wrought at his trade. But the sedentary life of a watchmaker
proving injurious to his health, he was led to seek employment in a
printing-office. Soon after, he became editor, printer, and publisher of
the _Montrose Chronicle_, a newspaper which was originated in his native
town, but which proved unsuccessful. He thereafter held an appointment
in the office of the _Dundee Courier_. Returning to Edinburgh, he
accepted employment as a pressman in a respectable printing-office, and
afterwards attained the position of press overseer in one of the most
important printing establishments of the city.

In his twentieth year Smart adventured on the composition of verses, but
being dissatisfied with his efforts, he consigned them to oblivion. He
subsequently renewed his invocation of the Muse, and in 1834 published
a small duodecimo volume of poems and songs, entitled "Rambling Rhymes."
This publication attracted considerable attention, and secured for the
author the personal favour of Lord Jeffrey. He also received the
commendation of Thomas Campbell, Charles Dickens, Thomas Babington
Macaulay, Charles Mackay, and other literary and poetical celebrities. A
new and enlarged edition of his volume appeared in 1845, and was
dedicated by permission to Lord Jeffrey.

Smart was one of the principal contributors to "Whistle Binkie." At
different periods he has composed excellent prose essays and sketches,
some of which have appeared in _Hogg's Instructor_. Those papers
entitled "Burns and his Ancestors," "Leaves from an Autobiography," and
"Scenes from the Life of a Sufferer," may be especially enumerated. Of a
peculiarly nervous temperament, he has more than once experienced the
miseries of mental aberration. Latterly he has completely recovered his
health, and living in Edinburgh with his wife and family, he divides his
time between the mechanical labours of the printing-office and the more
congenial pursuits of literature.

WHEN THE BEE HAS LEFT THE BLOSSOM.

When the bee has left the blossom,
And the lark has closed his lay,
And the daisy folds its bosom
In the dews of gloaming gray;
When the virgin rose is bending,
Wet with evening's pensive tear,
And the purple light is blending
With the soft moon rising clear;

Meet me then, my own true maiden,
Where the wild flowers shed their bloom
And the air with fragrance laden,
Breathes around a rich perfume.