Seventeenth Century Houses 
THE BOURNE HOUSE 
A monster clock rears itself from floor almost 
to ceiling with all the dignity ot two centu¬ 
ries of use and adornment; a black letter 
Bible of 1622 and an old table with legs of 
incredible thickness are entirely in keeping 
with the exterior ; and of even more human 
interest is the lounge upon which the famous 
George Fox rested after the labor of address¬ 
ing a meeting of the brethren,—under two 
huge oaks, the last one of which followed its 
companion to destruction but a tew years ago. 
A building of t 661 within the limits ot 
“ Greater New York ” seems a thing incred¬ 
ible to one who knows the city as a place 
of twenty-story sky-scrapers separated by 
dark and cheerless canyons ; but in the same 
town that contains the former venerable 
dwellings there is one more venerable still. 
The coping of the five-foot stone wall in front 
of it marks the level of the street in more 
leisurely days ; now the trolley gongs clang 
along on the lower grade while the long, low 
house, a portion of which has stood since 
1649, looks calmly down from its elevation, 
screened by box hedge and porch vines. 
A climbing rose at the end, an old fashioned 
garden in the rear, and an aged, scraggly, 
picturesque apple-tree beside a cobbled walk 
make a fitting setting. It is a strange sight 
to see in mourning for the Twenty-fifth 
President of the United States—his picture 
and a great flag setting forth a draped mem¬ 
orial—a home that sheltered pioneer Amer¬ 
icans nearly a hundred and fifty years before 
there was any United States ! 
One can start from the frantic 
city in another direction and meet 
almost as rich treasure trove in 
the wav of ancient home mem¬ 
ories. About 1634 the thrifty 
Dutch, who were spreading from 
Manhattan over the end of Long 
Island, made a settlement at Flat- 
bush and there are todav still a 
few old mansions which suggest 
these primitive times. But only 
a tew, and they are disappearing 
fast before the encroachments of 
trolley lines and a perfect madness 
tor residence parks which afflicts 
the whole section. Mile after 
Flushing mile of open land and cornfield 
is laid out in city streets, and the 
virtues ot these “ parks ” as dwelling places 
are vaunted in city street cars and newspaper 
advertising columns with all the blare of a 
patent medicine or a new cigar. Raw and 
monotonous, they make but a background 
tor the handful of mansions which have 
weathered enough storms and harbored 
enough honest, simple folk to attain an in¬ 
dividuality and charm of their own. 
Back ot one, whose hundred years make 
it venerable indeed beside the hideous “ vil¬ 
las ” around, is a water garden and a set of 
flower beds which are the wonder of the 
neighborhood. Huge-leaved lilies and lotus 
plants stand up sturdily from the little round 
pools and make the whole yard radiant with 
color in late summer. All sorts of new and 
old flowers take up the entire lot on one 
side, while on the front a long row of 
gay dahlias, cornflowers and the like stand 
out vividly against the gray weather-beaten 
boards. 
H ere lives still a wheelwright-gardener, 
absorbed in his flowers and the goldfish which 
dart up between the intertwined lily-stems 
in the pools when he dabbles his fingers in 
the water and calls to them. He is most 
gentle, courteous, interested in the visitor. 
He has many pictures of his house—but he 
would like one of his pigeons, who are preen¬ 
ing themselves on the high roof. At this he 
goes away to the other side to attend to 
something while the intruders eagerly fo¬ 
cus on the pigeons hoping to make him 
some recompense bv this small gratification. 
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