hree miles
apart, on the opposite banks of Dee. Mrs. Forbes died 1st February 1838.

[6] His dwelling near Frome.

II.

The Dean was passionately fond of Deeside. Let me indulge myself in
looking back upon that district such as he knew it, such as I remember
it sixty years ago.

The natural features of Deeside are not changed. The noble river pours
down its brown flood as of old, hurrying from its wooded rocky
highlands. On the prettiest part of its bank stands Crathes, the finest
of Aberdeenshire castles, the immemorial seat of the Burnetts, where
Edward Ramsay, himself a Burnett, was received with all the love of
kindred, as well as the hearty respect for his sacred profession. I
daresay Crathes was not to him quite what I remember it. But we were of
different professions and habits. I will say nothing of the chief sport
of Dee, its salmon-fishing. However fascinating, the rod is a silent
companion, and wants the jovial merriment, shout and halloo, that give
life and cheerfulness to the sport of the hunter. My recollection of
Deeside is in its autumn decking, and shows me old Sir Robert and my
lady, two gentle daughters and four tall stalwart sons--they might have
sat for a group of Osbaldistones to the great painter Walter Scott. I
will not describe the interior of the old house, partly because it was
changing, and every change appeared to me for the worse; but no one
would forget the old hall, where Kneller's picture of Bishop Burnett
still looks down on his modern cousins and their hospitality. It was a
frank and cordial hospitality, of which the genial old bishop would
have approved. The viands were homely almost to affectation. Every day
saw on that board a noble joint of boiled beef, not to the exclusion of
lighter kickshaws; but the beef was indispensable, just as the _bouilli_
still is in some provinces of France. Claret was there in plenty--too
plentiful perhaps; but surely the "braw drink" was well bestowed, for
with it came the droll story, the playful attack and ready retort, the
cheerful laugh--always good humour. A dinner at Crathes was what the
then baronet, old Sir Robert, would call the "best of good company."

Another part of the house I well remember--the place, half gun-room,
half servant's hall--where we prepared for sport in the morning, and
brought the day's bag home at night. Prominent figures there were two
brothers Stevenson, Willie and Jamie, known for twenty miles round as
the "fo