g room, and a mahogany
desk by the fireside, well supplied with stationery, afforded amends for
neglected letters. In the morning, our breakfast was served in the same
room, and the bill for entertainment seemed astonishingly low. Mine host
will no doubt be wiser in this particular as motorists more and more
invade the country.

An hour's drive brought us to Manchester. The road by which we entered
the city took us direct to the Midland Hotel, which is reputed to be the
finest in the Kingdom. Manchester is a city of nearly a million
inhabitants, but its streets seemed almost like those of a country town
as compared with the crowded thoroughfares of London. It is a great
center for motoring and I found many of the garages so full that they
could not take another car. I eventually came to one of the largest,
where by considerable shifting they managed to accommodate my car. But
with all this rush of business, it seemed to me that the owners were in
no danger of becoming plutocrats, for the charge for a day's garage,
cleaning the car, polishing the brass and making a slight repair, was
five shillings.

For half the way from Manchester to Leeds, the drive was about as trying
as anything I found in England. The road is winding, exceedingly steep
in places, and built up on both sides with houses--largely homes of
miners and mill operatives. The pavement is of rough cobble-stones, and
swarms of dogs and children crowded the way everywhere. Under such
conditions, the numerous steep hills, narrow places and sharp turns in
the road made progress slow indeed. It was evident that the British
motorists generally avoid this country, for we met no cars and our own
attracted attention that showed it was not a common spectacle. However,
the trip was none the less an interesting one as showing a bit of the
country and a phase of English life not usually seen by tourists.

There is little to detain one within the city of Leeds itself, but there
are many places of interest in its immediate vicinity. There are few
more picturesque spots in Yorkshire than Wharfdale, with its riotous
little river and ruins of Bolton Abbey and Barden Tower. This lies about
fifteen miles to the northwest, and while for special reasons we went to
Ilkley Station by train, the trip is a fine motor drive over good roads.
The park which contains the abbey and castle is the property of the Duke
of Devonshire, who keeps it at all times open to the public. The River