f Paley's "Natural Theology," with scientific notes, and
wrote extensively for a work of the Messrs Chambers, entitled
"Information for the People." In 1842, he was appointed to the
sub-editorship of the _Scotsman_ newspaper. The bequest of a relative
afterwards enabled him to relinquish stated literary occupation, but he
continued to exhibit to the world pleasing evidences of his learning and
industry. He became a frequent contributor to _Hogg's Instructor_, an
Edinburgh weekly periodical; produced a work on "Greek History;" and
collated a "Rhyming Dictionary." A large, magnificently illustrated
volume, the "Clans of the Highlands of Scotland," was his most ambitious
and successful effort as a prose-writer. His poetical compositions,
which were scattered among a number of the periodicals, he was induced
to collect and publish in a volume, with the title, "Io Anche! Poems
chiefly Lyrical;" Edinburgh, 1851, 12mo. An historical play from his
pen, entitled "Conde's Wife," founded on the love of Henri Quatre for
Marguerite de Montmorency, whom the young Prince of Conde had wedded,
was produced in 1842 by Mr Murray in the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, and
during a run of nine nights was received with applause.

Smibert died at Edinburgh on the 16th January 1854, in his forty-fourth
year. With pleasing manners, he was possessed of kindly dispositions,
and was much cherished for his intelligent and interesting conversation.
In person he was strong built, and his complexion was fair and ruddy. He
was not undesirous of reputation both as a poet and prose-writer, and
has recorded his regret that he had devoted so much time to evanescent
periodical literature. His poetry is replete with patriotic sentiment,
and his strain is forcible and occasionally brilliant. His songs
indicate a fine fancy and deep pathos.

THE SCOTTISH WIDOW'S LAMENT.

Afore the Lammas tide
Had dun'd the birken-tree,
In a' our water side
Nae wife was bless'd like me.
A kind gudeman, and twa
Sweet bairns were 'round me here,
But they're a' ta'en awa'
Sin' the fa' o' the year.

Sair trouble cam' our gate,
And made me, when it cam',
A bird without a mate,
A ewe without a lamb.
Our hay was yet to maw,
And our corn was to shear,
When they a' dwined awa'
In the fa' o' the year.

I downa look a-field,
For aye I trow I see
The form that was a bield
To