The New York and Albany Post Road From Kings Bridge to "The Ferry at Crawlier, over against Albany," By Charles Gilbert Hine The Hudson Valley, above all other places in this country, combines historic and romantic interest with the beauties of nature. It is one hundred and fifty miles crowded with the splendors of mountain and forest and river, and replete with incident and legend. To quote George William Curtis: "Its morning and evening reaches are like the lakes of a dream." Everyone who visits New York comes or goes, if possible, by the river route. Few know much of anything, however, about the Old Post Road, that one-time artery of travel and trade, whose dust has been stirred by the moccasin of the Indian and the boot of the soldier; whose echoes are the crack of the stage driver's whip and the whistle of the startled deer; whose bordering hills were named for the wild boar and the wild cat, and along whose edges are still scattered the interesting relics of a past that the passenger by steamer or rail can never know. Take it in May or June when all nature is fresh and green, with fleecy clouds above, and below a bank of wild azalea or an apple orchard in bloom. Or try it in the Fall when the woods are as gay as the painted butterfly. Each season holds out its own attractions. Few places can equal the Hudson Valley for the Autumn panorama. The brilliant colors of the deciduous foliage intermingled with the dark of the evergreens rise from the blue of the river to the blue of heaven with every variety of tree and shrub to lend a hand in the illumination. It is red gold and yellow gold, purple and fine linen, and all manner of precious stones when the sun puts a crown of glory on some great tulip or sparkles in the gorgeous maple leaves. The colors are so splendid that even Turner, in all his glory, could not equal one of these. There is no office at which to buy a ticket for this Post Road route. It is Shanks' mare, with an independence and freedom that no other mode of travel knows. To be sure, one can also take it on horseback, by bicycle or automobile, according to fancy and finances, and, provided he does not exceed the speed limit, it matters little how he goes. The speed limit naturally differs with the individual. The writer thinks that three miles an hour is fast enough-a pace that enables one to keep his eyes on the picture and does not necessitate a continuous inspection of the road. We are delighted to publish this classic book as part of our extensive Classic Library collection. Many of the books in our collection have been out of print for decades, and therefore have not been accessible to the general public. The aim of our publishing program is to facilitate rapid access to this vast reservoir of literature, and our view is that this is a significant literary work, which deserves to be brought back into print after many decades. The contents of the vast majority of titles in the Classic Library have been scanned from the original works. To ensure a high quality product, each title has been meticulously hand curated by our staff. Our philosophy has been guided by a desire to provide the reader with a book that is as close as possible to ownership of the original work. We hope that you will enjoy this wonderful classic work, and that for you it becomes an enriching experience.