surface the aborigines probably held sacred feasts. Originally it stood out in the water, but the railway embankment has changed all this, and now it is overshadowed by great advertising boards which the pale-face provides for his traveling brother to feast his eyes upon.

For some miles, practically as far as the Croton River, the way is lined with the fine estates of the wealthy, some made notable by reason of their owners, as Greystone, the former home of Samuel J. Tilden. It is no uncommon thing to have some particularly fine lawn pointed out as the most perfect in the country. If what the local patriots say is true, there is at least one such in every village hereabouts.

This region is a bit too thickly settled for the pedestrian who, with his knapsack slung over his shoulder, receives more attention from nurse maids and children than is sometimes comfortable, but it is easily possible to send one's impedimenta on by rail if the night's stopping place can be figured out in advance, and he can then progress without fear of gibe or jeer.

Greenburgh, "Graintown" bounds Yonkers on the north. Here, the present site of Dobbs Ferry, was the Indian town of Weck-quas-keck, "the place of the bark kettle." It was the unprovoked murder of an Indian here and its subsequent revenge that led to the massacre of the Indians in Jersey and the following Indian war which brought the Dutch almost to the last extremity.

Hastings, the first town beyond Yonkers, covers the old Post Estate. In early times the inhabitants seem to have developed a rather unenviable reputation as sports, cock fights and horse racing being mentioned as the principal amusements. Here, in 1776, a troop of Sheldon's Horse ambuscaded a body of Hessians, only one of whom escaped. Peter Post, who appears to have helped lead the enemy to destruction, was later caught by them and beaten, being left for dead.

As the traveler enters Hastings he passes the former residence of Dr. Henry Draper. The old observatory, built in 1870, still stands, though damaged by a recent fire. Here Dr. Draper made the first photographs ever taken of the moon. The name of Draper should be revered by every amateur photographer. The father of Henry, Dr. John William, was a friend of Daguerre, and it is said that in this building was developed the first portrait negative. The dwelling is beautifully situated on the high river bluff and affords a wonderful view up and down the watery highway.

Close on the road stands an old forge or smithy where Washington's officers were in the habit of having their horses shod when in the neighborhood. The place also boasts a "Washington Spring," but its chiefest natural glory is a great walnut tree which tradition says was, away back in the Indian days, a Council Tree of the Weckquaskecks. In one of the Draper cottages once lived Admiral Farragut, whose wife used the first prize money he received to purchase some needed article for the local church. There are few places that hold so many and varied interests for the pilgrim as the old Draper homestead, and none whose hostess could be more gracious to the stranger.

The road winds along the sides of the hills, sometimes fifty, sometimes one hundred and fifty feet above the water, and many are the beautiful vistas through the trees and across the well-kept lawns. By this time the solid wall of the Palisades is beginning to break and the outline of the Jersey hills becomes more varied. But we are just now interested nearer home, for as one approaches Dobbs Ferry he steps on almost holy ground. Here is the Livingston house, where, after the fighting was all over, Washington and Governor Clinton met the British commander, General Sir Guy Carlton, to make the final arrangements for peace; here the papers were signed which permitted of the disbanding of the American Army, and in which the British gave up all claim upon the allegiance and control of the country.

So far back as 1698 a Dob was located here. On account of the ferry the place was an important one during the Revolution and many interesting incidents happened in the neighborhood. It was here that Arnold and André planned to hold their first meeting, but accident prevented their coming together; and it was here that Sir Henry Clinton's representative met General Greene, October, 1780, in an unsuccessful attempt to prevent the execution of André. In July, 1781, the American and French armies were encamped on the hills round about while preparations were being pushed as though for an attack on New York, pioneers being sent forward to clear the roads toward King's Bridge. Even the American army was wholly unaware of Washington's intention to strike Cornwallis, and the British were so completely deceived that the American troops reached the Delaware before Clinton awoke to the situation.

Those patriotic Democrats who mourn the extravagance of the government in granting pensions may be interested to know that the first pension ever granted by the United States was to a Dobbs Ferry boy named Vincent, who was crippled for life by a gang of Tory cowboys. The boys had been making remarks of a somewhat personal character which annoyed the gentle cowboy who, catching three of them, killed two and permanently injured the third.

Of this class of freebooters Irving writes: "In a little while the debatable ground became infested by roving bands, claiming from either side, and all pretending to redress wrongs and punish political offenses; but all prone, in the exercise of their high functions, to sack hen roosts, drive off cattle and lay farm houses under contributions; such was the origin of two great orders of border chivalry, the Skinners and the Cowboys, famous in Revolutionary story. The former fought, or rather marauded, under the American, the latter under the British banner. In the zeal of service, both were apt to make blunders, and confound the property of friend and foe. Neither of them in the heat and hurry of a foray had time to ascertain the politics of a horse or cow which they were driving off into captivity; nor when they wrung the neck of a rooster did they trouble their heads whether he crowed for Congress or King George."

Some thirty-five years ago certain esthetic inhabitants of Dobbs Ferry, having long desired to change its name, finally succeeded in arousing enough interest to warrant the calling of a public meeting for the purpose of discussing the question. The general sentiment was that the new name should have a patriotic tinge. The names of Paulding and Van Wart were favorites, with a strong leaning toward the former. Finally one well-meaning but rather obtuse gentleman arose and said that he knew both of these men; that he did not approve of Paulding; that Van Wart was just as prominent in the André capture, and besides was a Christian gentleman, and he proposed that the Van be dropped, and the town christened Wart-on-the-Hudson. The proposal appears to have been made in all seriousness, but the ridiculousness of the situation killed the scheme, and that common piece of clay, Dobbs, still reigns supreme.

The fine roads and the rush of a vanishing automobile remind one by the very contrast of the days when the Post Road was a main artery of travel.

Here is a description of the delights of a stage coach journey:

"A stage journey from one part of the country to another was as comfortless as could well be imagined. The coach was without springs, and the seats were hard and often backless. The horses were jaded and worn, and the roads were rough with boulders and stumps of trees, or furrowed with ruts and