began a dreadful slaughter, mowing down whole ranks of the enemy with their massive halberts, not, however, without great loss on their own part. Their forced marches, their previous conflicts, and their present arduous contest, had now so totally exhausted them, and their numbers were so greatly reduced, that in hopes of some respite they turned off to the right, and took shelter in the churchyard and orchard belonging to the hospital of St. Jacob, both surrounded by high walls. The burghers of Basle were at this critical moment preparing to send out a detachment; but the Dauphin, who expected the attempt, had posted eight thousand men on an eminence near the gate; who, had the garrison ventured the sally, would have cut off their retreat, and exposed them to inevitable destruction. The cannon of the French meanwhile had not only thrown down the walls round the hospital, but also set fire to the building; and the Confederates, in the midst of flames and ruins, found themselves at the same time exposed to the attacks of accumulated numbers, without any defence but their firmness and valour. They still might have retreated without any disparagement to their honour; but after a short consultation, they resolved to devote themselves for the good of their country, and fall together. The heroic deeds that were achieved in this memorable conflict, the number of fierce assaults this devoted band sustained and repelled, how each warrior fell successively on the identical spot he had first occupied, are facts imperfectly related, but may be well inferred from the general circumstances of the action. They fought ten hours without intermission; till at length, exhausted but not conquered, they all (twelve only excepted) lay lifeless on the field of action. Each had four or five enemies around him, whom he had despatched before his fall. Burcard Monk, the faithless guide of the invaders, riding in the evening over the field of slaughter, exclaimed triumphantly, ‘This is indeed a bath of roses!’ An expiring Swiss heard him, raised himself on his knees, snatched a large stone, and hurled it at the head of the vaunting traitor, who died three days after of the contusion. The twelve who, when no hopes remained, retired from the carnage, with difficulty escaped the hands of the executioner, to which the law of Sempach doomed all who turned away from an enemy.