I congratulate you on the tablet. You have done something in that bas-relief that Saint-Gaudens didn’t do. You have brought out the spirit of the sick man who didn’t believe in lying in bed, and the little uplift of his head is a perfect expression of “Come!” said I to my engine, “let’s work anyway!” This thing requires no study. It hits you between the eyes first glance. I showed it to Mrs. Baker, who owned the cottage where the Stevensons lived, and the best compliment from that old lady is this: “Yes, it’s just the way he looked when he was here.” A few months later Lord Guthrie, acknowledged leader of the Stevenson cult in Scotland, wrote: Gutzon Borglum the sculptor, in his Saranac memorial bas-relief, has got beneath the surface and behind the mask as Saint-Gaudens, fine as his bas-relief is as a work of art, never did. I liked the first sight of Borglum’s work, and it grows on me. It has charm, it has strength, and it has pathos. It is the invalid, but the invalid who can say, “O Pain, where is thy victory?” It is the fascinating personality of a man of genius who, with all his gaiety of manner, was yet, in the matter of essential principle, like flint. Hundreds of people whom Dr. Trudeau had cured were anxious to erect a memorial to him, but were too poor to contribute substantial sums. They appealed to Gutzon, who again responded generously. He was deeply impressed by Dr. Trudeau’s self-sacrificing work and by the devotion of the afflicted ones he sought to heal. He agreed to put up a bronze-and-marble memorial for the cost of materials--about $7,500. After studying the matter for some weeks he made a life-size clay model of the beloved physician seated out of doors, a rug over his knees, and invited the committee to come to his studio and pass on it. Mr. Chalmers wrote in the Saranac _News_: By the end of the day something little short of miraculous had taken place, the sort of thing that may be called a miracle of genius. Before the figure was again shrouded in the wet clothes that keep the clay from cracking, it had become to us not a conventional photograph image but “The Beloved Physician” himself. “Well,” said the sculptor, stepping back with a smile, “are you satisfied?” “Yes,” said his visitor, but with hesitation. “I know what you miss,” said Mr. Borglum. “It’s the artificial something you used to consider Dr. Trudeau’s expression.” As he spoke he was modeling a small piece of clay in his hands. Presently he placed over the strained eyes of the face the frame of a pince-nez. And at that instant the illusion was miraculously complete. It was as if the doctor would presently lean forward and say: “Have you read Osler’s _Redemption of Man_? No? Oh, you must, you must!”