The St. Charles herald. [volume] (Hahnville, La.) 1873-1993, 1885-07-25
The AGE OF TATTOO.
Illuminated Linen as 1t Appears to Impress
a Noted Humoflst.


1 do wish the washee washee people
of the United States would call Ma
tional Convention of laundefs and
!aundresses, and adopt uniform style
of marking the linen that passes
through their hands; have suffered
much from the diversity of talent dis.
played in the private marks of Anglo,
German, Franco, Hibernian and Chi
nese-American laundries. am man
not given to novelties. like variety,
but want it to be the same kind of
variety | do not like to 90 around the
country lecturing In the guise of the
tattooed man of Borneo.
Now. when put on my war paint
and safahed forth to seek whom |
might gather the lecture committees in
lhad my scanty store of linen marked
with the real initials of my own hon
ored name-that Mrs. O'Mahonv's hus-
band might know whose shirt he was
wearing to church, and Mile. Celeste
might know whose handkerchief she
stole, and that Wun Lung might be
able to swear that the collars he offered
for sale were given him by his deceased
friend, Ram Jam Bang, But did these
simple marks content the wash ladies
and laundry gentlemen Nay, not so.
The first laundry gentleman marked
everything | had with big black X in
indelible ink, save only my-excuse my
blushes-hose. These dainty little
fabrics of silk and worsted, with faint
traces of cotton, he labeled by sewing
n lor Ia 30 Il, Il.
the after part of the veal of the same.
l left all these marks on, hoping that
in connection with the regularly or
dained initials they would content the
next washer gentleman. But he was
a Trojan, and he put on mark
something like the Greek letters phi,
psi. This was in Philadelphia. At
Pittsburgh had round up of my linen
at the Great Western Satin Gloss Laun-
dry, where the man with the indelible
ink labeled everything XO, big and
black, and sewed additional patches on
my-ahem! hose. next corralled my
things at the establishment of Ping
Ping in Columbus, o., who stitched
in fire cracker joke in red thread We
I and my herd of linen and manu-
script-drifted slowly to the North
west, and the wardrobe was watered at
French laundry in Kalamazoo and
branded OLA. At Minneapolis it went
to the hotel laundry and came back
bearing the new legend 1t with
lozenge around it, and with red tags on
my s-cks. This was growing interest
ing, and when brand of blue ink came
into the plot at Council Bluffs and was
cast for XOA, Fsat up half the night
reading my things. l am fond of liter
AZURE anyhow, and when the mental
pabulum on my linen was reinforced
at Concordia, Kan, by the addition
of w in black circle to the bill of
fare, began to look about for a pub
Usher. At Kansas City Hang Hi worked
in crazy quilt stitch on me, and at De-
catur, ILL.,, the launder had a rub
Der stamp, the design whereof was
valentine heart, inclosing the letters
XIX. | do not know the meaning of
the symbol unless it refers to my age,
which certainly has nothing to do with
the age of my wardrobe. This man
sewed white tags on the ears of my
stockings, with the same design
printed on them. At Terre
Haute, Ind, they sewed tags
on everything, from withers to
hook, and at Valparaiso they
stitched XVII on the entire harness,
and at Upper Sandusky / got NYX
linked on everything from collar to
crupper: At Beaver Falls, Pa,
Chinese gentleman embroidered on all
my things portions of strange, weird
alphabet wherever he could find room
for it, and at Uhrichsville, o., my linen
was returned to me with note stating
that all articles must be plainly marked
before they could be received at that
laundry.
Now, want to know if this is fairP
1t wasn't my fault that the other laun-
dries had used up all the available space
on my raiment before got to Uhrichs-
vile. ] don't really enjoy this sort of
thing. When | wake in the night and
see my pallid shirt hanging over a chair
back in the moonlight | am frightened,
being nervous man, thinking that
Captain Costentenius, the tattooed
man of the Antipodes, has got into my
room. l appeal to the laundry men to
adopt some uniform system. Let each
free-born American citizen who amasses
more than one shirt select his own
brand, have it. duly registered, pub
lished in the official paper of the county
in which he resides, and let it go at
that. l don't like to have my friends
tell me that for man who dresses so
quietly as | do, those figured shirts are
in bad taste. Where are the reformers?
Here is crying evil that stalks up and
down this fair land like the Augean
stables, blighting the MONDAY with its
midnight cry, and waiting for some
strong hand to cut the Gordian knot Of
its labyrinthine mazes that like Cor
gon horror freezes our blood into stone
with the burning breath of its iron heel.
Let the new Administration see to it.
-RobertJ. Burdette, in Brooklyn Eagle
John c. Pillisbury, ex-Warden of
the New Hampshire State Prison, who
died on Wednesday at the age of eighty
three, belonged to a most remarkable