I first remember Mrs. Gardner in the old Boston Music Hall. Any picture of the Harvard Musical Thursday afternoon concerts would be incomplete without her elegant figure, her expressive face as she glided quietly to her seat escorted by--to be exact--_escorting_ three conspicuously well dressed, very young tow-haired gentlemen, Mr. Gardner’s orphan nephews, much of whose up-bringing was intrusted to her care. Two of these blond boys lived to attain considerable distinction. The oldest Joseph Gardner died young, the youngest, Augustus, familiarly known as “Gussie”, served his state and country well as a member of Congress, made a name for himself in the Spanish War, and gave his life for the preservation of civilization in the World War. He married the daughter of Senator Lodge, and is said to have remarked when the newspapers were full of his good service at San Juan Hill: “They cannot say I did _that_ because I was the son-in-law of Cabot Lodge!” The third brother, Mr. Amory Gardner, is still with us; he is a classical scholar of note and a member of that interesting group of masters who have made Groton School famous the world over. In those days Mrs. Gardner was called “Mrs. Jack” by her intimates to distinguish her from the elder Mrs. Gardner, her husband’s mother. At that time it was the custom for ladies to carry bouquets at balls or evening receptions. There was a good deal of rivalry among women of fashion as to the number and style of these votive offerings. Mrs. Gardner was always among the most favored of our belles, and I have a vision of her now, coming into a certain assembly at the old Horticultural Hall, resplendent in a Worth dress of white uncut velvet, [Illustration: MRS. JOHN LOWELL GARDNER From the portrait by John S. Sargent] her arms filled with flowers. It was an open secret that, while outside the houses of many of our belles one could see on Friday mornings, before the city carts made their rounds, the faded bouquets of the week thrown carelessly into the ash barrels, the flowers Mrs. Gardner had worn or carried were never thus desecrated. It was said that she herself committed the faded blossoms to the clean flames. I have always remembered this as a small instance indicative of the good taste that in her has proved equivalent to genius, and to which the art world owes beautiful Fenway Court, in the future to be known as the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.