At Traquair Mr Nicol continued to devote himself to mental improvement. He read extensively; and writing upon the subject of his studies was his daily habit. He was never robust, being affected with a chronic disorder of the stomach; and when sickness prevented him, as occasionally happened, from writing in a sitting posture, he would for hours together have devoted himself to composition in a standing position. Of his prose writings, which were numerous, the greater number still remain in MS., in the possession of his elder son. During his lifetime, he contributed a number of articles to the _Edinburgh Encyclopædia_, among which are "Baptism," "Baptistry," "Baptists," "Bithynia," and "Cranmer." His posthumous work, "An Essay on the Nature and Design of Scripture Sacrifices," was published in an octavo volume in the year 1823. Mr Nicol was much respected for his sound discernment in matters of business, as well as for his benevolent disposition. Every dispute in the vicinity was submitted to his adjudication, and his counsel checked all differences in the district. He was regularly consulted as a physician, for he had studied medicine at the University. From his own medicine chest he dispensed gratuitously to the indigent sick; and without fee he vaccinated all the children of the neighbourhood who were brought to him. After a short illness, he died on the 5th of November 1819. Of a family of three sons and three daughters, the eldest son predeceased him; two sons and two daughters still survive. The elder son, who bears his father's Christian name, is Professor of Civil and Natural History in Marischal College, Aberdeen, and is well known as a geologist. Mrs Nicol survived her husband till the 19th of March 1845. BLAW SAFTLY, YE BREEZES. Blaw saftly, ye breezes, ye streams, smoothly murmur, Ye sweet-scented blossoms, deck every green tree; 'Mong your wild scatter'd flow'rets aft wanders my charmer, The sweet lovely lass wi' the black rollin' e'e. For pensive I ponder, and languishin' wander, Far frae the sweet rosebud on Quair's windin' stream! Why, Heaven, wring my heart wi' the hard heart o' anguish? Why torture my bosom 'tween hope and despair? When absent frae Nancy, I ever maun languish!-- That dear angel smile, shall it charm me nae mair? Since here life 's a desert, an' pleasure 's a dream, Bear me swift to those banks which are ever my theme, Where, mild as the mornin' at simmer's returnin', Blooms the sweet lovely rosebud on Quair's windin' stream. BY YON HOARSE MURMURIN' STREAM. By yon hoarse murmurin' stream, 'neath the moon's chilly beam, Sadly musin' I wander, an' the tear fills my e'e; Recollection, pensive power, brings back the mournfu' hour, When the laddie gaed awa' that is dear, dear to me.