The Passing of the Clocks

Two old clocks that have done service for several generations of New Yorkers reached the end of their career in this year of our Lord 1917, and their passing cannot but create a little heart throb to those of us who have been accustomed to see them day by day for ever so many years. One of them, the City Hall, was stopped by violence; the other, St. Paul's, by the inevitable process of nature, decay. The latter had ticked and tolled for one hundred and nineteen years, and at last, worn out and weary just stopped like the generations of humans it had served so long.

 In 1798 all our great clocks and bells came from England and the old works of St. Paul's bear the name of the famous maker of that day, "Clerkenwell, London, 1798." Things have been quite reversed since that time and America now leads the world in the matter of time pieces. The old clock was one of the few remaining links between us and the Mother land, the new one "made in America" rings in the beginning of a closer union that will let us hope, bring peace and good will to the whole world, also "made in America."

The City Hall clock was destroyed by fire and will disappear for good. The people are willing to make this concession for the sake of seeing once more the beautiful and chaste design of the original cupola ornamenting our oldest and finest public building.

The Last Horse Car Makes Its Last Journey

It is well worth while to chronicle the last trip of the last horse car in New York. Here it has been a standing joke for visitors from other cities where horse cars have been almost forgotten, so long is it since they were superseded by the modern electric car. It marks too the passing of an era which was ushered in eighty-five years ago amid great jubilation of the populace, who turned out to see the first public street conveyance in the shape of a dinky little car which ran from Prince to Fourteenth St., and was thought to be a very wonderful creation of a very wonderful and progressive age. And now the horse-drawn car disappears from public view and may take its place in the museum as an exhibit of the utilities of a past age, to be gazed at by the coming generations of air-fliers and submariners as the queer looking contrivance by which their grandfathers were satisfied to get about.

It was on June 24 that the little, old, dilapidated horse car, the last of its kind, went rumbling along Chambers Street, through the arch of the magnificent Municipal building, the sublime looking down on the ridiculous, across the most famous and busiest street in the world, and so on beneath both lines of the elevated roads spanning Chambers Street to the tracks leading north on West Street. This was the last leg of its journey and as it went bumping along how well it reminded the onlooker of many a journey he had taken on just such a car, when it jumped the tracks and went bump, bump, bumping over the cobbles. Then the two old nags set themselves to pull with all their might and main to keep the car moving so that by some happy chance it might bump on to the track again. In the meantime the hapless passengers were thrown hither and thither in an inextricable mix up, some of them dropping off the platform at the risk of life and limb. If the car did come to a stop there was no way of starting it again short of all hands getting out and shoving for all they were worth, and then scrambling aboard again when the car got on the track. The New Yorker is certainly a complacent and good natured soul, for he would sit down after such an experience unruffled and calm, and talk with his neighbor or peruse his paper in perfect tranquility and seeming comfort.

However, these days are all in the past now and this rumbling and rattling little car with its two faithful old horses and the jingling bells, on the last leg of its journey to oblivion, gradually disappears from view, not without a little pang of regretfulness on our part at the passing of an era which has many pleasant and picturesque memories.

New York's Welcome to the War Commissions

An historic event or rather a succession of events which will be remembered and talked of long after the great war is ended, is the reception of the War Commissions to this country from France, Great Britain and Italy. On Wednesday, May 9th, New York welcomed the French mission headed by M. Rene Viviano, Vice President of the Council of Ministers, and Marshall Joffre, the great soldier of France who turned back the hosts of Germany and saved democracy from extinction. Marshall Joffre who, as the hero of the Marne, will stand for all time as the soldier who won the most momentous battle in the history of the world, was acclaimed with tremendous enthusiasm to the very end of the route on Fifth Avenue, the home of Henry C. Frick, where the commission were guests during their stay in New York.

Two days later, Friday May 11th, the British war Commission headed by Arthur J. Balfour, Secretary for Foreign Affairs, and formerly Prime Minister of Great Britain, arrived. The reception of the British commission was no less enthusiastic than that of the French, and on both occasions the streets were lined with hundreds of thousands of people eager to give the visitors the very heartiest of welcomes. The buildings all along the way of the procession from the landing place at the Battery to the City Hall, and from there to the end of the route at the residence of Vincent Astor on Fifth Ave., whose guests they were, were decorated with all the colors of the Allies and flags of these nations in abundance. The sight was inspiring and will be remembered as an event of exceptional interest.

Mayor Mitchell on both occasions welcomed the commissions in speeches which could not be excelled for their happy and exceedingly well expressed sentiments. Joseph H. Choate, the grand old man of New York whose death a few days later was so deeply mourned accompanied both the missions and presented them to the Mayor.

The Italian War Commission did not arrive until June 21, but was tendered a reception equally enthusiastic. The Prince of Udine, a distinguished naval officer and cousin of the King, headed the commission. Guglielmo Marconi, the great inventor who is also a soldier of Italy, was one of the Commission. The City's great Italian population was out in force, and thousands, not of Italian birth, came out to cheer and welcome these brave and distinguished men.

We had several pictures of the most important points of the route of the Commissions painted by our own artist Miss Alice Heath, and we have reproduced them elsewhere in this number as mementos of these great historic events in which our city played her part well.

The Astor Place Riot

It was in Astor Place that there occurred a riot on the tenth of May, 1849, which is sometimes spoken of as the "Macready riot," the enmity of the rioters being directed against the famous English actor of that name who was appearing at the Opera House, whose site is now occupied by the Mercantile Library. The trouble grew out of the rivalry of Forrest and Macready, and the friends of the former aroused the passions of the multitude by making it a dispute between American and Englishman. The Seventh Regiment fired upon the mob, thirty-four of whom were killed and many wounded. The regiment itself had one hundred and forty-one of its members hurt, some seriously.

A Very Funny Incident of the Old Volunteer Fire Department in Connection With Barnum's.

The play was "The Patriots of '76", and the manager invited the Lady Washington Light Guards, a well-drilled target company proposal, intending to turn over their pay to some members of their engine company who were out of work. In due time they appeared on the stage, some dressed as Continentals, others as Indians, and one as Moll Pitcher, the heroine of Monmouth; but while in the midst of an exciting act, the City Hall bell sounded an alarm of fire. "Boys," cried the foreman, who was acting with them, "boys, there's a fire in the Seventh District!" With that, he and his thirty comrades bolted from the stage, rushed up Broadway for their engine, and soon returned with it the most extraordinary looking fire company ever seen in the streets of a civilized or uncivilized community, Moll Pitcher at the head of the rope, and a live Indian brandishing a foreman's trumpet. On reaching the fire, followed by a motley and jeering crowd, they applied themselves to the brakes; while the manager of the museum was trying to explain to the audience the sudden and unexpected disappearance of the actors.

Barnum's

Many actors who afterwards became famous made their first appearances at Barnum's. From the way in which he used to keep them busy, it was said that his actors could always be known by the fact that they carried their dinner pails with them to the theatre. He also employed a band, which occupied a balcony above the entrance and discoursed so-called music "from early morn to dewy eve." The story is told that a young fellow once applied to the great showman for a position in his band. Barnum told the applicant to go ahead. At the end of the week, the musician, seeing no pay coming, asked for it. "Pay!" cried the showman with a fine display of indignation; " we said nothing about pay. The honor of playing in my band is pay enough for a youngster like you." The general public did not esteem the music as much as Barnum did. Barnum did not rebuild at Ann Street after the fire, but moved up-town.

Yellow Fever

For many years after the Revolution, New York had visitations of that dread West Indian disease, yellow fever. When the fever was in the city the residents used to flee to their country places, to Greenwich, or to other suburban villages. There were epidemics in 1791, 1795,and 1798, this last being the most virulent and carrying off 2086 persons, exclusive of those who fled from the city. The population at that time was fifty-five thousand. During the height of the disease the churches were closed, business was at a standstill, and the banks moved their offices to Bank Street (whence the name) in Greenwich Village. The post-office was removed to the house of Dr. James Tillary on the corner of Broadway and Wall Street, and the citizens came from their retreats in the country between the hours of nine a.m. and sundown, during which time physicians said it was safe to visit the city. There were several outbreaks of fever in later years, but the establishment of the quarantine at Staten Island in 1801 has for many years effectually
prevented anything but sporadic cases.

Broadway Parades

Broadway has been the favorite route of parades and processions from the earliest times until within the last decade. Among the parades which have taken place since 1800, we may mention the Hudson bi-centenary in 1809, the reception to Lafayette in 1824, that in honor of the revolution in France in 1830, the admission of Croton water in 1842, the reception to the Hungarian patriot Kossuth in 1851, the processions in honor of Alfred Edward, Prince of Wales (the late Edward VII.), and of the first Japanese embassy in 1861, the German parade in 1872 at the conclusion of the war between Prussia and France, the Washington centenary of 1889, and the Columbus parade of 1892 in commemoration of the four hundredth anniversary of the discovery of America. Among the funerals, some of them actual and some commemorative, have been those of Hamilton in 1804, Montgomery in 1818, Andre in 1821, when his remains were removed from Tappan to England, President Monroe in 1825, President Harrison in 1840, President Taylor in 1850, Henry Clay and Daniel Webster in 1852, General Worth in 1857, President Lincoln in 1865, General Grant in 1885, and Governor and Vice-President George Clinton in 1909, when his body was brought back to the state for which he did so much after its century- long rest in the cemetery at Washington, where he had died while vice-president. In the older days, there were parades every year upon the Fourth of July and upon Evacuation Day, November twenty-fifth.

 In war times there have been the departure of the troops and their return, and innumerable minor parades; but we must not leave out the great parades of the merchants and business men of the city at the time of presidential elections within the last twenty years, when as many as one hundred thousand men, not soldiers, marched from the Bowling Green to Madison Square. The last great parade was the reception tendered to ex-President Theodore Roosevelt on June 18, 1910, upon his home-coming after a year spent in Africa and Europe.

The growth of the city in area and population has caused the route of the great processions to be changed to the upper part of the city from One Hundred and Tenth Street by way of Central Park West, and Fifth Avenue to the Washington Arch at Fourth Street. Now, Broadway is used once a year (and it nearly always rains) for the annual parade of the Old Guard; and there is a parade nearly every day in the year of strange looking people, with peculiar dress and language, with multitudinous children and boxes and bundles, finding their way from Ellis Island to the tenements of the city later, to become citizens of the Great Republic and to add to its wealth and glory.

A Riot in 1764

In colonial days, the British soldiers in the city looked with considerable contempt upon the provincials, and their officers often had trouble in keeping them within bounds, as they were habitual breakers of the public peace. In 1764, one of their escapades reached the point of being a riot. Having imbibed freely of rum, they conceived the idea of freeing the prisoners and marched to the New Jail and demanded the keys of the keeper. Upon his refusal to surrender them, the excited soldiers fired through the door, grazing the ear of one of their officers. Major Rogers, who was confined for debt and whose release was the prime object of the attack. They
then forced the door and told the prisoners they were free and attempted to carry off their major in triumph. The prisoners seemed unwilling to leave, and the soldiers attempted to drive them out; but the arrival of the city militia soon quelled the incipient riot and the ringleaders were arrested. Upon their trial, they accused Rogers of being the instigator of the attempt at rescue; but the affair was passed lightly by, like most similar affairs of the British soldiery.

The Incident of the Vessel "London"

In 1774, attempts to land tea were made at various ports of the colonies. New York was not left out of the list of towns to which the consignments were ordered; and on the eighteenth of April, the Nancy, Captain Lockyer, arrived off the city bringing a cargo of tea. The Vigilance Committee, which had intelligence of her coming, prevented any one from landing except her captain, and ordered the ship to leave the port. On the twenty-second, the London, Captain Chambers, arrived. Upon his assuring the Committee in the most solemn manner that he had no tea aboard, and as the ship's manifest showed none, he was permitted to bring his vessel up to the
city. After many denials, Chambers admitted he had tea on board as a private venture of his own without the knowledge of the East India Company. The citizens thronged to the wharf at which the London lay; and upon receiving word that the Committee had declared the tea confiscated, they boarded the vessel in broad day and without disguise. They found eighteen chests which they broke open and dumped the contents into the river. Lockyer and Chambers were escorted to their ships and virtually driven from the city, the battery at the liberty-pole firing a salute in honor of their departure.

The Great Meeting in the Fields

On the sixth of July, 1774, there occurred what is called the "great meeting in the Fields," when an immense multitude gathered to denounce the Boston Port Bill, to open subscriptions for the suffering Bostonians, to renew the non-importation agreement, and to advocate the calling of a continental congress to discuss the affairs of the colonies. It is stated that the meeting was addressed by Alexander Hamilton, then seventeen years of age and a student at King's College. The report of the meeting has been fully told by those who took part in it and by the contemporaneous writers of the day, and no mention is made of this wonderful performance of Hamilton. The only authority for the statement is that of his son, John C. Hamilton, in his biography of his distinguished father; and that Hamilton appeared on the Fields in any other character than that of a spectator is at least doubtful.* (See foot-note by Henry B. Dawson in Scharf's History of Westchester County).

The Glorious Fourth of July

In those earlier days, the Glorious Fourth was always celebrated with much enthusiasm throughout the city, and the Park was the scene of great gaiety. Booths were erected inside the railings, and here were sold roast pig (rather heavy diet for July fourth), egg-nog, cider, spruce beer, and other delectable dishes and beverages. The country people flocked to the city to enjoy the parade of the militia and the fireworks and delights of the Park, while the city boys flocked to the country to enjoy the green apples and have a good time generally. In 1840, it was proposed to abolish the booths, but they lasted for some years longer. Their cessation elicited the general remark, says Charles H. Haswell, "The Fourth of July passed away when the booths around City Hall Park was taken away.

The Astor House Incident

Let us turn to another incident at the hotel as told by the late Rev. Dr. Dix, the rector of Trinity, describing the passage through the city of the Sixth Massachusetts, the first regiment of New England troops immediately after the firing on Fort Sumter.

"They came in at night; and it was understood that, after breakfasting at the Astor House the march would be resumed. By nine o'clock in the morning, an immense crowd had assembled about the hotel; Broadway, from Barclay to Fulton Street, and the lower end of Park Row, were occupied by a dense mass of human beings, all watching the front entrance, at; which the regiment was to file out. From side to side, from wall to wall, extended that innumerable host, silent as the grave, expectant, something unspeakable in their faces. It was the dead, deep hush before the thunderstorm. At last a low murmur was heard; it sounded something like the gasp of men in suspense; and the cause was that the soldiers had appeared, their leading files descending the steps. By the twinkle of their bayonets above the heads of the crowd their course could be traced into the open street in front. Formed, at last, in column they stood, the band at the head; and the word was given "March!" Still dead silence prevailed. Then the drums rolled out the time, the regiment was in motion. And then the band, bursting into volume, struck up what other tune could the Massachusetts men have chosen? "Yankee Doodle." I caught about two bars and a half of the old music, not more; for instantly there arose a sound such as many a man never heard in his life, and never will hear; such as is never heard more than once in a lifetime. Not more awful is the thunder of heaven as, with sudden peal, it smites into silence all lesser sounds, and, rolling through the vault above us, fills earth and sky with the shock of its terrible voice. One terrific roar burst from the multitude, leaving nothing audible save its own reverberation. we saw the heads of armed men, the gleam of their weapons, the regimental colors, all moving on, pageant-like; but naught could we hear save that hoarse, heavy surgeon general acclaim, one wild shout of joy and hope, one endless cheer, rolling up and down, from side to side, above, below, to right, to left; the voice of approval, of consent, of unity in act and will. No one who saw and heard could doubt how New York was going."

New York City's Regiments Marching Down Broadway

On the nineteenth, New York's pride, the Seventh, marched down Broadway with nine hundred and ninety-one men at three o'clock in the afternoon, bound for the national capital, amid scenes of even greater enthusiasm, for these were New York's own. Nor were the scenes of wild joy and pride much less in the following week as the rest of the city's regiments marched down Broadway enroute to Washington the Sixth, the Twelfth, the Seventy-first, the Eighth, the Thirteenth, the Twenty-eighth, and the Sixty-ninth. The scenes were repeated in 1898, at the time of the Spanish War, for most of these same regiments, but not for all of those mentioned above for two of them had ceased to exist and one of them, alas! did not go.

The Great meeting in Union Square

Of a different class from the socialistic meetings was the great meeting in Union Square on the twentieth of April, 1861, when at three o'clock in the afternoon, over one hundred thousand people assembled in mass convention to take steps to redress the insult to the flag, which had been fired upon at Sumter less than ten days before. The Meeting was presided over by John A. Dix with eighty-seven vice-presidents from the leading men of the community; among whose names you will find only half a dozen, which, at that time, would have been called foreign. The list began with Peter Cooper and ended with John J. Astor. The most famous of the orators who addressed the meeting was Senator Baker of Oregon, who, during the Mexican War, had led a New Meeting gave encouragement to the Government and showed the spirit in which the city viewed the impending conflict.

The mayor of the city at the time of this meeting was Fernando Wood, a wily and disloyal politician, who had proposed the secession of the city, together with Staten and Long Islands, from the State of New York and the formation of a new State, to be called "Tri-Insula." As mayor, he was chosen to preside at this meeting, and it was strongly intimated to him that it was as much as his place was worth if he did not come out boldly for the Union. With this threat in mind, and doubtless still further reminded of the necessity of being loyal by the shrill cry of a small boy perched in a tree; "Now, Nandy, mind what you say; you've got to stick to it this time," he made a speech in accord with the loyal sentiments which animated the great crowd.

The Battle of Harlem Heights

As the tablet indicates, we are upon historic ground. From One Hundred and Tenth Street north to Manhattan Street, the ground is quite elevated and was called, from early days, Harlem Heights, though now known, from the public park contiguous to the plateau, as Morningside Heights. In the days of Stuyvesant, the property from One Hundred and Seventh Street to one Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street had been granted to Jacob De Kay, though by the time of the Revolution several farms occupied the original tract. Manhattan Street, called in olden times the "Hollow Way," is a natural valley leading down to the river between the high lands lying north and south of it, and was from the earliest times of the Dutch a road leading down to the ferry to New Jersey.

On the morning of September sixteenth, 1776, the American army was encamped north of the valley, and the British to the south of it, Howe's headquarters being in the Apthorpe House, and Washington's in the Morris House. The Chief was anxious to know the disposition of Howe's troops, and it is probable that it was about this date that Hale had volunteered to find out and had started on his fatal journey. At daybreak on the morning of the sixteenth, two detachments of the Rangers under Lieutenant-Colonel Knowlton and Major Leitch, a young Virginia, were started from the Point of Rocks on the north side of the Hollow Way for the purpose of getting in the rear of the British on Vanderwater's Heights (Columbia University grounds). A body of Americans was also advanced in a frontal attack; but through some error, firing began too soon and the flanking bodies were exposed to danger, but managed to return safely to the main body.

One of the buglers with the British troops at "Claremont" sounded the fox chase, and the Americans took up the contemptuous challenge. A body of volunteers was sent into the Hollow Way to draw the enemy, while Knowlton and Leitch were sent again to fall upon their rear. The ruse was successful, and the British rushed down the bank to the attack, but were driven back. The Rangers instead of falling upon the rear of the enemy thus fell upon their flank. In the hot fighting that ensued Knowlton was mortally wounded, dying an hour later. He fell, crying: "I do not value my life, if we but get the day." Leitch was also badly wounded and died from his wounds two weeks later. Both officers were buried in what later became Trinity Cemetery. Notwithstanding the fall of their leaders, the patriots fought with spirit, forcing the British back as far as a buckwheat field at about One Hundred and Twentieth Street, and from this position back to the one near One Hundred and Sixteenth Street, where Knowlton had first attacked them early in the morning. Things are going hard with the British, and Howe ordered up reinforcements from McGowan's Pass; but Washington did not wish to bring on a general engagement, and having shown the British his mettle, withdrew his victorious troops.

The battle lasted about two hours and resulted in the death of sixteen Americans, the attacking party; while the enemy reported fourteen killed and seventy-eight wounded. While the so-called battle was little more than a large skirmish, it put new heart into the Americans. They were unprovided with shoes, clothing, blankets, guns and ammunition, they were disheartened by the defeat at Long Island and the loss of New York, they had been on the run for days, yet here they had taken the offensive against several of the crack regiments of the British army and had routed them; the British regular was no longer invincible.

Rum, Romanism, and Rebellion

At a meeting of clergymen of all denominations held in the Fifth Avenue Hotel, New York, during the Presidential campaign of 1884, Rev. Samuel D. Burchard, in an address favoring the election of the Republican candidate, described the Democrats as the party of Rum, Romanism, and Rebellion. The phrase was immediately taken up and used to alienate many persons otherwise friendly to the Republican Party, and as the party in that year suffered defeat by a very small margin many attributed it to the utterance of this alliterative phrase.

The Bread Riot 1837

During a period of general financial depression in 1837 the poor of New York held frequent riotous meetings, which culminated in violent assaults upon flour warehouses. Employment was meager, rents were exorbitant, and flour was $12 per barrel. In many instances stores were broken open and pillaged by the mobs. The rioters were suppressed by the militia.  Valentine's Manual of the City of New York 1917-1918, gives a description of the event. "In the late '30's the "high cost of living" became a subject of more than idle interest, culminating in the unprecedented hard times of 1837. In that year, when banks were suspending payment of their notes and business houses were failing on all sides, flour sold for $15 per barrel and wheat, imported from abroad, brought $2.25 per bushel in New York. Meats and other foodstuffs were correspondingly high. On February 12, 1837, an excited crowd of five thousand persons assembled in the park and were harangued by agitators until they were ready for any violence. One of the speakers shouted "Eli Hart's got fifty thousand barrels of flour in his store. Offer him eight dollars a barrel for it and if he won't take it, why___" here he paused significantly. The mob took the hint and in a few minutes was storming Eli Hart & Company's store, in Washington Street, near Dey. In spite of the efforts of Mayor Lawrence, High Constable Hays, and a large force of police, the rioters broke into the store and threw out wheat and flour until, as an eye witness described it "the street was knee-deep in flour and wheat." Some forty of the mob were arrested but only a few were convicted. All the ringleaders escaped."

Black Friday

The name applied to two disastrous days in the financial history of the United States. On Friday, September 24, 1869, a panic was caused in Wall street by the effort of Fisk and Gould to corner the gold market, gold rising to 163 1-3, and on Friday, September 19, 1873, occurred in the New York Stock Exchange the great financial crash which was followed by the widespread "panic of 1873". For "Black Friday of 1869, consult an article in The Yale Review, Vol. III. (New Haven, 1896)

Anneke or Annetje Jans Lawsuit

(? ---1663). An early Dutch colonist of New Netherland, famous because of lawsuits concerning her farm between her heirs and the corporation of Trinity Church, New York City. She emigrated from Holland to New Netherland with her husband, Roeloff Jansen, in 1630. In 1636 the latter obtained a grant of 62 acres of land on Manhattan Island , extending from the present Warren Street to the neighborhood of Desbrosses Street, and lying between Broadway and the Hudson River. Soon afterwards Jansen died, and she married the Dutch Dominic Everardus Bogardus (q.v.). In 1654, after her husband's death, she secured a patent to the farm in her own name, and later removed to Albany, where she died, leaving her property to be divided among her eight surviving children. After the English had taken possession, in 1664, all property-holders were required to secure new titles for their lands. Accordingly, the heirs secured a new patent for the farm from Governor Nicolls, on March 27, 1667. Four years later, March 9, 1671, the property was sold to Governor Lovelace, all of the heirs signing the deed of transfer except the wife and child of Cornelius Bogardus, a son of Anneke and her second husband, who had died in 1666. It is largely upon this omission that the subsequent suits have been based. Upon the recall of Governor Lovelace (q.v.), the Government confiscated the Jans farm, and subsequently granted it to Trinity Church by a patent sealed on November 23, 1705.

In 1749 Cornelius Brower, a descendant of the Cornelius Bogardus whose heirs had not signed, took forcible possession of a portion of the farm, and on being evicted began an action against Trinity Church, which was decided against him. In 1757 he made another unsuccessful attempt. Another Cornelius Bogardus took possession of part of the estate in 1784, and held it until he was evicted by the courts in 1786. His son John brought suit in 1830 to secure one-thirtieth of the farm and a proportionate share of back rents. In order to secure the money necessary to carry on this suit, he sent circulars to all the descendants of Anneke Jans asking them to contribute, which they did most liberally until 1847, when judgment was again given for the church. Since then there have been several other suits brought by the heirs, but they have been uniformly decided in favor of the defendants. Consult: Nash, Anneke Jans Bogardus: Her Farm, and How it became the Property of Trinity Church, New York (New York, 1896) ; Sandford's Chancery Reports (vol. iv., pp. 633-672) ; Schuyler's Colonial New York (vol. ii.) ; and Harper's Monthly Magazine for May, 1885.

NOTE* For other major events that affected New York City, please visit the Panic section and The Riots Section  located in the New York City Main Directory of this website.