Previous to this accident, he had taken part in a course of lectures to the Literary and Philosophical Society of Hull; after it had occurred, and before its effects were removed, while yet he was incapable of walking, and was actually lifted into the carriage which took him away, he accepted and executed a similar engagement proposed by the Literary and Philosophical Society of Sheffield. It was a singular spectacle, to witness the delivery of lectures which required continual reference to large maps and numerous diagrams, by a man who could not stand, but was forced to read his address from a chair, to an audience of several hundred persons in a room not very well adapted for the voice. But it was far more extraordinary to witness during all the severity of the disorder, the unpretending patience and fortitude of the sufferer, who, had he then permitted his mind to dwell too curiously on the state of his health and the state of his finances, might have added the bitter foretaste of want and privation to the actual difficulty of the moment. Such reflections and such anticipations might sadden the hearts of those who surrounded him, but Mr. Smith would have thought it unworthy of his resolved mind and firm trust in Providence, to have abated one jot of his accustomed cheerfulness, shortened one of the innumerable playful stories which were always springing to his lips from the rich treasure-house of his memory, or turned his meditations from his favourite subjects. At Sheffield, while slowly recovering the use of his limbs, he busied himself in arranging a body of information which he had gathered concerning the neighbouring coal districts; and on removing soon afterwards to his old quarters at Doncaster, he worked much on the large “Old Survey of Yorkshire,” thinking to complete the colouring of it. By degrees he recovered entirely from his painful disorder, and from this year (1825) to 1839, nothing of the kind ever affected him again.