Its oak floors remain braced (the ceiling no longer sags), and a drop cloth covers the place where he hammered out his essays and columns. But the bones of this long-sleeping and little-visited Southwest Baltimore landmark have never looked more encouraging — vigorous. And yet, the old house reveals that while Mencken achieved his wide readership in journalism and literature, the place where he lived remains the chaste and unadorned home his cigar-making father bought in 1883.