on her throne,
A purple cushion of velvet fine,
Drinking the last of the blood-red wine.
What are her thoughts in the dreamy trance?
Of the lovers who whirled her in the dance?
And whispered the while in her willing ear
Of the wonderful beauty without a peer.
Perhaps of the women whose envious eyes
Showed all too plainly their jealousies
Of the sinuous form, of the skin so fair,
And the midnight tresses beyond compare.
Or is she but full of proud delight
Of the triumphs sweet that have crowned the night?
As there on the cushion she lies supine,
Draining the last of the blood-red wine.
Ah, can it be in her dream is nursed,
One thought of the lover who kissed her first,
In the spring sweet meadows so far away,
When life was pure as a flower in May.
Not so! She is done with all those days,
Her life is wrapped in a sensuous haze,
Hidden away in a roseate gloom,
Made sweet with a topical sin-perfume.
And her far-off look on the air is set,
As if counting the souls she will ruin yet,
As if here she lies in the velvet fine,
Draining the last of the blood-red wine.
Illustrated Police News, January 13, 1877.


