As befit the homes of wealthy families — the Seguines had been in the oyster harvesting business — the interior dripped with paintings, antiques and decorative plaster molding. George Burke, who even at a tender age had a taste for old houses, was instantly smitten. “One day,” he used to tell the girls’ mother, Bess, “I’m going to own your house.”
The Seguine sisters eventually married and moved away. Their mother also moved away, and the empty house suffered badly from neglect. The property became so overgrown that the mansion was barely visible.
Mr. Burke, too, left the island, spending more than a decade in the Air Force, mostly abroad. When he returned home, he ran a pair of restaurants and worked as an interior designer. Yet through those years, the mansion by the bay remained an obsession. And in 1981 he received a phone call from Bess Seguine that would transform his life.
“George, you’ve always wanted this house,” said Mrs. Seguine, who by then was in her 90s and close to death. “Now you can have it. But you must promise me that you will save it.”
She didn’t have to ask twice.
Mr. Burke, now 80, promptly bought the house for $150,000 and spent the next five years restoring the premises to their former glory, largely with his own hands. Thanks to his efforts, the mansion looks much as it did when the Seguines roamed these generously proportioned, high-ceilinged rooms, and offers a vivid portrait of how people lived in an era characterized by both graciousness and a crowd of servants.
The original owners are present in spirit, thanks to the Seguine family Bible, which sits open on a table in the center hallway, and a large oil of Joseph Seguine, a kindly looking man with soulful eyes. But the furnishings are almost entirely the 18th- and 19th-century antiques that Mr. Burke bought during his years abroad.
Persian carpets cover hardwood floors. Grandfather clocks stand in corners. Crystal chandeliers dangle from decorative ceilings. China cabinets are stuffed with Dresden and Meissen. There are 10 working fireplaces — “Thank God,” said Mr. Burke, who remembers heatless early days in the house.
The décor is dazzlingly eclectic — Victorian, French, Chippendale, Chinese Chippendale, you name it. Mr. Burke loves every item in the house, right down to the star-shaped brass dust guards that keep dirt from collecting in the corners of the stair treads. But if pressed, he would probably say that his favorite possessions are his paintings, and not surprisingly, because many of the big names are represented, among them Rubens, Joshua Reynolds, Thomas Gainsborough and Rembrandt Peale.
In the front parlor, French bisque shepherdess lamps perch atop end tables, framed by heavy pink and gray curtains — “bishop’s sleeve drapes,” Mr. Burke informs a visitor. A reproduction of a candelabra that once graced the Titanic sits on a table. In the rear parlor, sconces illuminate a black lacquer piano splashed with gilt.
Accouterments in the dining room include a huge silver meat dome — Sheffield, circa 1810 — that briefly housed Mr. Burke’s Thanksgiving turkey. A mirrored cabinet holds crystal that belonged to Mr. Burke’s mother and grandmother, their glittering reflections extending as far as the eye can see.
In the place of honor of what he called his “hangout room,” a rosewood-paneled space with a peacock fire screen, hangs a painting of his handsome mare, Lady Pizazz. A faded blue ribbon is pinned to the frame. “She was a gorgeous horse,” said Mr. Burke, whose eyes melt when he looks at the picture. “I miss her to this day.”
This time of year, the house is lavishly decorated for the holidays and especially for Mr. Burke’s annual Christmas party. Fir and tinsel garlands drape walls and mantelpieces, and a huge tree hung with ornaments, lovingly collected over the years and many of them antiques, presides over the back parlor.
Nor is Christmas the only occasion when Mr. Burke plays host to a large gathering. His annual White Party in the spring and his Plantation Barbecue in the fall, when guests arrive wearing hoop skirts and carrying fringed parasols, are major social events on the island.
Thanks to the Seguine Equestrian Center, which is on his 27-acre property, visitors can admire the horses grazing in the distance, not to mention creatures closer to home. Mr. Burke’s menagerie includes a duck named Wilma, three chickens and his Doberman, Rusty. The cries of the peacocks that sleep in the trees almost drown out the classical music blaring from loudspeakers.
Mr. Burke presides over the mansion like a lord of the manor. But although he is part of a large extended family, he never married and has no children. From early on he worried about what would become of the house when he was not around to care for it.
And so in 1989 he transferred the house and its property to the Historic House Trust of New York City, which is operated in tandem with the city Parks Department. Under the terms of the arrangement, Mr. Burke can live in the house until his death, at which time the trust will take over the property. Because the building is a city landmark and listed on the state and federal registers of historic places, Mr. Burke is confident that what he calls “the last of the island’s great old plantation houses” will enjoy a long and happy life.
These days he couldn’t be busier. Along with organizing his three annual bashes, for which food and drink is prepared in the two basement kitchens, he opens the house to the public four times a year. Friends are always dropping by, and as sole caretaker of the property, Mr. Burke has a never-ending list of tasks. Just last week he spent an entire day polishing the silver. One year he planted 3,000 bulbs. And did we mention his gold leaf work?
Yet by all accounts, he wouldn’t have it any other way. “The house makes him smile,” says Mr. Burke’s niece Linda Daller, who lives nearby and is as close to him as a daughter. “And besides,” she adds, “who else would take on such a responsibility?”
E-mail: habitats@nytimes.com