The Dallas weekly herald. [volume] (Dallas, Tex.) 1873-1885, 1875-09-04
s.'I'OIn."

Plain Tom. 1t might have been
more than Tom once, when he was n
babe, and had n 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 sympa:-
thy and kind words his name was
"Tom.n 1t was name enough for II
waii-a ragged, hungry boy who re-
ceived more kicks than pennies, and
who used to sit on the pOstOilice steps
and try to remember when anyone
had spoken kind word to him. The
boy sometimes wondered and ponder
ed over the words "sympathy," inner
cy" and "charity." He heard people
use them-the same people who cufled
him about and were content to see him
in rags. He thought the words must
mean something way otf-something
he could not grasp then, but might APP
proach when he had grown to mans
estate. If Toms voice had sadness
and sorrow in ii rs he cried "shine !"
or If it had exultatation MS lie
shouted "morning papers ~ no
one in the busy throng
seemed to notice or care. He realized
that he was standing up single handed
to battle against u great world, and
sometim when the world struck him
down the boy crept away into an alley
to sorrow and grieve that he had ever
been born. They found II bundle of
rags in n public hallway yesterday
morning. The old janitor pushed ut
the bundle with his broom, and
grOwled AID muttered over its beng
left there by some vagrant. The bun
die of rags was Tom. The janitOr bent
over him and pushed at him again,
and called to him to rise up and go
about his business, but the bundle did
not move. Tom was dead. One arm
was thrown around his boOt.bOx, that
it might not he stolen while he SUM
bered-the other rested on his h"east,
fingers tightly clencbed, as If death had
come while the hoy 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 it away to be buried in
Potter's field, but there was not. They
were men, to be sure, but they could
not understand how 1t made any differ
ence 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, every day sorrows.
They should have Mt least uncovered
their heads rs tie body was lifted up
and said to each other: He was
brave to fight such II battle" But
they did not. There would have been
no word, no culogy, had not another
waif passed the door 10y chance. He
saw the body, recognized it, and
brushing Il tear from his eye, he whis-
pered aft there are angels | know
that Tom III see 'emn And no man
shall dare to take from or add to the
simple, fearful eulogy. There Will be
n shallow grave, which will soon sink
out of sight and memory, and scarce II
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 II
place to rest his feet; let him creep of
to die alone in the shadows of mid
night, feeling i'm his young heart that
every mans hand was against him be-
cause he was waifi ragged, hunger
ing orphan.