oblest type, ready to sacrifice themselves and their property for the good of mankind, distinguished lawyers and writers, were those who were welcomed within those hospitable walls, and I doubt if our towns-people were ever really cognizant of what transpired there, or were in touch with the inmates of the red house on the hill who formed a little world apart by themselves.
George S. Hillard, Moncure D. Conway, and greater lights like Rufus Choate, Wendell Phillips, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Bronson Alcott and Julia Ward Howe were guests of the Stearns family.
Later came Julian, son of Nathaniel Hawthorne, a school friend of one of the sons.
Lest we forget what the country and our state owes to this man, of whom we ought to be proud as being a citizen of Medford, let us recall with gratitude these verses from Whittier's tribute to George L. Stearns:— He has done the work of a true man,— Crown him, honor him, love him. Weep over him, tears of woman, Stoop manliest brows above him! Fo