The news of his death produced a painful sensation, not in Edinburgh ouly, but wherever his name was known. There were many to whom it was the first intimation that he had been ill. To fill up the measure of family bereavement, tidings came, in answer to the message announcing his death, that his wife's father, the venerable man whose character was shadowed forth as "Mac Ian" in the work on Skye, had ended his long life, în his 88th year, on the day following the death of his son-in-law.

The remains of the poet were followed to the grave in Warriston Cemetery by a large company of Borrowing friends. The day was clear and frosty, and as the procession left the door the sun gleamed brightly on the snowy Ochils, and the Lomonds of Fife. As the body was lowered to its rest his last rays were streaming in glory over Corstorphine Hill, and the dim grey city on which the poet had so often lovingly gazed was illumined by a cold smile. The end of the short bright day fitted the closing scene of the brief and beautiful life.

Of all the men whom I have known that drew forth love as well as admiration, Alexander Smith was the most lovable. It was impossible not to love him, as impossible as it was to provoke him to do or say anything mean or unkind. Unlike many, whose whole goodness and fine sentiment is put into their books, his life and character were as beautiful as anything he wrote. The modesty of many men is but another form of pride: it was not so with him. He knew that he was gifted above his fellows, but he Beither felt nor showed the pride of superiority, nor ever dreamed that he was privileged in any way, or absolved from the common work and duties of humanity. He was exquisitely sensitive, but as free from irritability as it is possible for a poet to be. Into anger he was very rarely betrayed, though he had in his heart a deep fountain of indignant scorn for wrong and meanness. He could, if he liked, be safheiently sarcastic, as occasional touches in his poetry indicate. His verses, entitled "Vanity Fair," for instance, occurring in the middle of one of his essays, are full of delicate satire.

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took the form of criticism of himself. As a critic of others, though disposed more to praise than to blame, he was exceedingly honest. No better example of this could be pointed to than his recent admirable paper on his friend Dobell. His common sense has been already remarked on. Those who had formed any image to themselves of Alexander Smith, as a spasmodic" poet, pale-faced, longhaired, and wild-eyed, for ever gazing earnestly at the stars, were amazed to find a healthy-looking, well-built young man, of frank and handsome countenance, of few words, and sedate, but cheerful, absolutely free from vanity or spasm, and taking of things in general a very calm and sober view, It was impossible to be long in his societyand no man was better company for a quiet hourwithout his letting out occasional gleams of quaint wit and poetry. But he was deeply averse to display, and in larger companies, and to the outer world, he figured simply as a genial, well-cultivated, and modest man. Though the circle of his acquaintance included some of the best people in Edinburgh, he was not much in what to certain exalted creatures in that city is known as "Society," par excellence. Nor among what may be called the Brahmin caste generally did he receive so much recognition as might, for their sakes, have been wished. For Edinburgh and its castes have still in this respect much to learn from Diogenes Teufelsdröckh, and the Book of Snobs. In the worship of clothes, especially white neckcloths and wigs, the modern Athenians, like the ancient, are 'too superstitious."

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As an instance of his manly way of taking criticism, his relations with Professor Aytoun may be noticed. No criticism of Smith that ever appeared was so calculated to turn his early poetry into ridicule as "Firmilian," in which the parody of its weak points is so exquisite, that the caricature itself rises into something of inspiration. Some of his poetic brethren and friends never could forgive that wicked performance, which in their eyes was little less profane than a comic version of the Psalms of David or the prophecies of Isaiah. But Alexander Smith had too much humour as well as manliness in his composition to be so offended; and towards Aytoun, when he came to know him, his feelings were those of true regard. Those feelings were as warmly reciprocated by the Professor, who, with all his apparent levity, was really a kindhearted man, and entertained for Smith a genuine love and admiration. For he recognised the good stuff that was in him, and paid due respect to a genius that was superior to his own. I should have mentioned above, that on Aytoun's lamented death, in August, 1865, Smith became one of the numerous candidates for his chair. Probably the fact of his not being a college-bred man was fatal to his otherwise high claims.

In every relation of life the poet was exemplary. This is not the place to speak of the many proofs he

gave, in his laborious life, of his deep sense of duty to his family, his anxious and considerate care for their interests. Few men, few especially of those endowed with the perilous heritage of genius, have been able to do so much as he did in these relations, simply by incessant industry and self-denial. But it was at a great cost. The reflection is a mournful one; but to all human appearance he might, with more opportunity for rest and relaxation, have prolonged his days. The consolation to balance this sad thought is, that it was in the path of duty be exhausted his strength, and that prematurely as the end came, he had already not merely secured his own fame, but, what was better, given a noble example to others of the faithful employment of time and talent. He had a high ideal of the literary character, and the sense of conflict between the aspiration towards it and the hard necessities of actual life has seldom been so forcibly and pathetically put as in the essay above alluded to. more pleasing testimony could be borne to his merits as a literary worker than is conveyed in the words of the publisher with whom he had most to do," Of all the literary men I have ever known, he was about the most unaffected, the frankest, the simplest, the best."

No

His devotion to poetry suffered no abatement from the necessity that called him to other work, as his poetical contributions to this periodical during the last few years amply testify. His last published poem, "A Spring Chanson," which appeared not many months ago in The Argosy, was distinguished by a brilliancy and grace of versification, not less than beauty of imagery, which indicated progress rather than decline of poetic power. How happy, for instance, is this couplet, in which he adds one more to the many figures under which poets have depicted the lark

"The lark, a disembodied soul

That, lost in heaven, sings."

concluding lines, in particular, carry a bodeful meaning, now seen to have foreshadowed the darkness of December amid the sunshine of May:"From summit of thy slowly-greening tree,

Sing to the breaking east, ch happy merle,
Scatter rich jewel and melodious pearl,
Then close in a thick-warbled ecstasy!
Sing to the Spring-but through the Spring I look
And see, when fields are bare, the woodlands pale,
And hear a sad unmated redbreast wail,
In beeehen russets by a leaden brook,
For I am tortured by a boding eye

That, gazing on the morning's glorious grain,
Beholds late shreds of fiery sunset stain
The marble pallor of a western sky.
Sweet is thy song, oh merle! and sweetly sung
Thy forefathers in our forefathers' ears;

And this-far more than all-thy song endears
In that it knits the old world with the young.
Men live and die, the song remains; and when
I list the passion of thy vernal breath,
Methinks thou singest best to Love and Death-
To happy Lovers and to dying Men."

As with song he began, so he ended. The last work of his hand is a draught of verses on Ediaburgh. He had already celebrated her charms both in prose and verse; but this last piece was intended to be a companion to that on Glasgow, with a reference to which it begins, and in the same metre. Some of the verses are very picturesque and beautiful; but in the unfinished condition of the poem, it would be scarcely just to the lamented author to give any extracts here.

That sweetly-sounding lyre is now unstrung, and will vibrate no more. But its notes still live, and will live, in memory. And may we not say of this last accession to the choir of singers become invisible, that, though lost to the sight of eyes that loved him, he is now

ALEX. NICOLSON.

On the

he would not for an instant have hesitated to ask you to carry him on your back if he felt fatigued, or to bear his knapsack and other travelling appointments if they in the slightest incommoded him. other hand, he was warm-hearted, generous, and sincere, an amusing companion, though he would never do an hour's duty if he could find another to do it for him. To crown all, he was an admirable cook, and that covered a multitude of imperfections.

Having obtained leave of absence, we repaired on shore, and, after some difficulty, we succeeded in hiring an old Greek, who agreed, for twenty-one piastres a day, to accompany us in the capacity of guide. He also agreed to bring his horse to carry

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the baggage, which consisted of a tent, a canteen coutaining cooking utensils, a table service, and a stock of groceries, hebes (Turkish saddle-bags), clothes, sheep-skins to sleep upon, and Greek capotes.

We had not a little difficulty in inducing our guide to leave Chesmeh after sunset, as he could not see the necessity of our marching out of town an hour after dark. We insisted on being obeyed, however, as we knew very well that the best part of next morning would have been lost in getting the old fellow to move from his house. And I vise all travellers in the East, whenever they have to leave a town, to do so in the evening, if only for an hour's march, as orientals are provokingly foad of procrastinating.

We started from a coffee-shop at the port. As we passed the guide's house, he pretended that he had forgotten something, and requested us to come and sit down for a short time. Inside, he set gs and raisins before us as if we had been children, with the view, no doubt, of postponing, as long as possible, the evil moment of starting.

After waiting for nearly an hour, we made a final start. It was a splendid moonlight night, the air was cool and refreshing, and we chatted and laughed as we trudged along, bestowing not so much as a nght on the long and hot march before us. Having come to a nice clear spot on the right of the real, about an hour's walk from town, we pitched r tent, and made all arrangements for the night. We then called the guide, and gave him a glass of ly, to keep him in good humour. He seemed relish it very much, for he made a profound salaam, placing his hand on his heart. He looked round the tent with surprise, and seemed to admire the order and neatness of everything, then making another salaam, he said, chok ghyuzel" (very handsome), and left the tent. He took his horse to a valley just below the tent, where there was plenty of food, and, fastening him by a rope tied to his leg, lay down for the night in his capote, and we saw no tre of him till daylight next morning, when I had kick him up out of the grass like a corncrake. We agreed to get up by turns at daylight in the ornings and make coffee, and, when it was ready, call the sleeper. The first morning's coffeeaking devolved upon me, and when I went to call Je, I found him in the bag in which we packed the , and very loth to quit it. So I had to drag m about in his shell on this, as well as on many ther occasions, before I could get him up. He ld not catch hold of me, being entirely encased the bag, so he did nothing but growl at my want Lumanity.

We left our camp ground before sunrise, much to the astonishment of our guide, who calculated on an even o'clock start. Shortly after, we passed a mounguard-house where we saw some fowls running out; we purchased one, and Joe twisted its neck red placked it whilst pursuing our march; it was Les enveloped in a towel and hung on the baggage.

The direct route between Chesmeh and Vourlah, in which we now were, runs at the base of the isthmus which connects the mountainous promontory of Kara-Burun with the mainland. The isthmus is bounded on the west by Erythra bay, and on the east by the Gulf of Ghyul Baghcha, which opens into the Bay of Vourlah in the Gulf of Smyrna. Our road was a narrow, stony, mountain path, which led through a country devoid of cultivation, but producing splendid arbutus, with very large berries, of which I ate a quantity, to my cost.

About nine o'clock we halted at a fountain, under a fine plane-tree on a smooth spot on the opposite side of the road. Here we unloaded our horse, and spreading our tent floor-cloth in the shade, prepared our breakfast, with the view of remaining during the heat of the day. Before sitting down to our repast, we got into the trough of the fountain and rid ourselves of the morning's dust, washed our socks, and hung them out to dry, and then set to work on cold fowl with appetites considerably sharpened by the morning's march.

We reposed under our tree till three o'clock, and then, resuming our journey, we traversed ground similar to that of the morning. We trudged along through a perfect solitude, not seeing a house or human being. When it was near sunset, we halted at a spot where firewood and water were procurable. Whilst pitching the tent we heard several shots in a glen beneath us, and just as Joe was lighting the fire a Xebeque (mountain soldier) made his appearance with three brace of fine partridges he had just killed; a bargain was soon struck for them, and before I had returned with a load of wood from the hill-side, three were stewing with rice and onions for dinner.

Our duties after halting for the night were generally as follows:-The tent being pitched, I at once commenced its internal arrangements, made the beds, laid the table for dinner, and arranged the baggage, after which I went to cut wood for the evening's fire. Joe lighted the fire, cooked the dinner, placed it on the table, and we both ate it. Dinner over, each of us carried out a portion of the table-service to the fire, where it was washed by Joe, and placed by me in the canteen. ready for next day's march. Meat was then put down for the morning's repast, and whilst it was boiling we sat down to our brandy-and-water, and Joe lighted his pipe. We generally went to bed about nine.

At day-dawn I was aroused by the report of the English Admiral's morning gun booming through the hills. Judging from the sound that we were not far from Vourlah, where our fleet was lying, I at once shook Joe out of his sack and pointed out to him the necessity of making a long march in order to get out of the halo of high prices with which the fleet was invariably surrounded.

Whilst clearing out the tent, before striking it, we found the vessel which contained our breakfast empty. A jackal had entered the tent during the night and helped himself to it.

After breakfast I sallied out to market in my travelling dress, which consisted of a guernsey frock and trowsers and a Turkish fez. The streets were erowded with officers from the fleet, who looked very hard at me; the universal question being, "Who is that fellow?" My appearance was certainly strange, and I looked way worn and dusty, though in capital working order. I made my way to a butcher's shop and purchased a long strip of mutton which I hooked on my finger, and then called at a baker's who asked me three times the proper price for the bread I required. I made no reply, but threw down one piastre and took up five loaves, saying that I knew the market price and did not belong to the fleet. The èkmèkji (baker), when he found he could not cheat me, merely said, "afiyyèt òlsau" (may it be health to you). On my way back to the coffee-sliop I was stared at more than ever by the men of the fleet, with the yard of mutton on my finger, and the five brown loaves under my arm.

On my arrival I found Joe lounging on a bench, enveloped in a cloud of tobacco smoke. On my presenting myself he fauned a hole in the smoke with his hand in order that he might the better look at the meat. He scauned it with the eye of a Soyer, and then drawled out in a lazy voice, Why did you not get some vegetablos? you know I cannot do anything with that yard of stuff you have brought, without them." My self-esteem, so far as regards the marketing, was very much lowered at this, as I was under the impression that I had done wonders. I laid the meat on the bench and went forth in search of vegetables. Again I had to run the gauntlet through the fleet, laden with onions, vegetable marrows, and cucumbers. I found the marine officers the most inquisitive-perhaps it was the sight of my knapsack made them so.

We left Vourlah about two o'clock in the afternoon, and proceeded along the south shore of the Gulf of Smyrna. The path lay over a flat tract between the hills and the sea. We halted a little before sunset close to the house of a chiftlik (farm) situated under the picturesque hills called the Two Brothers. We had just pitched our tent, when a fine old Turk, the proprietor of the chiftlik, made his appearance with a plate containing two exquisitely cooked red mullet, a lemon cut in half, and a large bunch of splendid chawush grapes, which he presented to us with the grace inherent in a well-bred Osmanli.

We were off next morning at sunrise, and had a most agrecable walk of about five miles to Smyrna through the olive-groves and gardens which skirt

On the following day I proposed to a Mr. R—, an old friend, that he should accompany us to Ephesus. He gladly agreed to do so; but, as his health was not good, he decided on riding. We found a horse after some trouble, but the proprietor of it wished to accompany us on another horse, for which R

was to pay likewise, and this we would not listen to. It was evident the Turk did not deem it prudent to trust us with his horse; but after much talk on both sides, which took place in the street, and with a crowd of all sects and languages around us, delivering their opinions on the question, as is usual on such occasions in the East, the Turk gave in on condition that the English Vice-Consul guaranteed that the animal should be returned in good order.

On the following day we left Smyrna and proceeded to the south over an indifferent mad having the hills of Sedikyùy on our right, and the mountain of Takhtali on our left. After a march of about fourteen miles we halted at the small village of Trianda, consisting of a few huts and a small shop. The stream, which seems to be one of the sources of the Phyrites, runs through the village to the south-west, and joins the Cayster a short distance to the north of Kechi Kalà (Gox Castle). We encamped on a smooth green spot o the right bank of the stream in front of the village. and close to a magnificent plane tree, from one e the branches of which an enormous wild boar wa hanging by the hind legs. It was shot by a Xebe that morning, a little lower down the stream, wher it was in the act of drinking.bome te paad 92

"

Whilst we were examining the boar, the Xebeqn who had shot it joined us, and he and the friend with him were most anxious to know if it was any value. I assured them that the flesh w considered a great delicacy by the ghyawurs (Chri tians), and that the bristles were very valuable i brush-making and European shoemaker's work. advised him to send it to Smyrna without loss time, as the flesh would soon become tainted.T happy Xebeque was congratulated by his friends his good fortune, till his eyes scintillated with t vision of piastres flashing before them I belie my advice as to the animal's removal to Smy was followed, for at daylight next morning noth of it was to be seen.

In the evening we had the honour of a visit fr the proprietor of the village shop, who, without slightest ceremony, sat down beside us at the f He was a Smyrniote Greek evidently, for im diately on taking his seat he commenced to tell for our special amusement. He first assured us way of establishing himself in our good opinion, t he had fought during the Greek revolution, and one of the gallant three hundred and fifty, under the heroic Marco Bozzaris, made the n

attack, of the 21st of August, 1823, on the camp of the Pasha of Scodra's vanguard, under the command of his nephew Jeladin Bey, posted in the meadows and vineyards of Great Karpenisi, in western Greece. Admitting that his statement was correct, he was certainly one of the filthiest heroes I ever set eyes upon. His clothes looked as if they had been taken out of a chandler's vat and rubbed upon the ground to remove the superfluous grease, and his face and hands had the appearance of having been washed in a solution of indigo and marbled with pulverised charcoal. Alas, poor lying Smyrnote! you little thought we knew that Marco's devoted band was composed entirely of Souliotes, and that you had as strong a claim to be considered one of those gallant mountaineers as I have to that of a Kalmuc.

We pretended to give the most implicit belief to all he said, and patted him on the back for the part he had taken in the night attack. He continued to tell lies till it was time to go to bed, when we parted, he returning to his shop, no doubt pleased at having raised himself so highly in our estimation. We marched the next morning at daylight, and, crossing the stream close to the village, turned to the southward toward Ephesus. Our road across the plain was tolerable, and we made the best use of our time during the cool of the morning. The valley of the Cayster, bounded on the north by the range of Tmolus, and on the south by that of Mesaogis, was open on our left, studded with small villages, their poplar groves lighted by the morning After a march of some eight miles, we encaped near a small village not far from the ruins of Metropolis, the acropolis of which was conspicions from our tent. We did not visit it, but I have been informed that there are but few and unimportant ancient remains there. It stands on the right of the road between Trianda and Ephesus. One of its bishops subscribed to the Council of Chalcedon. One Turk came from the village, who brought us some yàghurd (coagulated milk) and a large wooden spoon to sup it with; we accepted the former, but declined the latter, it being fright fully dirtystarvqunk of ti bine of and woervoa Soon after leaving our camp-ground next morning, e road turned more easterly; on our left we observed a sedgy lake, surrounded by a large marsh, and sothe distance further we quitted the plain and, turning more south, entered a narrow pass between high mountains, the one on the right being the ancient Gallessus. The river flowed on to the left of the roadu For about half-an-hour our road at through this valley, and then opened on the left. We pursued our south course for about the sarne distance, and then arrived at the foot of a precipitous mountain, on which stands a castle called Kechi: Kala (Goat Castle). It stands on the eastern end of Mount Gallessus, and about three and a half miles, in a straight line, from the castle of Aiasaluck. The road here takes a turn to the enth-west, and the defile opens into a fertile plain,

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and then ranges of mountains appear to the left, supposed to be Mount Pactyas. Near this point the Cayster joins the Phyrites. The precipices at the east end of Mount Gallessus are very high and nearly perpendicular, and are inhabited by eagles and crows. Nearly a mile from the old castle we crossed the Cayster by a bridge, in which there were some ancient remains. Here Mount Pactyas curves to the west. Gallessus forms the northern boundary of the plain of Ephesus. Two miles from the bridge we passed the hill and castle of Aiasaluek, and about two-tenths of a mile farther we halted at a miserable café on the left of the road, and near the southern slope of the hill of Aiasaluck. //We did not pitch our tent, being afraid of the malaria, which is both prevalent and dangerous in the autumn, but set about making quarters on one of the smoking platforms in the café, which are commonly habitable by first sweeping from them at least three years' accumulation of vegetable refusegarlic, onions, and orange-peel, and small heaps of half-consumed tobacco. Having done this, we spread the tent floor-cloth, and arranged our other camp furniture, and in about twenty minutes the place assumed quite a habitable appearance. The proprietor of the café stood motionless, seemingly deprived of the power of respiration, as he beheld the sweeping going on, a process which I believe he never before witnessed since becoming proprietor of the establishment, When, however, a red cloth was spread on the camp table, he let all the wind out of his chest with a hah," placed his hands on his hips, and then turning towards his fire, which occupied, a hole in the opposite wall, and contained all his household furniture, which was by no means extensive, he seemed for a moment lost in drawing a comparison, then, wagged his bead, called on Allah, and sat down to smoke. Jeg biyoord

Being fatigued, we did not visit the ruins that day. Joe was obliged to cook the dinner at the hole in the wall," much to his disgust; the smallness of the fire-place, the darkness of the apartment, and its general filth calling forth sundry growls and trivial ejaculations, which need not be here recorded. ovitempi daca si zɔɔino surgat Darkness, had scarcely set in when the melancholy cries of the jackals in the distance amongst the ruins informed us that these night marauders had commenced their round, and were gradually approaching our mansion, attracted, no doubt, by the smell of some fowls' entrails which had been thrown on the road. In a short time a series of very bitter squabbles were heard outside the door, which it needed the occasional interference of the dog of the cafe to put a stop to. At intervals during the night the doleful cucuvaia, an owl which frequents, this place, was to be heard as it flew amongst the forlorn ruins in search of food. This owl is called the cucuvaia by the Turks, from the similarity of its cry to those syllables.

We were up next morning at sunrise, and after breakfast started to explore the ruins. On leaving