Having some recollection of the place myself, which I had casually seen several years before, as I passed on the top of the mail, I felt convinced that it was precisely such a residence as my friend desired. Under this impression, I determined on paying Dryfield a visit, and making a personal survey of the premises. Conform thereto, the following morning found me on the top of the mail. In six hours afterwards, I was at Minnigrain, and in the presence of its worthy occupant, Mr Pentland. He was a decent, substantial-looking farmer--plain and unsophisticated in his manners, intelligent, and shrewd, with a spice of humour about him which he seemed to have some difficulty in controlling. Having mentioned to Mr Pentland the purpose of my visit, and my wish to take a look of Dryfield and its premises, he instantly accompanied me thither--having previously provided himself with a couple of keys: one to procure us access to the garden, through which it was necessary to pass to reach the house; the other to admit us to the house itself. Our way lay through a romantic wood, that grew on a steep bank overhanging the Clyde, and which was traversed by various winding paths. Having taken one of these, we soon threaded the little forest, and, emerging at its western side, found ourselves on a green lawn, at the further end of which stood the mansion-house of Driffel, as it was more shortly pronounced by the natives. It was a compact and comfortable-looking house, but had evidently been long untenanted. Everything around it was running to waste. The honeysuckle, with which its walls had been clothed, had fallen from its fastenings, and was idly sweeping the footpath below; the flower-plats in front were over-run with weeds; the garden was uncropped; and shrubs, bushes, and trees were revelling in an unprofitable luxuriance. Everything, in short, bespoke neglect, and the absence of a presiding care and taste. "The house does not seem to have been tenanted for a long time, Mr Pentland?" said I, as we walked towards the house. "'Deed, it's a gey while since there was what ye may ca' a reglar tenant in't," replied my companion. "We hae had families, from time to time, for a month or twa in the summer season, but nae reglar tenant since Mr Darsy himsel left, and that's gaun noo in ten years since." "Is Mr Darsy dead?" "Ou no! He gaed abroad for the benefit o' his health--him and his man Ramsay. He was to hae been back in six months, but he has never returned yet. But I'm sure the blessin o' the poor and the needcessitous'll follow the worthy man wherever he goes." "He was a benevolent man, was he?" "That he was, sir. Just ane o' the best men breathin. Some folk thocht him a wee whimsical now and then; but his heart was in the richt place. He had just five hunner a-year; and I'm sure he gied awa three o't in charity, if he gied a saxpence." "Any family?"