e in a
lifetime was quite enough. Now we were taking things easier.

The traditions hanging around the old "Red Lion Inn," beside the
bridge, probably account for its popularity, for certainly its
present-day accommodations and catering are nothing remarkable, and
the automobilist is looked upon with disfavour. Why? This is hard to
state. He is a good spender, the automobilist, and he comes
frequently. All the same, the "Red Lion Inn" at Henley is one of
those establishments marked down in the guide-books as "comfortable,"
and if its luncheon is a bit slow and stodgy, it is wholesome enough,
and automobilists are generally blessed with good appetites.

The Shenstone legend and the window-pane verses about finding "one's
warmest welcome at an inn" were originally supposed to apply to this
inn at Henley. Later authorities say that they referred to an inn at
Henley-in-Arden. Perhaps an automobilist, even, would find the latter
more to his liking. The writer does not know.

To Reading from Henley is perhaps a dozen miles, by a pretty river
road which shows all the characteristic loveliness of the Thames
valley about which poets have raved. By Shiplake Mill, Sonning, and
Caversham Bridge one finally enters Reading. Reading is famous for
the remains of an old abbey and for its biscuits, but neither at the
time had any attractions for us.

We made another detour from our path and followed the river-road to
Abingdon. Pangborne (better described as Villadom) was passed, as was
also Mapledurham, which Dick of William Morris's "Utopia" thought "a
very pretty place." In fine it is a very pretty place, and the river
hereabouts is quite at its prettiest.

Since we had actually left towns and trams behind us we found the
roadways good, but abominably circuitous and narrow, not to say
dangerous because of it.

Soon Streatley Hill rose up before us. Streatley is one of those
villages which have been pictured times innumerable. One often sees
its winding streets, its picturesque cottages, its one shop, its old
mill, "The Bull Inn," or its notorious bridge over the river to
Goring.

To cross this bridge costs six pence per wheel, be your conveyance a
cart, carriage, bicycle, or motor-car, so that if an automobile
requires any slight attention from the machinist, who quarters
himself at Goring boat-house, it is appreciably cheaper to bargain
with him to come to Streatley. Thus one may defeat the object of the
grasping institution