The New York herald., 1922-12-03
Barley Now Is Something to See.

Who has heard of THE Barley Now
wonder-the smallest and quaintest inn of
all the rustic brotherhood? 1t stands a
little way back from the river and we
reached it after a long, showery day on
the water. 1t was not however, our first
objective, for We had planned to sleep at
the Plough, and once putting our hand
to it we remembered the fate of him who
turned back.
1t was dusk when we reached the remote
backwater which glides past its tiny land
ing, hidden among alder bushes. All day
through sun and shower we had talked of
the Plough, priding ourselves on being
the rare American who got at such places
where hardship under a thatch becomes
romance. Near the landing several fishing
boats fioated on the placid stream and
meeting branches made an arch of twi-
light. The hush was so profound that
only the whir of a dragon fly could be
heard or the dreamy splash of water
against the boat. 1t seemed long until my
companion returned from his quest with
the news that fishermen had filed the inn
to capacity and the Indifferent Plough
Later we were glad, for at the next village
half mile down the river we found the
Barley Mow-rustically called Moo"
1 am really sorry for any one who has
not seen the Barley Moo, nesting in it's
flower garden like something almost hu
man, it's easements looking out from under
a blond sunbonnet of thatch Yellow
ha oar
lands about the tiny porch. Damp and
iaden as we were with bags and rugs, we
stood for a moment enchanted. Night was
falling and before this sudden apparition
of antiquity we felt that we had found our
way back to an age of innocence. Who
could imagine making such a house with
the idea of renting it or of bartering it
for anything else in the world? But for
love man might plaster it's low walls,
cross its black timbers in quaint designs,
or weave the brown reed roof as a bird
weaves her nest. Through the long dream
ing years it had become part of nature
herself and seemed to have taken on color
and beauty like the moss green bark of
trees.
We saw curl of smoke ascending from
the chimney, glimmer of candlelight
shone out from the embowered easements,
and, tired but happy, we passed through
the low door, and confident that the Barley
Moo would give us shelter
1t was delicious TO drop to sleep in our
tiny room, with its one candle, where the
midsummer night never wholly obscured
the easements square of light Setting
open the rude lattice and looking out into
the garden, we seemed to have retired TO a
time remote when Shakespeare made
immortal love in the cottage at Shottery.
By morning the rain, which fell softly all
night long, had only wet an inch or two
of the furry thatch round the window
Later when we were dressed and the
sun came out a smell of bacon and toast
was waited up the steep stairway and /
felt that a week would be none too long
to digest the atmosphere of the Barley
Moo, or the quaint, beautiful village,
just across the river. A bridge-od IN.
seeming as the Canterbury Pilgrims-here
spans the Thames and at intervals there
are inches in its narrow stone causeway
for the pedestrian to tuck himself away
tiu 81 the ylIlS Ut IT.
A penny toll is collected from each passer-
by and at the dollhouse 1 saw an old
placard posted up and this is how 1t
read:
For every Horse or other Beast draw
ing any Coach, Caravan, Berlin, Chariot,
Vis-a-vis. Barouch, Phaeton, Merno,
Calasche, Curricle Chair, Gig, Irish Car.
WhiSkey. HearSe or like carriage ed For
every Ass laden or unladen Id. For every