n the olden time which are so admirably suited to
show, notwithstanding the gibe of Goldsmith,

"That a Scot may have humour, I almost said wit."

THE TAX-GATHERER.

Oh! do you ken Peter, the taxman an' writer?
Ye're well aff wha ken naething 'bout him ava;
They ca' him Inspector, or Poor's Rate Collector--
My faith! he's weel kent in Leith, Peter M'Craw!
He ca's and he comes again--haws, and he hums again--
He's only ae hand, but it's as good as twa;
He pu's't out and raxes, an' draws in the taxes,
An' pouches the siller--shame! Peter M'Craw!

He'll be at your door by daylight on a Monday,
On Tyesday ye're favoured again wi' a ca';
E'en a slee look he gied me at kirk the last Sunday,
Whilk meant--"_Mind the preachin' an' Peter M'Craw._"
He glowrs at my auld door as if he had made it;
He keeks through the keyhole when I am awa';
He'll syne read the auld stane, that tells a' wha read it,
To "_Blisse God for a' giftes_,"[*]--but Peter M'Craw!

His sma' papers neatly are 'ranged a' completely,
That yours, for a wonder, 's the first on the raw!
There's nae jinkin' Peter, nae antelope's fleeter;
Nae _cuttin_' acquaintance wi' Peter M'Craw!
'Twas just Friday e'enin', Auld Reekie I'd been in,
I'd gatten a shillin'--I maybe gat twa;
I thought to be happy wi' friends ower a drappie,
When wha suld come papin--but Peter M'Craw?

There's houp o' a ship though she's sair pressed wi' dangere,
An' roun' her frail timmers the angry winds blaw;
I've aften gat kindness unlocked for frae strangers,
But wha need houp kindness frae Peter M'Craw?
I've kent a man pardoned when just at the gallows--
I've kent a chiel honest whase trade was the law!
I've kent fortune's smile even fa' on gude fallows;
But I ne'er kent exception wi' Peter M'Craw!

Our toun, yince sae cheerie, is dowie an' eerie;
Our shippies hae left us, our trade is awa';
There's nae fair maids strayin', nae wee bairnies playin;
Ye've muckle to answer for, Peter M'Craw!
But what gude o' greevin' as lang's we are leevin'?
My banes I'll soon lay within yon kirk-yard wa';
There nae care shall press me, nae taxes distress me,
For there I'll be free frae thee--Peter M'Craw!

[*]A devout legend, common in the seventeenth century above the
ent