Uraïas, nephew of Vitiges, besieged Milan in 338. That city, then a magnificent one, was esteemed the second of the West. With the assistance of ten thousand Franks, furnished by Theodebert, king of Austrasia, Uraïas pressed the siege warmly during six months. The Goths, masters of the city, delivered it up to pillage, made the garrison prisoners, put the inhabitants to the sword, and carried off the women into captivity. SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 1139. In this year the inhabitants of Milan revolted against Frederick Barbarossa. The angry emperor immediately laid siege to that city. The cruel conqueror drove out all the inhabitants, razed the most beautiful of the edifices with the ground, demolished the gates, its triumphal arches, its baths, its most magnificent houses, and sowed salt upon its ruins, to denote that it should never be rebuilt. His cruel design was disappointed; Milan soon arose again from her ashes. THIRD SIEGE, A.D. 1499. During the wars of the French in the Milanese, in the reign of Louis XII., the Chevalier Bayard fell in with an Italian party in the neighbourhood of Milan, and attacked it warmly. On his arriving at the gates of Milan, a French gendarme cried out to him with a loud voice, “Turn, man-at-arms, turn!” Bayard, transported by the desire of conquering, was deaf to these repeated cries, and entered the city at full gallop, as if, says an historian, he meant to take that capital alone. Soldiers, people, even women, fell upon him. Cajazzo, whom his valour astonished, ordered his men-at-arms to cover him from these assaults, and made him his prisoner. He took him to his own house, and afterwards to sup with the duke of Milan. Ludovic, who had witnessed the extraordinary feats of the Chevalier from his palace windows, spoke of the brave Frenchman with great admiration, and with a view of ascertaining his character, conversed freely with him. “My brave gentleman,” said the duke, “what brought you hither?” “The desire of conquering, my lord,” replied Bayard. “And pray did you think of taking Milan alone?” “No,” rejoined the knight, “but I reckoned upon being followed by my companions.” “They and you together,” said Ludovic, “could not do it.” “Well,” said Bayard, with his characteristic frankness, “I must admit they are wiser than I have been; they are free, and I am a prisoner, although to one of the bravest and most generous of men.” The prince then asked him, with an air of disdain, “What is the strength of the French army?” “For our parts,” replied Bayard, “we never think of counting our enemies; but what I can assure you is, that my master’s soldiers are all picked men, before whom yours will have no chance.” Ludovic, very much piqued, replied that effects gave a very different idea of his troops, and that a battle would soon proclaim both his right and their courage. “Would to God,” cried Bayard, “that it were to-morrow, and I were free!” “You are free,” replied the prince; “I like your frankness and your courage,