The house which has been changed, but not improved in appearance, by the addition of a mansard roof and other alterations, was a large, two-story brick, with hall from front to rear "wide enough for a hay wagon to pass through," on either side of which were great parlors beautifully proportioned. The east parlor opened into a bright, sunny dining room, which in turn looked out upon a well-filled greenhouse, with flower gardens on the east, wooded lawn in front, grove of forest trees on the west, and gently sloping well-sodded hills in the rear, all of which were kept in perfect order. During the life of Mr. Linthicum, "The Oaks" was the show place of the District. Mr. and Mrs. Linthicum had no children so they adopted a daughter, Miss Kate Mitchell, of Lower Maryland, who became the wife of Mr. Josiah Dent. Their son, Edward Linthicum Dent, inherited the place. In those days it was known as "The Oaks," the name I always heard it called by in my girlhood. In 1891 it was bought by Mr. Henry F. Blount, who had made a fortune and came to Washington. In 1920 it was purchased by the Honorable Robert Woods Bliss, Ambassador to the Argentine. He and Mrs. Bliss remodeled the house and created the gardens, which comprise over thirty acres and are marvels of beauty. Many more acres at the back were allowed to remain in a delightfully wild condition. The place was renamed Dumbarton Oaks, a museum was built as a wing on the west to house a library and a collection of Byzantine and pre-Christian material, and in 1940 the estate was given by Mr. and Mrs. Bliss to Harvard University, with the exception of the part along the stream at the back, which was donated to the District of Columbia as a park. The Dumbarton Oaks Conference which led to the formation of the United Nations was held here, beginning August 21, 1944. Part of the land at the back is where the Home for Incurables was until it was moved farther out of town. I used to go there to visit some of the patients who were my friends, and for the simple Sunday evening services. Lover's Lane, at the east of Dumbarton Oaks, separates it from Montrose Park. It is still, as it has always been, I am glad to say, completely unimproved, unspoiled, sweet and rambling and quiet, wending its way along the brook that empties into Rock Creek at the beginning of Oak Hill. I suppose there is hardly a soul of middle-age living in Georgetown who has not fond memories of Lover's Lane, for in the days of our youth we did walk with our lovers; no automobiles or movies filled our Saturday or Sunday afternoons, and very little golf.