_Edward_. Do not suppose the Roman cause quite desperate. It is true, they had but one champion remaining, but he was both unhurt and undaunted, while all the Curiatii were wounded. He, however, did not conceive himself able to attack the three brothers at once, and therefore made use of a stratagem to separate them. He pretended fear, and fled before them. The Curiatii pursued him at unequal distances. Horatius turned short upon the foremost, and slew him. He then flew to the next, who soon shared his brother's fate. The only remaining Curiatii was so severely wounded, that he could scarcely support his shield, and offered no resistance to the attack of the conquering Horatius. Thus ended the famous combat, which gave Rome the superiority over Alba. _Ferdinand_. The picture at Mrs. Horton's, represented Horatius at the moment he turned upon the first Curiatii. And there was another, representing him in the act of stabbing his sister, because she grieved for the death of one of the Curiatii, to whom she was going to be married. _Edward_. Ah! that tarnished all the glory of Horatius, in my opinion. It was so natural she should weep for such a loss. _Mrs. B._ Flushed with conquest, Horatius lost his self-possession. Often do we find heroes, who can subdue their enemies in the field, the weakest of the weak, when the combat is against their own evil passions. Self-knowledge, and self-possession, are most important acquirements. They are excellencies I must earnestly desire for each of you, my dear children. But we have not time for further conversation to-night: you have all exerted yourselves extremely to-day, and must feel fatigued. _Louisa_. Oh no, papa, I am not all all tired. _Mrs. B._ Indeed, my Louisa, your heavy eyes tell a different tale. Ferdinand, too, looks very sleepy. Good night, my dear children. They immediately arose, and, thanking their father for the great indulgence he had afforded them, retired. CONVERSATION IV. "Now, my dears, have you your work prepared for the evening?" said Mrs. Bernard, rising from the tea-table. "Mine is quite ready, mamma," replied Emily. "And mine too, I believe," said Louisa, opening her work-bag. "Oh! dear, no, I have used up all my thread. I quite forgot that. And where can my thimble be? I am sure I thought I had put it into my bag. Emily, have you seen my thimble? I dare say you have got it, you are so apt to take my things." _Emily._ Oh! no, indeed, Louisa, you are mistaken, Sometimes, when I find them left about, I put them by for you, that they may not be lost. "Well, that is the very thing that makes me think I have lost them," said Louisa, rather petulantly. "It is very tiresome of you, Emily. I do wish you never would touch any thing that belongs to me."