the Church. Tom Tusher's talk was of nothing but
Cambridge, now; and the boys, who were good friends, examined each other
eagerly about their progress in books. Tom had learned some Greek and
Hebrew, besides Latin, in which he was pretty well skilled, and also had
given himself to mathematical studies under his father's guidance, who was
a proficient in those sciences, of which Esmond knew nothing, nor could he
write Latin so well as Tom, though he could talk it better, having been
taught by his dear friend the Jesuit father, for whose memory the lad ever
retained the warmest affection, reading his books, keeping his swords
clean in the little crypt where the father had shown them to Esmond on the
night of his visit; and often of a night sitting in the chaplain's room,
which he inhabited, over his books, his verses, and rubbish, with which
the lad occupied himself, he would look up at the window, thinking he
wished it might open and let in the good father. He had come and passed
away like a dream; but for the swords and books Harry might almost think
the father was an imagination of his mind--and for two letters which had
come to him, one from abroad full of advice and affection, another soon
after he had been confirmed by the Bishop of Hexton, in which Father Holt
deplored his falling away. But Harry Esmond felt so confident now of his
being in the right, and of his own powers as a casuist, that he thought he
was able to face the father himself in argument, and possibly convert him.

To work upon the faith of her young pupil, Esmond's kind mistress sent to
the library of her father the dean, who had been distinguished in the
disputes of the late king's reign; and, an old soldier now, had hung up
his weapons of controversy. These he took down from his shelves willingly
for young Esmond, whom he benefited by his own personal advice and
instruction. It did not require much persuasion to induce the boy to
worship with his beloved mistress. And the good old nonjuring dean
flattered himself with a conversion which in truth was owing to a much
gentler and fairer persuader.

Under her ladyship's kind eyes (my lord's being sealed in sleep pretty
generally), Esmond read many volumes of the works of the famous British
divines of the last age, and was familiar with Wake and Sherlock, with
Stillingfleet and Patrick. His mistress never tired to listen or to read,
to pursue the text with fond comments, to urge those points which her