boon may be awarded me, and that my borrowed splendors may not be
stripped away. Thy immeasurable superiority, as again evidenced in
the sonnet to the Lady Mary, has fixed anew my resolve as to my
predestined field of labor. Not for my brow shall be woven the
Poet's garland of bays. Yet abundant self-confidence is mine, and I
augur that in the great work for which I would fain believe the ages
are waiting, will be made clear my award to be the high priest of
Nature. Exact sciences not yet born shall be my servitors and the
augmenters of my fame. By the methods I have discerned shall mankind
discover and apply those beneficent innovations which are the
chiefest births of time. Yet even this hope hath its flavor of
bitterness, as thus guided my pupils may far overpass me and my
memory be lost. But the love of beauty and melody in poesy is of
perennial life, and thy memory shall survive the mutations of time,
and shall be the Nation's heritage while fancy and imagination dwell
in the souls of men.

Anew do I now discern that the meditation of Nature and her laws,
mysterious yet exact, consorteth not with the airy fancies of the
Poet's vision, and that our paths are diverse, yet each guiding to
what is useful and divine.

Farewell! and until the dolors of death are mine shall I remember
thy sweet, loving kindness, and admire thy shining genius where wit
and wisdom guide the flight of a sovereign imagination.

Ever thy friend, FRANCIS BACON.

One special point is notable in this letter from Bacon. His ordinary
correspondence is thickly sprinkled with quotations in the ancient