wholly without
supplication, confession, or praise, but only sweet meditations on
nature, beauty, order, goodness, love. After returning home I
found Emerson with his head bowed on his hands, which were resting
on his knees. He looked up to me and said, 'Now, tell me honestly,
plainly, just what you think of that service.' I replied that
before he was half through I had made up my mind that it was the
last time he should have that pulpit. 'You are right,' he
rejoined, 'and I thank you. On my part, before I was half through,
I felt out of place. The doubt is solved.'"

He dwelt with time and eternity on a footing of familiar equality.
He did not shrink or cringe. His prayers were sweet meditations
and his sermon a lecture. He was the apostle of beauty, goodness,
and truth.

Lexington Road from East Lexington to the Centre is a succession
of historic spots marked by stones and tablets.

The old home of Harrington, the last survivor of the battle of
Lexington, still stands close to the roadside, shaded by a row of
fine big trees. Harrington died in 1854 at the great age of
ninety-eight; he was a fifer-boy in Captain Parker's company. In
the early morning on the day of the fight his mother rapped on his
bedroom door, calling, "Jonathan, Jonathan, get up; the British
are coming, and something must be done." He got up and did his
part with the others. Men still living recall the old man; they
heard the story of that memorable day from the lips of one who
participated therein.

At the corner of Maple Street there is an elm planted in 1740.
On a little knoll at the left is the Monroe Tavern. The square,
two-storied frame structure which remains is the older portion of
the inn as it was in those days. It was the head-quarters of Lord
Percy; and it is said that an inoffensive old man who served the
soldiers with liquor in the small bar-room was killed when he
tried to get away by a rear door. When the soldiers left they
sacked the house, piled up the furniture and set fire to it.
Washington dined in the dining-room in the second story, November
5, 1789. The house was built in 1695, and is still owned by a
direct descendant of the first William Monroe.

Not far from the tavern and on the same side of the street is a
house where a wounded soldier was cared for by a Mrs. Sanderson,
who lived to be one hundred and four years old.

Near the intersection of Woburn Street is a crude stone cannon
which marks the place where Lo