August, 1909 
The wainscoted sitting-room 
bering stage-coach and cattle and poultry travel by rail; but, 
although manners and customs have changed, the old inn 
has not, nor have the great forest trees that waved their 
strong branches over the Indian wigwams long before the 
totem of the ““Red Horse”’ was hung in their midst. 
The house is fortunate in being far from the town and 
isolated in its green frame of oaks and elms. Far across 
the meadows and rolling hills the windows gleam red with 
the glow of the firelight within; and on many an autumn 
night Longfellow’s description is still appropriate: 
“Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode 
Deep silence reigned, save when a gust 
Went rushing down the country road, 
And skeletons of leaves, and dust 
A moment quickened by its breath, 
Shuddered and danced their dance of death, 
And through the ancient oaks o’erhead 
Mysterious voices reigned and fled.” 
The famous hostelry was built 
about 1686 by David Howe, the 
son of John Howe, of Marlboro, 
Mass., and it was known as Howes’ 
(or How’s) Tavern until 1746, 
when Ezekiel Howe hung up the 
sign of ‘““The Red Horse.” Ezekiel 
was a man of no little importance, as 
was often the landlord of a tavern in 
Colonial days. He became an offi- 
cer in the Revolutionary Army, and 
his commission as colonel, signed 
by John Hancock, is still extant in 
Sudbury. On his death in 1796, his 
son, Adam, became landlord of 
“The Red Horse,” which he kept 
until his death in 1840. From this 
date until 1860, his son Lyman was 
the proprietor. He was also a man 
of importance in the community, 
was justice of the peace, and known 
in Sudbury as “‘the Squire,” under 
which name Longfellow describes 
him in his “Tales of a Wayside 
Inn,” published in 1863. 
To Longfellow the old inn owes 
its celebrity. It was a favorite ren- 
AMERICAN HOMES AND GARDENS 
323 
dezvous in the fifties for the poet 
and his friends who told each other 
tales in verse as they sat round the 
fireside and were charmed with in- 
terludes from the magic violin of 
Ole Bull. 
The inn Longfellow describes is 
as follows: 
“As ancient is this hostelrie 
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 region of repose it seems, 
A place of slumber and of dreams, 
Remote among the wooded hills! 
For there no noisy railway speeds, 
Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds; 
But noon and night, the panting teams 
Stop under the great oaks, that throw 
Tangles of light and shade below, 
On roofs and doors and window-sills; 
Across the road the barns display 
Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay; 
Through the wide doors the breezes blow; 
The wattled cocks strut to-and-fro, 
And, half effaced by rain or shine, 
The Red Horse prances on the sign.” 
When Longfellow’s ‘Tales of a Wayside Inn” were pub- 
lished ‘“The Red Horse” was closed; for Squire Howe died 
in 1860. ‘The house still remained in possession of the 
Howe family until 1897, when it was sold to Mr. E. R. 
Lemon, who restored it to its old appearance; hung up the 
sign of “The Red Horse” once again, and filled the rooms 
with a fine collection of old furniture and old New Eng- 
land curios. 
Tap-room with its wooden portcullis 
