It is but a short distance to Hudson, whose history is so interestingly different from that of the other towns of the region that a few words concerning it may not be out of place, even if the Post Road does pass by on the other side. Here, in 1783, came certain Quakers from Providence and Newport, Nantucket and Edgartown. It seems that the British cruisers had crippled the whaling industry and other marine ventures in which these enterprising gentlemen were engaged, and they sought a more secluded haven from which to transact their business. Some of them brought, on the brig "Comet," houses framed and ready for immediate erection, but before placing them these methodical Quakers first laid out the town in regular form, establishing highways, and not allowing them to develop from cow paths, as was the honest Dutch fashion. A committee was appointed "to survey and plot the city," and another to see that the streets were given suitable names. The settlers promptly opened clay pits, burned bricks, built a first-class wharf, and were regularly trading with New York within a year after they landed. A canoe ferry satisfied the earlier settlers, but "a gunwaled scow" was none too good for the new comers. In 1785 it was the second port in the state; two ship yards were established, and a large ship, the Hudson, was nearly ready for launching. The fame of its hustle was attracting people from every side. March 31, 1785, the first newspaper was issued; April 22, 1785, a legislative act incorporated the place into a city; and by January, 1786, they had finished an aqueduct to bring in an abundant supply of pure water from two miles back in the country. In 1790 it was made a port of entry. In 1793 the Bank of Columbia was chartered; in 1796-7 the city issued small bills and copper coins. Hudson was incorporated the third city in the State, was the third port of entry, and had one of the three banks in the State. Once it started on the down grade, however, its "decline and fall off" was equally rapid. [Sidenote: _POST ROAD._] Now to get back to the Post Road, where the pace is not quite so hot-foot. As the next town is Kinderhook, some fourteen miles away, there is plenty of time to view the beauties of nature and fill one's nostrils with its rich perfumes. Most of the year's work in the fields is finished; here and there the shocks are being overhauled for the corn, which is shucked as gathered, while the pumpkins are still accumulating sunshine for the golden Thanksgiving pie. From the barn yards come the pounding of the steam thresher or the creak of a windlass, suggesting that the hay crop is being baled. Everything is busy but the cows, who evidently do not like frosting on their cake and, having the day before them, can afford to wait till the good sun comes along to undo the work which has kept Jack Frost so busy all night.