There is the park of Kirklees, full of sunny glades, speckled with black shadows of immemorial yew-trees; the grey pile of building, formerly a "House of professed Ladies;" the mouldering stone in the depth of the wood, under which Robin Hood is said to lie; close outside the park, an old stone- gabled house, now a roadside inn, but which bears the name of the "Three Nuns," and has a pictured sign to correspond.

And this quaint old inn is frequented by fustian-dressed mill-hands from the neighbouring worsted factories, which strew the high road from Leeds to Huddersfield, and form the centres round which future villages gather.

Such are the contrasts of modes of living, and of times and seasons, brought before the traveller on the great roads that traverse the West Riding.

In no other part of England, I fancy, are the centuries brought into such close, strange contact as in the district in which Roe Head is situated.

Within six miles of Miss W---'s house--on the left of the road, coming from Leeds--lie the remains of Howley Hall, now the property of Lord Cardigan, but formerly belonging to a branch of the Saviles.