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Updated: June 4, 2025
They realised life, for life is what they were. They did right. And now comes John Barleycorn with the curse he lays upon the imaginative man who is lusty with life and desire to live.
Simpler folk will find it in the peasant's song of John Barleycorn, now made accessible to our drawingroom amateurs in the admirable collections of Somersetshire Folk Songs by Mr. Cecil Sharp.
The only rational thing for the twentieth-century folk to do is to cover up the well; to make the twentieth century in truth the twentieth century, and to relegate to the nineteenth century and all the preceding centuries the things of those centuries, the witch-burnings, the intolerances, the fetiches, and, not least among such barbarisms. John Barleycorn.
By JOHN A. BRASHEAR. In our study of the exact methods of measurement in use to-day, in the various branches of scientific investigation, we should not forget that it has been a plant of very slow growth, and it is interesting indeed to glance along the pathway of the past to see how step by step our micron of to-day has been evolved from the cubit, the hand's breadth, the span, and, if you please, the barleycorn of our schoolboy days.
That it was an old one and somewhat out of repair was testified to by the fact that light came streaming through many a crevice between the stones. Keeping well away from the entrance, Johnny took his place near one of these crevices. What he saw as he peered within would have made John Barleycorn turn green with envy. A moonshine still was in full operation.
For every feat of telescoping long days and weeks of life into mad magnificent instants, one must pay with shortened life, and, oft-times, with savage usury added. Intenseness and duration are as ancient enemies as fire and water. They are mutually destructive. They cannot co-exist. And John Barleycorn, mighty necromancer though he be, is as much a slave to organic chemistry as we mortals are.
I was eager to be ashore and see Japan, but the first day was devoted to ship's work, and not until evening did we sailors land. And here, by the very system of things, by the way life was organised and men transacted affairs, John Barleycorn reached out and tucked my arm in his.
They'll probably put up a monument to me for startin' the thing; don't you think they will, Al? Eh? Don't you, now?" Albert and he walked up the road together. Laban told a little more of his battle with John Barleycorn. "I had half a dozen spells when I had to set my teeth, those I've got left, and hang on," he said. "And the hangin'-on wa'n't as easy as stickin' to fly-paper, neither.
"Would you then shut the books and exchange places with this thing that is only an appetite and a desire, a marionette of the belly and the loins?" "To be stupid is to be happy," I contend. "Then your ideal of happiness is a jelly-like organism floating in a tideless, tepid twilight sea, eh?" Oh, the victim cannot combat John Barleycorn!
Silas moved, or seemed to move, absolutely without effort, and his slim brown hands touched everything delicately, as though they were touching fragile porcelain, yet those same hands could bend an iron bar, or rein in John Barleycorn even when the bit was between the said J. B.'s teeth.
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