But if one is to ride, the automobile--incongruous as it may seem--has this advantage,--it will stand indefinitely anywhere; it may be left by the roadside for hours; no one can start it; hardly any person would maliciously harm it, providing it is far enough to one side so as not to frighten passing horses; excursions on foot may be made to any place of interest, then, when the day draws to a close, a half-hour suffices to reach the chosen resting-place.
It was getting dark as we passed beneath the stately trees bordering the old post-road which leads to the door of the "Wayside Inn." Here the stages from Boston to Worcester used to stop for dinner.
Here Washington, Lafayette, Burgoyne, and other great men of Revolutionary days had been entertained, for along this highway the troops marched and countermarched.

The old inn is rich in historic associations.
The road which leads to the very door of the inn is the old post-road; the finely macadamized State road which passes a little farther away is of recent dedication, and is located so as to leave the ancient hostelry a little retired from ordinary travel.
A weather-beaten sign with a red horse rampant swings at one corner of the main building.
"Half effaced by rain and shine, The Red Horse prances on the sign." For nearly two hundred years, from 1683 to 1860, the inn was owned and kept by one family, the Howes, and was called by many "Howe's Tavern," by others "The Red Horse Inn." Since the publication of Longfellow's "Tales of a Wayside Inn," the place has been known by no other name than the one it now bears.
"As ancient is this hostelry As any in the land may be, Built in the old Colonial day, When men lived in a grander way, With ampler hospitality; A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, Now somewhat fallen to decay, With weather-stains upon the wall, And stairways worn, and crazy doors, And creaking and uneven floors, And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall." A portrait of Lyman Howe, the last landlord of the family, hangs in the little bar-room, "A man of ancient pedigree, A Justice of the Peace was he, Known in all Sudbury as 'The Squire.' Proud was he of his name and race, Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh." And now as of yore "In the parlor, full in view, His coat-of-arms, well framed and glazed, Upon the wall in colors blazed." The small window-panes which the poet describes as bearing "The jovial rhymes, that still remain, Writ near a century ago, By the great Major Molineaux, Whom Hawthorne has immortal made," are preserved in frames near the mantel in the parlor, one deeply scratched by diamond ring with name of Major Molineaux and the date, "June 24th, 1774," the other bears this inscription,-- "What do you think?
Here is good drink, Perhaps you may not know it; If not in haste, Do stop and taste, You merry folk will show it." A worthy, though not so gifted, successor of the jolly major rendered the following "true accomp.," which, yellow and faded, hangs on the bar-room wall: "Thursday, August 7, 1777" L s.

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Super & Loging.

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