From Old Time Wayland by Alfred Wayland Cutting:

 

 “The old-time beauty of Wayland Centre...is remembered by the older citizens of the town...We recall the quiet grass-bordered street, heavily shaded by arching elms, where little traffic disturbed its serenity ...At the end of the village street the beautiful old church closed the vista, then as now..

 

The only regular communication with the outside world was the old dusty yellow stage, with its four horses ... which made its daily leisurely progress ... bringing the mail and the one excitement of the day.  As it came into town the rotund, white-bearded old driver would whip the horses into a gallop up the slight rise to the red brick floored porch of the Tavern, where the great folded steps of the stage would be dropped with a clang, and those adventurers, who had braved the unknown experiences which lay beyond Morse’s Hill (in area of John Noyes Morse’s house), would (step down), while ... cross-eyed Buster Allen (and his men) would water the horses with the buckets which had been filled at the pump under the great elm. 

 

While the horses were being watered, the mail bag, ... would be taken from its place under the driver’s seat and carried across to the Store where Newell Heard would pick out letters for Wayland...in the presence of the assembled village. 

 

Here might have been seen the venerable Pastor Emeritus, Parson Wight, of the First Parish, with his long white beard, high stock, wide-brimmed silk hat and loosely rolled umbrella, courteously acknowledging, almost with a curtsey, the respectful salutations of his townsmen.  Perhaps Judge Mellen may have been a passenger, returning to his home under the great elms of the main street from a session of court...and maybe.. Lydia Maria Child, would be there, with her quaint bonnet and dress, her bright, happy presence shedding joy and strength and courage everywhere.  Or we might have seen the quiet, dreamy face of Edmund Hamilton Sears, whose serenity no cares or troubles of this world could ruffle or perplex.  Mr. Draper, the historian and antiquarian of the town, would certainly have been there for his mail...”