Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1875-09-03
S T0m.''

Plain Tom. 1t might have been more
than Tom once when he was babe and
had father and mother, some one to care
for him, even if they had but little love
for him. After they died-after he was
turned out on the wide world to fight his
own way; to hunger for food, to yearn for
sympathy and kind words-his name was
"Tom." 1t was name enough for wait
"a Jagged, hungry boy who received
more kicks than pennies, and who used
to sit on the Postoffice steps and try to re-
member when anyone had spoken kind
word to him.
The boy sometimes wondered and pom
dered over the words " sympathy" mer-
cy'' and charity" He heard people use
them-the same people who cuffed him
about and were content to see him in rags
He thought the words must mean some
thing way off-something he could not
grasp then but might approach when he
had grown to mans estate. If Toms
voice had sadness and sorrow in it as he
cried "Shinel" or if it had exultation as
he shouted Morning papers!' no one in
the busy throng seemed to notice or care.
He realized that he was standing up sim
gle handed to battle against a great world,
and sometimes when the world struck
him down the boy crept away into an al
ley to sorrow and grieve that he had ever
been born.
They found a bundle of rags in pub
lie hallway yesterday morning. The old
janitor pushed at the bundle with his
broom and growled and muttered over its
being left there by some vagrant. The
bundle of rags was Tom. The janitor
bent over him and pushed at him again
al a1 70 L, 70, o1.0,1
his business, but the bundle did not
move. Tom was dead. One arm was
thrown around his boot-box that it might
not be stolen while he slumbered-the
other rested on his breast, fingers tightly
clenched as ii death had come while the
boy was resolving to carry ON the unequal
battle against poverty and cold world to
the bitter end.
There should have been sadness in the
hearts of those who lifted up the body
and sent 1t away to be buried in Potter's
field, but there was not. They were men,
to be sure, but they could not understand
how it made any difference to the world
whether it had one waif more or less.
They couldn't feel the heart-aches which
Tom had felt-his desperation-his grim
despair-his bitter, crushing, everyday
sorrows. They should have at least I'M
covered their heads as the body was lifted
up and said to each other: He was
brave to fight such q battle" But they
did not. There would have been no word,
no eulogy, had not another waif passed
the door by chance. He saw the body,
recognized it, and as he let his box fall
to the flags that he might brush tear
from his eye he whispered:
If there are angels know that Tom'll
see 'emp'
And no man shall dare to take from or
add to the simple fearful eulOgy. There
will be a shallow grave, which will soon
sink out of sight and memory, and scarce
month will pass away before even the
lads name will be forgotten by the world
the world which prides itself on its
charity and mercy, and which let poor
Tom stand up alone in his battle for food
and raiment and place to rest his feet;
let him creep off to die alone in the
shadows of midnight, feeling in his young
heart that every mans hand was against
him because he was waif-a ragged,
hungering orphan.-Detrost Free Press.