The New York and Albany Post Road / From Kings Bridge to "The Ferry at Crawlier, over against Albany," Being an Account of a Jaunt on Foot Made at Sundry Convenient Times between May and November, Nineteen Hundred and Five

Transcriber's Note: Page headers in the original are treated as sidenotes in this e-text. Obvious printer errors have been corrected.
FROM KINGS BRIDGE TO “THE FERRY AT CRAWLIER, OVER AGAINST ALBANY,” BEING AN ACCOUNT OF A JAUNT ON FOOT MADE AT SUNDRY CONVENIENT TIMES BETWEEN MAY AND NOVEMBER, NINETEEN HUNDRED AND FIVE
HINE'S ANNUAL, 1905 BOOK I.
Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1906, by C.G. Hine, in the office of the Librarian at Congress, Washington, D.C.
Sunnyside.

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.