Lynchburg Star

Miscellany.

The following hint cannot be deemed unseasonable now that the Milling season is just commencing, more especially as serious apprehensions of scarcity are entertained by some of our fellow citizens. The children of circumcision in the paper way, (the cent per cent men, by such there be among us) may also derive consolation from the perusal.

THE DEVIL AND THE MILLER.

A TALE OF TERROR.

Shewing the awful judgement that befell a WICKED MILLER in ancient times.

Ere I begin this sad and doleful tale,
Oh! let me praise the days in which we live!
Mazy, no forestalling villains can assail
And keep from us what bounteous earth does give.
Virtue, thank Heav'n! pervades the public mind;
Conscience won't suffer them to do us wrong;
But this bright change, ha history you'll find,
Ere long came about, as I will tell you how.

In auld lang syne, when wicked men had way
When Millers and Monopolizers reigned,
When corn and bread were very dear, they say,
And these sad wretches princely fortunes gained:
A direful judgment, as the tale is told,
Fell on a Miller who had hoarded flour;
Who from the poor and hungry did withhold,
What might have kept them from keen hunger's power.

This wicked Miller added to his store;
He would not grind, although his barns were full;
Gaily he lived, drank wine, and kept a whore
Nor, time after time, did shame his conscience dull.
When, history says, each town had got its Bank;
This seemeth strange, but may perhaps be true
And men, who then did live, 'tis said, would thank
These money shops for all that they did rue.

For did a Miller chance some cash to want,
Though what it meant I can't well comprehend,
He gave a note, so called in their odd cant,
And for that note these banks their notes would lend.
Notes, it appears, of paper then were made,
But still they passed for money--strange to tell!
I'm very glad we now have no such trade,
For if we had how dearly rags would sell.

But to my tale. One night this wicked man,
By the pale moon-beams wander'd in a grove,
Striving to find some diabolic plan,
Which to himself more lucrative might prove.
Deeply he plotted in his perturbed brain,
To cheat the farmer, and the public too;
He did not care, provided it brought gain,
Who suffer'd by't, the many or the few.

But for his shallow brain it seem'd too deep,
And made him furious, for he stamp'd and swore;
Then cried, "The Devil take me ere I sleep,
If I don't complete it, or I'll plot no more."

Now mark the judgment that upon him fell!!!
The Fiend of hell took him at his word!!
Loud roll'd the thunder! and with hideous yell
He stood before him! then to speak was hard;
Like th' is loud roar of many cannon's sound
Was the strong voice that struck the Miller's ear,
It said, "When wanted, friend, you see I'm found;
Come when you'll grace my kingdom, never fear."

In his right hand a whip of scorpions hung
To lash the Miller on his dismal road;
O'er his left arm the grim devourer slung
A bag to hold him in a whirlwind's goad!!!
The old Chronicles go on to say,
That other millers struck by this with awe,
Lower'd the price of flour from that sad day:
Thus conscience did what ne'er was done by law.

Oh! ye good Millers! of these plenteous times,
Pray ponder well within your minds this tale;
Forgive the errors of my faulty rhymes,
But do be careful, nor in Virtue fail.
For, though ye are too good to live I own,
The chastest maid, you know, has made a slip;
Therefore from off your guard be never thrown,
The Naughty Man will have you if you trip.

June 4, 1805.