From the "Reminiscences" of a Kinderhooker we learn that there were two or three stage lines whose coaches passed through the village daily, and that the merits of their various steeds were the cause of much local controversy around the tavern stove. The drivers "were mainly farmers' sons, many of them well to do, selected with special reference to sobriety as well as in handling the ribbons;" and the heart of every lad in the village was fired with the hope that some day he might be selected to fill that high office. Starting again on the Post Road toward the north, we come to the one-time Kinderhook Academy, celebrated in its day, but its day has passed, and on the outskirts of the town pass the old cemetery where Martin Van Buren and Jesse Merwin lie with the forefathers of the neighborhood. [Sidenote: _WE LEAVE THE POST ROAD._] Here we part from the old Post Road, which continues on through Valatie, Niverville and South Schodack to Schodack Centre, where it joins company with the Boston Road, and together they travel through East Greenbush to Greenbush where once was the ferry at Crawlier. The way I took through Muitzeskill and Castleton to Greenbush, is marked with New York and Albany guide posts, but none of the old mile-stones adorn its path. Ever since Rhinebeck the Catskills have been marching along the western horizon, and while generally the river is too far away to be a part of the picture, the country, the beautiful country, makes one continually wonder, not that the painters of a past generation grew to love the region and to revel in its seductive delights, but rather that they could ever stop its delineation. The effect of the changing light and shade and varying atmospheric conditions lend the same enchantment that lies in the ever-changing sea. [Sidenote: _THE DISTANT HILLS._] About where that mystery, the county line, crosses the road, one stands on a gentle ridge that extends the view both east and west. Toward the latter, on this Indian Summer day were the ghosts of mountains that in brighter times are the Catskills, while to the east are the low-lying hills of the Taghkanic range, whose far slopes roll down to meet the advances of the Berkshires. Beautiful undulating farm lands lead the eye up to the distant hills on either hand, fields of every warm tint with sentinel oaks or walnuts, and here and there the wood-lot of the farmer. The soft browns and greens of the distant corn stubble, or the winter barley fields with the blaze of the Frost King's robes mellowed by the golden sun complete a picture common enough in this wonderful valley of the Hudson, but always a well-spring of delight for the traveler. [Sidenote: _MUITZESKILL._]