Part of Town

Beginning at East 59th Street, with the southernmost point as East 23rd Street, this mid-island part of town runs from Fifth Avenue to the East River all the way through. The westernmost portion, specifically, Fifth Avenue, an international flagship store ‘must’ to Third Avenue, is Manhattan’s retailshopping and tourist magnet as well as its elite office skyscraper and premier commercial hub.

The dwelling types range from apartment hotel co-operative to steel-andglass condominium towers, which are peppered intermittently by an array of pre- and post-war (by comparison, low-rise) apartment houses nestled among the sky-high building corridors—Fifth to Madison, and Park to Lexington Avenues. Permanently divided at Lexington Avenue, and (mostly) running to East River’s edge, the residential neighborhoods—conveniently falling into ten-street squares—from north to south, are:

  • Sutton-Beekman Place area encompasses the northeast quadrant, or, the

East Fifties.

  • Turtle Bay, including the United Nations Plaza and Tudor City, comprise the East Forties.
  • Murray Hill (roughly) stretches from East 40th to 30th Street, and the neighborhood runs from Fifth to Third Avenue.
  • Kips Bay takes in the southeasterly Rose Hill estate, spanning East 30th to 21st Street, essentially, the East Twenties.

And NoMad, as the southwestern sector, surrounding Madison Square Park and north to 30th Street, and extending along Broadway to the mid-ParkAvenue-South-to-Third Avenue block, though nowadays some say, it runs between Sixth-to-Third Avenues. The neighborhood is detailed in depth over Downtown East and West as well as Midtown West—because it is at the crux of all four parts of town.

As with the Upper East Side, the Fifth-to-Third-Avenues residential development was influenced by the 1800s railroads, and their right of way. These machinations’ percolations gave rise to a world-class commercial swath. Additionally, Fifth Avenue’s fate had been sealed as society’s domain, and Central Park expanded its destiny northward incessantly.

Here in Midtown, among the well-connected, assumption of corner building lots as well as on the adjacent streets to The Avenue—first for residences and institutions, then for retail and commercial usage—hit a previously unfrequented pitch.

Nowhere was more important tracts controlled by The Corporation of the City of New York than in mid-Manhattan’s East Fifties. There was more beginning in the central East Forties and continuing south, with the (citycontrolled) Murray leased tract, and then with United States Magazine and Parade Grounds surrounding Madison Square. Furthermore, in the far southeast portion, the tracts encompassing East 30th to 20th Streets and from Fourth Avenue to the East River was a confiscated de Lancey Farm. Rose Hill. (And more on that is to come. As an overview, however: the city Corporation was set up at the British take over from the Dutch. Its charter empowered bureaucratic oversight of 1) Common lands, and 2) the transactions, taxes, and claims. In turn, the Corporation provided the funds for improvements such as road-building.)

Its importance should not be overlooked or underestimated. Somewhat simple when the Dutch absconded with the transaction and conveyance records, by 1775, Manhattan was flourishing, boasting 25,000 citizens and 45,000 buildings within the half-square-mile southern tip of the island. The situation changed: Twenty-thousand New Yorkers fled the 1775 patriot take over and the loyalists’ abandoned their property, leaving behind a deserted city. When British forces regained vacated Manhattan the following year, the loyalists returned, and the first major fire consumed a third or more of the buildings. Nevertheless, by 1781, the city population was once again at prewar level. In total, the city and environs regained as many as 40–50,000 people.

A year later, in anticipation of the British withdrawal, the patriots returned; the second loyalist exodus began—some 40,000 citizen’s departed. Over eight years, these repeated upheavals approached civil chaos: properties were abandoned, reclaimed, and then abandoned again. Furthermore, the British “occupiers” took with them the Corporation records. Naturally, doubts followed over claims and counterclaims, the frequent lapsed rent payments, unpaid taxes, and then uncertain damages were compounded by scores of properties falling onto a growing loyalist’s forfeited property status list. (For an extraordinary turn of fortunes related to these circumstances take in the story of Henry Springler, a gardener, in the Downtown East, Flatiron-Districtto-Union Square section of town.)

Worse yet, ownership that could be verified, then, was difficult to settle the exact boundaries—most informal markers were lost or reference points had been disturbed. As the largest landowner, the city (therefore, the Corporation of the City of New York) was the most affected since property sales and rentals were among its principal sources of income. Worst of all, clarity how the city and its appointed Corporation was to unravel an unprecedented situation took time—a very long time.

The property lines established along the old Middle Road above 23rd Street, which was to be Fifth Avenue, apparently, evolved through extensive backroom wrangling involving prominent bankers, businessmen, lawyers, and then real-estate speculators. It would seem because an inordinate number of property lines—just so happened to fall exactingly—along the upcoming grid plan lines, and so, significant acres wound up in the hands of the aforementioned personages. Additionally, the considerable Corporation of the City of New York retained wide expanses that were spread out, and were granted to charities, such as various asylums; or, for Vanderbilt’s Grand Central Station site; and, as for the prominent Fifth and Park Avenue full block fronts, they were granted to St. Patrick’s and St. Thomas’ Cathedrals, and the First Presbyterian and St. Bartholomew sanctuaries, as well as all their manses.

The East River Shoreline

At the mid-century mark Fifth Avenue, above East 39th then to 48th Streets, included the city limit, considered at East 42nd Street which, still, was a cattle trail connecting Hudson River ferries with East River slaughter houses. Altered continuously by landfills, nevertheless, the natural rugged riverbank terrain dictated development. For instance—once climbing the East 60th to 59th Streets slope, at East 53rd Street Avenue A ends abruptly at a schist bluff (on which perch the East 52nd Street cul-de-sac as well as Beekman Place) that drops precipitously to East 48th Street. Thereafter, Turtle Bay (from East 48th to 41st Streets), and then Kip’s Bay (along East 37th to 32nd Streets), eliminates Avenue A as well. (Manhattan bulges eastward within a widened Downtown East, so four additional avenues, letters A-D, do exist there.)

A riverfront development synopsis is, as follows: The north portion was the posh Colonial-era country retreat, where Manhattan’s powerhouses built their summer villas. The midsection, a one-half mile glacial outwash plain, was overdeveloped industrial blocks with slaughterhouses and cattle pens, breweries and taverns, gasworks and power plants, as well as coal storage warehouses supplying the railroad yards—with wharves to transfer produce and manufactured goods to other markets. The southern slice consisted of two Dutch-Colonial family farms.

The mid-island hills beginning in the East Thirties as sheer schist cliffs, then continue throughout, only extending briefly to the East River in the East Forties and Fifties. These very dense rocks were instrumental building blocks when the skyscraping tower era arrived.

The Highlights—East Fifties.

By far, these streets and avenues are the largest, most established Midtown neighborhood. Sutton Place is a short boulevard following the East River shoreline plateau between East 59th and 53rd Streets, which is divided as Sutton Place from East 59th to 57th Streets, and then to East 53rd Street as

Sutton Place South. Beekman Place starts at East 51st Street and ends at East 49th Street, running along a ridge above the East River. It is a narrow, treelined, two-block-long, exclusive (predominantly, town-house) enclave, with two streets connecting to First Avenue. East Fifty-Second Street is a one-block long cul-de-sac (First Avenue to the East River bluff), and it dead ends at the pre-war apartment house standout (No. 435) the River House. Opposite, also at the riverfront (No. 450) is the Campanile, an apartment house, where the Mayfair Yacht Club called home, and where Rex Harrison, H. J. Heinz and the reclusive, Greta Garbo, once lived.

The Sutton-Beekman Area, throughout the 1600s to 1820s, was comprised of six country estates. Though bustling, its core, Sutton Square as well as Beekman Place, are distinctly exclusive, understated town house enclaves — liberally infused with United Nations, industry, society, the arts’ luminaries. While many late 19th- through 20th-century mid-Avenue block row houses are intact, the era’s tenement apartment houses have been renovated—inside and out.

Since World War II, the corner lots were assembled as 21-story, post-war apartment houses—wherever a pre-war building did not exist. If still underutilized after 1980, indubitably, a condominium tower since was erected there. At East 50th Street and First Avenue is the one remaining French Flats building, and one grand 1930 “studio” apartment house, at 322 East 57th Street, overshadows its neighbors still. No loft-to-residential-usage conversion, however, is to be found. (Incidentally, the zip code 10019 is cited as the nation’s wealthiest per household.)

The Highlights—East Forties.

Turtle Bay comprises East 49th to 40th Streets and Third Avenue to the East River. It incorporates two communities. United Nations Plaza, at street level, replaces a submerged First Avenue from East 48th through 40th Streets, and Tudor City sits atop the bluff running from East 43rd to 41st Streets. Turtle Bay Garden Historic District, encompassing row houses and their communal garden between East 47th and 46th Streets, is the only Midtown East midsection not redeveloped (usage-wise) since the United Nations Headquarter tower and surrounding gardens construction began on the East River reach of East 48th to 42nd Streets.

Because the tunnel diverts almost all vehicular traffic, beginning in 1966, the open river-facing plaza evolved as a sleek high-end, glass-and-steel apartment tower neighborhood. The first suchlike tower, 860-70 United Nations Plaza, was an I.M. Pei groundbreaking complex, with walls of glass overlooking the United Nations gardens, East River, and Beekman Place.

The Highlights—East Thirties and Twenties.

The southern portion starts with Murray Hill, and it takes in East 40th to 33rd Streets, between Madison and Third Avenues. As is true with many mid-island neighborhoods, Murray Hill’s residential housing was decimated by commercialization by 1890. Notable exceptions are East 39th to 35th Streets, in the Madison-to-Third-Avenue mid-blocks as well as along Park Avenue as an apartment house strip. On East 36th Street, between Third and Lexington Avenues is Sniffen Court, which was constructed between 1850 and 1860. It consists of ten red-brick carriage houses.

While post-war apartment houses are everywhere along Third and Second Avenues, so are street-level commercial and retail strips. The original Murray Hill residential section does not continue to the East River. (The Turtle-toKips-Bays commercial shoreline activity was restricted to Third Avenue’s east.) Therefore, to the southeast could be either east Murray Hill or south Turtle Bay or north Kips Bay: It is considered neither, but the swath does have two predominant features:

  1. The Midtown Tunnel egress and ingress from Second Avenue, comprising the entire East 37th to 35th Street block fronts.
  2. A narrow East River-facing, residential tower corridor, which runs from East 38th to 34th Streets.

Kips Bay, as a neighborhood, covers East 36th to 29th Streets, and continues to East 23rd Street, and spans Second Avenue to the East River. East 40th to 28th Streets and spreading unevenly west from the East River to Third Avenues—the north portion stretched farther westerly than the southern—was all a Kip family homestead. East Twenty-Eighth Street at Fourth Avenue, extending to East 22nd Street on the East River, once the Stuyvesant and de Lancey, Rose Hill Farm, was among the first confiscated British loyalist land tracts.

East Thirty-Third to 23rd Streets, between Third to First Avenues, has few tree-lined, row-house blocks. Moreover, the entire eastern portion, from East 33rd to 28th Streets morphed into a medical and healthcare center for Bellevue Hospital (a public city-run institution, since 1736); NYU Medical Center; and the V.A. (Veterans’) Hospital of Manhattan—now occupying every First Avenue block front and east to the (FDR) Drive. Sited alongside these hospital complexes, between East 33rd and 31st Street and enclosing the First-to-Second Avenue blocks, is I.M. Pei’s 1960s Kips Bay Towers. The complex includes four apartment houses, in two rows with gardens between, and a series of low-rise, buffering retail stores on the avenues, which finishes off an award-winning whole.

To the immediate south, between East 29th to 24th Streets and spanning Second to First Avenues are four clustered, city-sponsored, urban renewal complexes. Like Kips Bay Towers, they, too, are sited in somewhat park-like settings though hardly to an equal effect. Two southerly, block-long buildings are a middle-income housing development. On East 27th and 26th Streets, in the Third-to-First-Avenue mid-blocks, the juxtaposed third and fourth (seemingly neglected), low-income, housing projects loom.

Neighborhood Development

Along Sutton Place

Within eight years after erecting his (long-gone) horseshoe-shaped row houses, Effingham B. Sutton’s name became associated with both the plateau district as well as Avenue A. His Sutton Square, formed by two cul-de-sacs where East 58th and 59th Streets dead end at the East River, is atop a onethird wide by one-block long bluff, and built around a common riverfront garden. An added exclusivity is Sutton Square North (East 58th Street) alone provides access to Riverview Terrace, a one-half block bijou, comprising seven riverfront cottage-size houses—once the town house’s stables. In the early 1920s, the existing houses were demolished to be reconfigured as Sutton Square is today. The ultra-affluent and high-society titans, with their lofty Morgan and Vanderbilt surnames, wanted an opulent town house or mansion overlooking the East River. One mansion, built for Anne Harriman “Granny” Vanderbilt, is now the official United Nations Secretary-General residence. At a penultimate Manhattan corner of East 57th Street and Sutton Place, it comes with the distinctive One Sutton Place address. Two Sutton Square, the next-door mansion, once owned by Anne Morgan, daughter of J. P. Morgan, is indeed as imposing and currently occupied by a Heinz heiress. The square’s unique, block-long expanse extends south to East 56th Street by an equal common garden. This 80-year byzantine, owners’ rights saga of suppressed blue-blood money compacts, creating a labyrinth of twists and turns that are far too involved to encapsulate here—except that the privacy was enjoyed by the collective One Sutton Place South co-owners only, which is a venerable Manhattan co-operative apartment house, that is until the “lease” of public property dispute was resolved recently.

Anyway, the fervor for the East Fifties caught on, real-estate developers engaged the services of Rosario Candela to design co-operatively co-owned apartment houses on Sutton Place, Sutton Place South, and one immediately to the west, with an East 57th Street address. In short order, East 57th Street, beyond even the Sutton-Place-to-First-Avenue block, was apartment-house lined.

In Beekman Place

Practically speaking and in fact, this is Sutton Place’s sister because their place in 1920s fashion evolved together, and equally. Additionally, both benefitted as Manhattan’s post-Second World War luxury-housing boom resumed. Within a few years, six unassembled Sutton Place South building sites, between East 56th and 53rd Streets; and three sites, at East 59th and 58th Streets on Sutton Place; and two in the Beekman Place enclave, stood as a stark contrast to the gracious pre-war apartment houses. Moreover, as the United Nation headquarters move was announced—a colossal Robert Moses’ coup, abetted by a timely John D. Rockefeller Jr. 18-acre donation—the area already renowned for its celebrity residents, was the neighborhood of choice for newly-arrived ambassadors, whose countries gobbled up and refurbished every available brownstone nearby. The prime early example is Irving Berlin’s riverfront Beekman Place mansion, acquired by the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg.

Although the Sutton Place bluff might have limited prior history, on the other hand, Beekman Place does have a past, beginning with an influential Dutch Colonial family patriarch, Willem Beeckman. Already a prosperous merchant, he was also a major player in the 1630-64 New Amsterdam and Harlem lot transfers—engineered by his colleague, Peter Stuyvesant. Beekman’s real-estate transactions included a picturesque bluff, at East 50th Street, and overlooking the East River. The family mansion was replaced, in 1765, by Mount Pleasant, built by his descendant, James Beekman. The estate was a British headquarters during the Revolutionary War. Actually, Nathan Hale tried and convicted a patriot spy in the greenhouse, was executed the next morning in the apple orchard, at East 51st Street and First Avenue, with his body left dangling as a warning to the patriot community. On a brighter note, throughout his presidency, George Washington often slept here. As the 1854 cholera epidemic enveloped Manhattan, the Beekman family vacated to vacation in Duchess County; 20 years later, Mount Pleasant was torn down.

As for Turtle Bay

The 1639, 40-acre land-grant, surrounding a bent-blade-shaped cove (in Dutch, a deutal, Anglicized as Turtle) was awarded to two (unknown) Englishmen by Peter Stuyvesant, the colonial governor. This East River shoreline irregularity, approximating East 48th to 47th Streets, created a natural seafarer’s shelter attributed to the wind and river currents. Redubbed Turtle Bay Farm, the riverbank was vaulted into an immensely important colonial sailboat repair center: The inevitable growth to noteworthy commercial hub soon followed. On the commanding East 49th Street bluff, overlooking the port, the initial homesteaders built a farmhouse, which was purchased in the early 1700s as the Bayard family summer villa. (It remained their country retreat for 150 years: until after the Civil War, when Turtle Bay beyond was filled in.)

What the Industrial Revolution Wrought

Francis Bayard Winthrop, the scion of a host of colonial New England governors, as well as a Peter Stuyvesant in-law—as a distant cousin of Judith Bayard Stuyvesant—preserved for his descendants the entire plain encompassing East 49th to 40th Streets, and sprawling west practically from the river’s edge to the Post Road, Third Avenue. The wharf district’s commerce, such as timber mills, carpentry shops, and breweries continually expanded. Then, with the grid plan implementation nearing, the still pastoral central hunk; especially the fields surrounding Amster Yard, the stage-coach station, were urbanized. Standard building lots, for brownstone row houses, were prepared. Throughout the ensuing years commerce grew at a phantasmagorical pace, with the advent of Fulton’s Claremont (a folly that he partnered with Robert Livingston), churning away, and then, De Witt Clinton’s 1825 Erie Canal complete for its entire length; each brought an additional onslaught of produce pouring in from the hinterlands, beyond the great physical barrier of the Appalachian Mountains.

Turtle Bay port activity was burgeoning (perhaps, with hind-sight), out of control. Events took another turn toward overwhelming. Paddle-boats propelled by steam engines required industrialized metal and chemical workshops and, seemingly overnight, the valley between two bluffs needed working-class housing to accommodate the dock workers: and so, tenements were put up and occupied by Lower East Side slum-dwellers ready to vacate (for a better opportunity and making way for the approaching Irish famine waves). Not surprisingly, at Second Avenue progress on the middle-class brownstones stalled. (The 1860s) (As a footnote to history, it must be said, as violent as anywhere, Turtle Bay’s Civil War conscription riots were also protracted.) The mid-century immigrant infusions, coupled with late 1860s domestic migrant flows from rural to urban areas, was then redoubled by the 1878 Elevated Railroads opening. Whatever middle-class enclave that had survived now entered a nosedive. The longtime residents migrated north-northwest, leaving behind encroaching slip-shod tenement-apartment-house blocks. Midtown East, Turtle Bay in particular, quickly caved to impoverished workers employed by the commerce and industrial activity despoiling the East River’s shores, and this labor force occupied the nearby single-family-homes converted to boarding houses as well. Further continuous industrialization throughout the late 19th century, and the water’s edge slaughterhouses and power plants were punctuated by more and more ramshackle slum blocks. (All the While) Although the neighborhood’s central knolls had been razed in strict accordance to the Commissioners’ Plan of 1811, the soaring bluff at the bay’s southern portion had not. Populated by goats it was truly a Goat Hill. As squatters displaced goats, the hilltop turned into an infamous, shanty Irish community known as, Prospect Hill—nothing less than a thieves’ waterfront haven, with an ominous violent crime rate. The greater Turtle Bay area, encouraged by these cliff-top dwellers, sustained the downward spiral: The once-crammed, waterfront piers and warehouses, failed throughout the early 20th century, experiencing industries moving out and very often off

Manhattan entirely (The 1920s)

On the plateau overlooking the slaughterhouses and waterfront (a selfproclaimed visionary real-estate developer), Fred F. French, beginning in the early 1920s, bought and cleared the slum-ridden rows to erect a planned, selfcontained, urban community. When completed, French’s Tudor City comprised East 43rd to 40th Street, and Second to First Avenues—with vehicular access from Second Avenue only. The dozen apartment houses, four brownstones, and one 600-room hotel may be described best, as thematicinfluenced neo-Tudor structures complete with brick-and-stone archway entrances, dark ceramic-tile lobby floors, with insinuated appliques (on brick) façades. One spire-like cornice (with a crest, no less) tops off the central building.

Intending to attract suburban-minded (middle-class) tenants for its 3,000 apartment units, the enclave includes two private gardens and a children’s playground—a Manhattan first. The depression and post-World War Two were not kind, throughout the former apartments were reconfigured as oneroom efficiencies: throughout the later, therefore, a rejuvenation of its ideals was stifled. Additionally, dubious early 1970s ownership transfers undermined the entire community.

Twenty-eight years later, the last slaughterhouse was shuttered to make way for the United Nations headquarters. The adjoining railroad yards were covered to accommodate the north-to-south First Avenue tunnel; thereby, creating a broad plaza. Moreover, the southern side’s buildings, along East 47th Street from Second to First Avenue, were razed to be the east-to-west (tourist) gateway, renamed Dag Hammarskjold Place, emphasizing the United Nations main entrance. The promenade was further graced with Katherine Hepburn Gardens—a longtime Turtle Bay Garden row-house owner and avid gardener, the actress donated the funds to create a half-block-wide pocket park, with ample benches and plantings.

On Murray Hill

The surrounding neighborhood adopted its name from the surname of an 18th-century, Quaker family with a fortune amassed via overseas merchant marine trade. Robert Murray, the patriarch, was born in 1721. He left Pennsylvania as a young man and moved east. Once in Manhattan, Murray established himself rapidly, and eventually controlled the largest shipping tonnage in and out of New York Harbor. He leased—never owned—a 29-acre Corporation of the City of New York tract, spreading south from East 38th Street to 34th Streets, with its farthest western protrusion near to Fifth Avenue, and the estate’s bulk straddling present-day Lexington Avenue.

The Murray property was approached at its easternmost point, on East 34th Street, off the Boston Post Road (and here approximating Third Avenue), by a private tree-lined lane along a natural rise to the “great” hilltop house. Although the property’s name was, in fact, impenetrable density—overlay the underlying schist entirely. Throughout the early 19th century Murray Hill was uptown Manhattan because, at that time, the city limits (socially speaking!) ended at The Avenue and East 42nd Street—a distribution reservoir of the Old Croton Aqueduct system, defunct by 1890 and dismantled, for the New York City Public Library, beginning in 1900. Only with the final cut through the cement and schist, allowing the New York and Harlem Railroad cars through a Murray Hill tunnel (only after the Act of 1850 provided city funds for Vanderbilt’s underground tracks to be covered, though), did Mrs. Astor’s society move east to Park Avenue. (1885)

In no time whatsoever, upper-middle-class sycophants filed into the row houses lining Murray Hill’s side streets. Twenty-odd years later, the Murray Hill southwestern boundary, Madison Avenue and East 34th Street, was hardly a fashionable address. The peaceful uptown residential enclave, nearer East 34th Street, had become the city’s last word in shopping districts. One Astor Fifth Avenue mansion, on East 33rd Street, had been razed for the Waldorf Hotel; a second, Caroline Astor’s next door mansion, followed shortly to make way for the Astoria Hotel. So, as J. P. Morgan completed his brownstone-façade Madison Avenue mansion, his peers were already occupying their new palaces alongside Central Park, on The Avenue.

About Kips Bay

As a current neighborhood the area encompasses East 33rd to 23rd Streets, and from the East River extending west to Third Avenue—the Rose Hill farm is thought to have extended (in portions), as far west as Fourth Avenue. The bay, which no longer exists, was named after a Dutch settler, Jacobus Hendrickson Kip whose remarkably wide homestead commencing at East 42nd Street (and east of Third Avenue) south-southeast to East 28th Street (at the East River). Throughout, Kip’s farmlands followed the bay’s rim and he built a large, brick-and-stone house at East 35th Street and Second Avenue, then Eliza Street (after Eliza Kip).

By the time the grid was to be applied, the Samuel Kip heirs had divided up the tract into a dozen—owned by various Campbell, Vail, Van Tuyl, Storm, Jones, Coster, Duffie, Henderson, and Cowles Kip Roosevelt who, in the interim, had all intermarried well-known Manhattan names. The house Kip built stood from 1655 to 1851 (astounding spans and, fittingly, on land still owned by Eliza Kip’s heirs). Although the small sheltered inlet was reclaimed, the name Kip(s) Bay stuck because the clan hunkered in the area, even though their Streets had disappeared.

The Kip southern riverside neighbor, James de Lancey, sold his Rose Hill Farm to John Watts who married his niece Anne (nee De Lancey), in November 1747; their lands, reaching to Fourth Avenue and East 22nd Street totaled more than 130 acres. Thirty years later, while the couple was in England, these British loyalist-in-exiles’ manor house burned down. Quickly, in the Revolutionary War’s aftermath, their gargantuan landholding was confiscated—in its entirety. This de Lancey farm, the first suchlike Commissioners of Forfeiture loyalist war-reparation seizure, was given over to Corporation of the City of New York. What would soon be East 28th through 25th Streets to First Avenue’s east, was set aside as a public Bellevue Hospital. With dispatch, their northwesterly property was surveyed, graded, and subdivided into building lots according to the Commissioners’ Plan of 1811, and then it all was auctioned off.

But, more about that, and other “grid plan” implementation tribulations— with city edicts and state-sponsored confiscations having been implemented all over town—as they affect each neighborhood’s development. Additionally, it is always wise and informative to consult the Index—Names, Places, PlaceNames, beginning on page 218, for the important people, places, place-names and things; and, it is agreeable, to look over the Landowner’s Directory, see page 37, because the available, interesting, supplemental specifics—as they existed in 1811-18—are all there.