foes, and he fled upon the Danube, pursued by the combined Hungarians and Turks, until he found refuge within the walls of Vienna.  The city was quite unprepared for resistance, its fortifications being dilapidated, and its garrison feeble.  Universal consternation seized the inhabitants.  All along the valley of the Danube the population fled in terror before the advance of the Turks.  Leopold, with his family, at midnight, departed ingloriously from the city, to seek a distant refuge.  The citizens followed the example of their sovereign, and all the roads leading westward and northward from the city were crowded with fugitives, in carriages, on horseback and on foot, and with all kinds of vehicles laden with the treasures of the metropolis.  The churches were filled with the sick and the aged, pathetically imploring the protection of Heaven.

The Duke of Lorraine conducted with great energy, repairing the dilapidated fortifications, stationing in posts of peril the veteran troops, and marshaling the citizens and the students to cooeperate with the garrison.  On the 14th of July, 1682, the banners of the advance guard of the Turkish army were seen from the walls of Vienna.  Soon the whole mighty host, like an inundation, came surging on, and, surrounding the city, invested it on all sides.  The terrific assault from innumerable batteries immediately commenced.  The besieged were soon reduced to the last extremity for want of provisions, and famine and pestilence rioting within the walls, destroyed more than the shot of the enemy.  The suburbs were destroyed, the principal outworks taken, several breaches were battered in the walls, and the terrified inhabitants were hourly in expectation that the city would be taken by storm.  There can not be, this side of the world of woe, any thing more terrible than such an event.

The emperor, in his terror, had dispatched envoys all over Germany to rally troops for the defense of Vienna and the empire.  He himself had hastened to Poland, where, with frantic intreaties, he pressed the king, the renowned John Sobieski, whose very name was a terror, to rush to his relief.  Sobieski left orders for a powerful army immediately to commence their march.  But, without waiting for their comparatively slow movements, he placed himself at the head of three thousand Polish horsemen, and, without incumbering himself with luggage, like the sweep of the whirlwind traversed Silesia and Moravia, and reached Tulen, on the banks of the Danube, about twenty miles above Vienna.  He had been told by the emperor that here he would find an army awaiting him, and a bridge constructed, by which he could cross the stream.  But, to his bitter disappointment, he found no army, and the bridge unfinished.  Indignantly he exclaimed,

“What does the emperor mean?  Does he think me a mere adventurer?  I left my own army that I might take command of his.  It is not for myself that I fight, but for him.”