ed. By the year 1832 the overland
trip between New York and Boston had been reduced to forty-one hours.
But the passengers were not allowed to break the journey at a tavern,
even for four or five hours of sleep, as they had formerly done, but
were carried forward night and day without intermission. A fare of
eleven dollars was usually exacted for the trip.

Even to go to one of the towns of Connecticut, the shore towns of the
Boston Post Road, was an undertaking that called for serious preliminary
study. A New York paper, now before the writer, carries in its first
column an advertisement of a new steamer, the "Fairfield," plying
between New York and Norwalk. But in order to make use of its services,
the traveller had to be at the pier at the foot of Market Street at six
o'clock in the morning. Upon the arrival at Norwalk stages were at hand
for the convenience of such of the passengers who wished to travel on
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 beyon