Through Lover's Lane we went to Normanstone, the home of the two Misses Barnards and their sister, Mrs. Talcott. It was a quaint little house, which stood just about where the British Embassy now is. The name is commemorated by Normanstone Drive. Mr. Robert Barnard built Normanstone in 1830. It was a Devonshire cottage of clay, straw, and pebbles, with walls four feet thick. The turreted stone mansion nearby was built by Mr. Elverson of Philadelphia. His daughter, Nelly, became the wife of Monsieur Patrenotre, the French Minister. This was in the days before our foreign envoys became Ambassadors. Our first knowledge of the present Montrose Park was as Parrott's Woods. Richard Parrott conducted there a "rope walk." It seems that when they made rope it was necessary to have a long, even stretch where the rope-makers walked up and down manufacturing the hemp into rope. And, of course, in this town with all its ships, the making of rope was a lucrative business. Mr. Parrott evidently was kind in loaning his property for picnics too, for again Mr. Gordon gives us vivid pictures of the Fourth of July annual picnic of all the Protestant Sunday schools. It seems to have been a huge affair, with flags and banners and rosettes of various colors adorning the scholars of the different schools. In 1822 the property was bought by Clement Smith, of whom I have spoken before as being the first cashier of the Farmers and Mechanics Bank, afterwards becoming its president. He called the place Elderslie. In 1837 he sold it to Mrs. Mary McEwen Boyce, whose daughter, Jane, married George Washington Peter, son of Thomas Peter of Tudor Place. In a railroad accident, both Captain Boyce and another daughter were killed. Mrs. Boyce continued to live here the rest of her life. It was a very sweet, homelike house, but not a particularly handsome one. There was a conservatory opening off of one of the rooms, for Mrs. Boyce seems to have been especially fond of flowers. A sweet little story was told me the other day about her. A friend paused one day to admire the roses blooming in front of the house, saying, "How lovely your roses are, Mrs. Boyce!" "They are not my roses," said she. At the surprised look on her friend's face she continued, "I plant them there for the public." And still, today, there are lovely roses blooming at Montrose for "the public," for after many, many years a movement was set on foot to buy this place with its marvelous old trees of numerous varieties for a park for the people of Georgetown.