﻿Notable 
  American 
  Homes 
  

  

  By 
  Barr 
  Ferree 
  

  

  " 
  Pakeen" 
  — 
  the 
  House 
  of 
  Samuel 
  Cabot, 
  Esq., 
  Ponkapoag, 
  Massachusetts 
  

  

  ONKAPOAG 
  is 
  but 
  thirteen 
  miles 
  from 
  Bos- 
  

   ton 
  by 
  the 
  railroad. 
  Presumably, 
  there- 
  

   fore, 
  it 
  is 
  quite 
  within 
  the 
  pale 
  of 
  metro- 
  

   politan 
  influence. 
  Certainly 
  the 
  traveler 
  

   from 
  a 
  distance 
  is 
  justified 
  in 
  assuming 
  — 
  if 
  

   railroad 
  time 
  tables 
  count 
  for 
  anything 
  — 
  

   that 
  Mr. 
  Cabot's 
  house 
  is 
  quite 
  close 
  to 
  

   Boston, 
  and 
  that 
  whatever 
  its 
  other 
  characteristics 
  may 
  be 
  it 
  

   is 
  certainly 
  not 
  distinguished 
  by 
  remoteness 
  of 
  situation. 
  As 
  

   a 
  matter 
  of 
  fact, 
  one 
  only 
  reaches 
  the 
  nearest 
  railroad 
  station 
  

   to 
  immediately 
  leave 
  

   it 
  for 
  a 
  long 
  drive 
  

   into 
  the 
  adjacent 
  

   countryside, 
  a 
  drive 
  

   so 
  prolonged 
  and 
  

   through 
  such 
  beau- 
  

   tiful 
  country 
  that 
  I 
  

   have 
  no 
  idea 
  what- 
  

   ever 
  as 
  to 
  the 
  loca- 
  

   tion 
  of 
  the 
  Cabot 
  

   house, 
  nor 
  can 
  I 
  tell 
  

   whether 
  it 
  is 
  near 
  

   Boston 
  or 
  not, 
  or 
  

   even 
  so 
  much 
  as 
  re- 
  

   motely 
  influenced 
  by 
  

   Boston 
  proximity. 
  

  

  The 
  journey 
  

   thither, 
  while 
  it 
  

   takes 
  some 
  time, 
  is 
  

   not 
  without 
  many 
  

   compensating 
  ad- 
  

   vantages. 
  One 
  loses 
  

   the 
  New 
  England 
  

   metropolis 
  gradu- 
  

   ally, 
  stopping 
  at 
  fre- 
  

   quent 
  intervals, 
  

   doubtless 
  with 
  the 
  

   intention 
  of 
  accus- 
  

   toming 
  the 
  traveler 
  

   to 
  the 
  difference 
  be- 
  

   tween 
  Boston 
  itself 
  

   and 
  its 
  immediately 
  

   adjoining 
  suburbs. 
  

   So 
  numerous 
  are 
  the 
  

   places 
  at 
  which 
  the 
  

   train 
  pauses 
  that 
  

   one 
  has 
  almost 
  for- 
  

   gotten 
  Boston 
  on 
  

   arriving 
  at 
  the 
  sta- 
  

   tion. 
  The 
  carriage 
  

   presently 
  leaves 
  the 
  

  

  The 
  Entrance 
  Portico 
  Is 
  Supported 
  by 
  Doric 
  Columns 
  

  

  highway 
  and 
  turns 
  off 
  into 
  a 
  country 
  road, 
  whence 
  the 
  jour- 
  

   ney 
  is 
  continued 
  to 
  so 
  great 
  a 
  length 
  that 
  one 
  has 
  serious 
  

   doubts 
  as 
  to 
  the 
  knowledge 
  of 
  the 
  driver. 
  One 
  is 
  almost 
  

   immediately 
  lost 
  in 
  the 
  true 
  country, 
  with 
  broad 
  fields 
  and 
  

   distant 
  hills 
  and 
  woods, 
  which 
  the 
  road 
  approaches 
  closer 
  

   and 
  closer, 
  until 
  one 
  is 
  in 
  a 
  true 
  woodland 
  — 
  trees 
  to 
  the 
  

   right 
  and 
  left, 
  trees 
  to 
  the 
  front, 
  trees 
  behind. 
  The 
  road 
  is 
  

   so 
  thickly 
  covered 
  with 
  pine 
  needles 
  that 
  the 
  thud-thud 
  of 
  

   the 
  horse's 
  hoofs 
  is 
  muffled, 
  and 
  the 
  atmosphere 
  is 
  laden 
  

   with 
  the 
  sweet 
  odor 
  of 
  the 
  pine 
  woods. 
  Scarce 
  a 
  house 
  is 
  to 
  

  

  be 
  seen, 
  and 
  the 
  rest- 
  

   fulness 
  and 
  quiet 
  of 
  

   the 
  real 
  country 
  — 
  

   the 
  country 
  that 
  is 
  

   country, 
  where 
  na- 
  

   ture 
  still 
  holds 
  su- 
  

   preme 
  sway 
  and 
  the 
  

   handiwork 
  of 
  man 
  

   has 
  made 
  barely 
  an 
  

   impress 
  — 
  all 
  this 
  

   penetrates 
  one 
  with 
  

   a 
  delightful 
  sense 
  of 
  

   peacefulness. 
  

  

  Presently 
  you 
  ar- 
  

   rive, 
  for 
  far 
  off 
  on 
  

   the 
  left 
  is 
  a 
  stable 
  

   you 
  instinctively 
  

   know 
  belongs 
  to 
  an 
  

   estate 
  of 
  some 
  mag- 
  

   nitude 
  — 
  a 
  stable 
  of 
  

   some 
  size, 
  with 
  a 
  

   coachman's 
  house 
  on 
  

   one 
  end, 
  a 
  high 
  

   white 
  central 
  arch 
  in 
  

   its 
  shingled 
  walls, 
  a 
  

   green 
  stained 
  gar- 
  

   age 
  behind 
  it. 
  The 
  

   entrance 
  road 
  climbs 
  

   a 
  gentle 
  hill, 
  and 
  

   there 
  you 
  are 
  before 
  

   the 
  entrance 
  por- 
  

   tico 
  ! 
  

  

  And 
  a 
  most 
  de- 
  

   lightful 
  and 
  agree- 
  

   able 
  house 
  it 
  is 
  : 
  a 
  

   long, 
  low 
  dwelling 
  

   of 
  stucco, 
  colored 
  

   French 
  gray, 
  with 
  

   white 
  trim, 
  and 
  pale 
  

   blue-green 
  shutters. 
  

   The 
  front 
  wall 
  is 
  so 
  

  

  