to prevent the effusion of blood, proposed to Hostilius, then king of Rome, to refer the destiny of both nations to three combatants of each side;, and that empire should be the prize of the conquering party. The proposal was accepted. The Albans named the Curiatii, three brothers, for their. champions. The three sons of Horatius were chosen for the Romans.

The treaty being concluded, the three brothers, on each side, arrayed themselves in armor, according to agreement. Each side exhorts its respective champions; representing to them, that their gods, their country, their parents, every individual in the city and army, now fixed their eyes on their arms and valor. The generous combatants, intrepid in themselves, and animated by such exhortations, marched forth and stood between the two armies. The armies placed themselves before their respective camps, and were less solicitous for any present danger than for the consequence of this action. They therefore gave their whole attention to a sight, which could not but alarm them. The signal is given. The combatants engage with hostile weapons, and show themselves inspired with the interpi dity of two mighty armies.-Both parties, equally insensible of their own danger, had nothing in view but the slavery or liberty of their country, whose destiny depended upon their conduct.

At the first onset, the clashing of their armor, and the terrific gleam of their swords, filled the spectators with such trepidation, fear, and horror, that the faculty of speech and breath seemed totally suspended, even while the hope of success inclinded to neither side. But, when it came to a closer engagement, not only the motion of their bodies, and the furious agitation of their weapons, arrested the eyes of the spectators, but their opening wounds and the streaming blood. Two of the Romans fell, and expired at the feet of the Albans, who were all three wounded. Upon their fall, the Alban army shouted for joy, while the Roman legions remained without hope, but not without concern, being eagerly anxious for the surviving Roman, then surrounded by his three adversaries. Happily he was not wounded; but not being a match for three, tho' superior to any of them singly, he had recourse to a stratagem for dividing them. He betook himself to flight; rightly supposing, that they would follow him at unequal

L

distances, as their strength after so much loss of blood would permit. Having fled a considerable way from the spot where they fought, he looked back, and saw the Curiatii pursuing at a considerable distance from one another, and one of them very near him. He turned with all his fury upon the foremost; and, while the Alban army were crying out to his brothers to succour him, Horatius, having presently dispatched the first enemy, rushed forward to a second victory. The Romans encourage their champion by such acclamations, as generally proceed from unexpected success. He, on the other hand, hastens to put an end to the second combat, and slew another, before the third, who was not far off, could come up to his assistance. There now remained only one combatant on each side. The Roman, who had still received no hurt, fired by gaining a double victory, advanced with great confidence to his third combat. His antagonist, on the other hand, being weakened by loss of blood, and spent with running so far, could scarce drag his legs after him, and, being already dispirited by the death of his brothers, presents his breast to the victor, for it could not be called a contest.

Two, (says the exulting Roman) two I have sacrificed to the manes of my brothers ;-the third I will offer up to my country, that henceforth Rome may give laws to Alba. Upon which he transfixed him with his sword, and stripped him of his armor. The Romans received Horatius, the victor, into their camp with an exultation, great as their former fear. After this each army buried their respective dead, but with very different sentiments; the one reflecting on the sovereignty they had acquired, and the other on their subjection to slavery, to the power of the Romans.

This combat became still more remarkable. Horatius, returning to Rome with the arms and spoils of his enemy, met his sister, who was to have been married to one of the Curiatii. Seeing her brother dressed in her lover's coat of armor, which she herself had wrought, she could not contain her grief- -She shed a flood of tears; she tore her hair; and, in the transports of her sorrow, uttered the most violent imprecations against her brother. Horatius, warm with his victory, and enraged at the grief which his sister expressed with such unseasonable passion in the midst of the public joy, in the heat of his anger drove

a poinard to her heart. Begone to thy lover,' says he, and carry him that degenerate passion, which makes thee ' prefer a dead enemy to the glory of thy country.' Every body detested an action so cruel and inhuman. The murderer was immediately seized, and dragged before the Duumviri, the proper judges of such crimes. Horatius was

condemned to lose his life; and the very day of his triumph had been that of his punishment, if he had not, by the advice of Tullus Hostilius, appealed from that judgment to the assembly of the people. He appeared there with the same courage and resolution, that he had shown in his combat with the Curiatii.— -The people thought so great a service might justly excuse them, if for once they moderated the rigor of the law; and accordingly, he was acquitted, rather through admiration of his courage, than for the justice of his cause.

TH

XIV. On the Power of Custom.

HERE is not a common saying which has a better turn of sense in it, than what we often hear in the mouths of the vulgar, that Custom is a second Nature. It is indeed able to form the man anew, and give him inclinations and capacities altogether different from those he was born with. A person who is addicted to play or gaming, though he took but little delight in it at first, by des grees contracts so strong an inclination towards it, and gives himself up so entirely to it, that it seems the only end of his being. The love of a retired or busy life will grow upon a man insensibly, as he is conversant in the one or the other, till he is utterly unqualified for relishing that to which he has been for some time disused. Nay, a man may smoke, or drink, or take snuff, till he is unable to pass away his time without it ; not to mention how our delight in any particular study, art, or science, rises and improves in proportion to the application which we bestow upon it. Thus what was at first an exercise, becomes at length an entertainment. Our employments are changed into diversions. The mind grows fond of those actions it is accustomed to, and is drawn with reluctancy from those paths in which it has been used to walk.

If we consider attentively this property of human nature, it may instruct us in very fine moralities. In the first

place, I would have no man discouraged with that kind of life or series of action, in which the choice of others, or his own necessities may have engaged him. It may perhaps be very disagreeable to him at first; but use and ap plication will certainly render it not only less painful, but pleasing and satisfactory.

In the second place, I would recommend to every one the admirable precept which Pythagoras is said to have given to his disciples, and which that philosopher must have drawn from the observation I have enlarged upon : "Pitch upon that course of life which is the most excellent, and custom will render it the most delightful." Men, whose circumstances will permit them to choose their own way of life, are inexcusable if they do not pursue that which their judgment tells them is the most laudable. The voice of reason is more to be regarded than the bent of any present inclination, since, by the rule above mentioned, inclination will at length come over to reason, tho we can never force reason to comply with inclination.

In the third place, this observation may teach the most sensual and irreligious man to overlook those hardships and difficulties, which are apt to discourage him from the prosecution of a virtuous life." The Gods," said Hesiod, "have placed labor before virtue; the way to her is at first rough and difficult, but grows more smooth and easy the farther you advance in it." The man who proceeds in it with steadiness and resolution, will in a little time find that "her ways are ways of pleasantness, and that all her paths are peace."

To enforce this consideration, we may further observe, that the practice of religion will not only be attended with that pleasure which naturally accompanies those actions to which we are habituated, but with those supernumerary joys of heart that rise from the consciousness of such a pleasure, from the satisfaction of acting up to the dictates of reason, and from the prospect of an happy immortality.

In the fourth place we may learn from this observation which we have made on the mind of man, to take particular care, when we are once settled in a regular course of life, how we too frequently indulge ourselves in any of the most innocent diversion and entertainments, since the mind may insensibly fall off from the relish of virtuous actions, and, by degrees, exchange that pleasure which it

takes in the performance of its duty, for delights of a much more inferior and unprofitable nature.

The last use which I shall make of this remarkable property in human nature, of being delighted with those actions to which it is accustomed, is to show how absolutely necessary it is for us to gain habits of virtue in this life, if we would enjoy the pleasures of the next. The state of bliss, we call Heaven, will not be capable of affecting those minds which are not thus qualified for it; we must in this world gain a relish of truth and virtue, if we would be able to taste that knowledge and perfection which are to make us happy in the next. The seeds of those spiritual joys and raptures, which are to rise up and flourish in the soul to all eternity, must be planted in it during this its present state of probation. In short, heaven is not to be looked upon only as the reward, but as the natural effect of a religious life.

PED

XV. On Pedantry.

EDANTRY, in the common sense of the word,means an absurd ostentation of learning, and stiffness of phraseology, proceeding from a misguided knowledge of books, and a total ignorance of men.

But I have often thought, that we might extend its signification a good deal farther: and, in general, apply it to that failing which disposes a person to obtrude upon others subjects of conversation relating to his own business, studies, or amusements.

In this sense of the phrase, we should find pedants in every character and condition of life. Instead of a black coat and plain shirt, we should often see pedantry appear in an embroidered suit and Brussels lace: instead of being bedaubed with snuff, we should find it breathing perfumes; and, in place of a book-worm, crawling through the gloomy cloisters of an university, we should mark it in the state of a gilded butterfly, buzzing through the gay region. of the drawing-room.

Robert Daisy, Esq. is a pedant of this last kind. When he tells you that his ruffles cost twenty guineas a pair ; that his buttons were the first of the kind, made by one of the most eminent artists in Birmingham; that his buckles were procured by means of a friend at Paris, and are the exact pattern of those worn by the Comte d'Artois; that