to Saugatuck, Fairfield, Bridgeport, Stratford, Milford, and other
points. The same column carried information for those who contemplated
voyaging to Newport or Providence. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday
the steamboats "Benjamin Franklin" (Capt. E.S. Bunker) and "President"
(Capt. R.S. Bunker) left New York for those Rhode Island towns at five
o'clock in the evening.

The Post Road to Boston of those days differed much from the Boston Post
Road of the present; especially in its first stages going northward from
New York. There was no spacious Pelham Parkway skirting the waters of
the Long Island Sound. Before crossing the Harlem the road followed in a
general way the Broadway trail. Beyond the river it zigzagged in a
northeasterly direction through Eastchester. Not until the crossing of
the Byram River transferred the road from New York to New England did it
take on any resemblance to the trail of today, and even beyond, the town
of Greenwich seems to have been neglected entirely.

Yet, in comparison, the East was developed. It was the bold Sinbad
turning his face resolutely and courageously towards the setting sun who
experienced the real inconveniences and perils. Nor, at first, did that
mean the adventurous journey into the lands that were beyond the great
Appalachian range. The shining countenance of the unknown was nearer at
hand. It is just a matter of turning the clock back a hundred years.

From the windows of the apartment houses looking down on the Riverside
Drive the Delaware River is just beyond the Jersey hills. To journey
there today does not even call for the study of time-tables. Mr.
Manhattan rises at the usual hour and eats his usual leisurely
breakfast. At, say, nine o'clock, he settles back behind the
steering-wheel of his motor-car. Crossing the Hudson by the Forty-second