The first person who presented himself to his inquiring eyes was a gallant figure in a glittering steel corselet crossed by a silken sash, who bore at his side a long sword with a magnificent handle, and upon his shoulder a lance of some six feet in length, headed with a long scarlet tassel, and brass half-moon pendant.  “Is not Crichton victorious?” asked Ogilvy of Captain Larchant, for he it was.

“He hath acquitted himself to admiration,” replied the guardsman, who, contrary to the custom of such gentry (for captains of the guard have been fine gentlemen in all ages), did not appear to be displeased at this appeal to his courtesy, “and the rector hath adjudged him all the honors that can be bestowed by the university.”

“Hurrah for old Scotland,” shouted Ogilvy, throwing his bonnet in the air; “I was sure it would be so; this is a day worth living for. Hoec olim meminisse juvabit.”

“Thou at least shalt have reason to remember it,” muttered Caravaja, who, being opposite to him, heard the exclamation—­“and he too, perchance,” he added, frowning gloomily, and drawing his cloak over his shoulder.

“If the noble Crichton be compatriot of yours, you are in the right to be proud of him,” replied Captain Larchant, “for the memory of his deeds of this day will live as long as learning shall be held in reverence.  Never before hath such a marvelous display of universal erudition been heard within these schools.  By my faith, I am absolutely wonder-stricken, and not I alone, but all.  In proof of which I need only tell you, that coupling his matchless scholarship with his extraordinary accomplishments, the professors in their address to him at the close of the controversy have bestowed upon him the epithet of ’Admirable’—­an appellation by which he will ever after be distinguished.”

“The Admirable Crichton!” echoed Ogilvy—­“hear you that!—­a title adjudged to him by the whole conclave of the university—­hurrah!  The Admirable Crichton!  ’Tis a name will find an echo in the heart of every true Scot.  By Saint Andrew! this is a proud day for us.”

“In the mean time,” said Larchant, smiling at Ogilvy’s exultations, and describing a circle with the point of his lance, “I must trouble you to stand back, Messieurs Scholars, and leave free passage for the rector and his train—­Archers advance, and make clear the way, and let the companies of the Baron D’Epernon and of the Vicomte de Joyeuse be summoned, as well as the guard of his excellency, Seigneur Rene de Villequier.  Patience, messieurs, you will hear all particulars anon.”

So saying, he retired, and the men-at-arms, less complaisant than their leaders, soon succeeded in forcing back the crowd.

MARK AKENSIDE

(1721-1770)

Mark Akenside is of less importance in genuine poetic rank than in literary history.  He was technically a real poet; but he had not a great, a spontaneous, nor a fertile poetical mind.  Nevertheless, a writer who gave pleasure to a generation cannot be set aside.  The fact that the mid-eighteenth century ranked him among its foremost poets is interesting and still significant.  It determines the poetic standard and product of that age; and the fact that, judged thus, Akenside was fairly entitled to his fame.