The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1873-11-21

the prisoner; sent away a crowd o.
young British naval officers, one Of
whom, in the violence of his rage and
despair, is said to have cut off one OF
his fingers, with the ring upon it, and
dispatched both to the young lady in a
letter !-and then the prisoner and the
little beauty were married, returned to
America, lived in an old house not far
from the Potomac-and hence the pres
ence on Virginia soil of my knee
buckles. The legend of the amputated
finger always excited in me a perverse
sort of amusement. Not that I laugh
| at the unlucky young naval gentleman
who could find no better use for his
fingers than to cut them off and send
them to his sweetheart but that the
idea was comic in connection with the
most piOus and venerable lady who
taught the writer of these lines, in
early years, that his name was IN. or
NJ" A person of greater mildness,
sweetness and dignity I have never
seen; the stateliest of heads with the
most cordial and gentle smile upon the
lips. And this was the heroine of that
extravaganza of the old Bermuda days I
Such the change which comes over us
between seventeen and seventy!
Musing upon this comedy, 90 back
in thought to the Bermuda isles, and
live there for time in that domain of
sunshine. It is land of the tropics
this group of fairy isles, where the
orange-tree blooms, .and is weighed
down with it's golden fruit where the
whole year is spring, and the blue
waves, rolling to the green fields dotted
here and there with the snow white
country seats, are stirred into silver
ripples by no breezes stronger than the
sweet south wind. The doLce far nj
e1ate reigns there, and Ariel and CaIiban
are met with still on the sea-shore in
the glimpses of the moon! So the
poetry of the place and cline went into
the young hearts of the prisoner and
the maiden; there was a great wedding
at ''Tankfield, with fiddling and dan
cling, doubtless; his excellency, in ruff
fes, powder, and my knee-buckles, gave
away the bride and the little beauty,
opening her wings, passed over the
ocean like a sea-bird to the sunset-Iand.
This, may it please you, gentle reader,
is the history of my knee-buckles, which
are not of much value as gems, none at
all as articles of personal adornment,
and are useful only to arouse such idle
dreams as I have induIged inf there
be any use in such. I stop dreaming at
| last, and look at the old affairs, and
address a few observations to them as
though they were intelligent beings.
At present, venerable friends-I say
| have no use for you. You are no longer
in fashion, and to be out of fashion is
said to be equivalent to being out of the
world. If I were to substitute silk
| stockings for the garment now worn
upon that portion of my person, and
affix you, 0 friends, to my knees, I can
fancy the sensation I should produce
among the ce1lSOres n1OglC171, the critics,
| the ganlin8, and the rest. No, no,
worthy knee-buckles Il respect you,
am attached to you, will gossip about
you, and recall your past glories; but
will not wear you, any more than will
wear the costume of half a century
since which have upstairs, or powder
my hair, or venture on ruffles I shall
continue to wear inoffensive sack-cOats,
and cut my hair very short, and earn
estly strive not to differ from other
people. If it becomes the fashion,
I propose to enter a bag with convent
ent holes for the feet and arms, shave
my head, and conform myself in all
things to the habits of my neighbors.
All that old nonsense of costume, fine
courtesy of bearing, low inclinations
and suave tones is done with, fear
the old times are dead. And yet they
were pleasant, hearty, picturesque and
honest old times; when my knee buckles
clasped the stalwart knees of the portIy
old host of the poor young prisoner
when the mirrors of "Tankfeld" re
fiected the fine pageant of a brilliant
hospitable, excellent race of people as
sembled to greet with smiles the young
bridegroom and his bride.
All are gone now, and yet in dreams
as it were, some of the old sunshin,
comes back. The orange blooms ant
the blue waves murmur as they did IL
the past, around the green isles set lik,
gems in the ocean.
I see all plain in the polished surface
of the Bristol diamonds of my owl
knee-buclkles