Should this recital possess any interest in a scientific, a geographical, or a political point of view, I have only one wish to form; it is that the French government, which such a period of peril and exile was intended to enlighten and serve, should show a tardy gratitude towards the unfortunate Fatalla Sayeghir, whose services might even still be useful. In this wish I include too the young and skilful interpreter, M. Mazolier, who has translated these notes from the Arabic, and who accompanied me for a year in my travels in Syria, Galilee, and Arabia. Versed in the knowledge of Arabic, the son of an Arab mother, nephew of one of the most powerful and revered sheiks of Lebanon, having already traversed all those countries with me, familiar with the manners of the tribes, a man of courage, intelligence and honour, heartily devoted to France, this young man might be of the utmost service to the government in our relations with Syria. French nationality terminates not with our frontiers. Our country has sons as attached upon shores whose name she scarcely knows. M. Mazolier is one of those sons. France should not forget him. No one could serve her better than he, in countries in which the effects of our activity of civilization, protection, and even of policy, must soon be necessarily felt. The following is the narrative of Fatalla Sayeghir, literally translated. NARRATIVE OF FATALLA SAYEGHIR. At eighteen years of age I quitted Aleppo, my country, with a stock of merchandise, to establish myself in Cyprus. Being tolerably fortunate in the first year of my commercial speculations, I took a liking to the business, and adopted the fatal idea of taking to Trieste a cargo of the productions of the island. In a short time my goods were embarked; they consisted of cotton, silk, wine, sponge, and colocynth. On the 18th March, 1809, my ship, commanded by Captain _Chefalinati_, set sail. I was already calculating the profits of my venture, and rejoicing at the idea of the gross returns, when, in the midst of my delightful illusions, the fatal news arrived of the capture of the vessel by an English ship of war, which had taken her to Malta. In consequence of such a loss, I was obliged to strike my balance, and retire from trade; and I quitted Cyprus totally ruined, and returned to Aleppo. Some days after my arrival I dined at one of my friends’ with several persons, amongst whom was a stranger, very ill-dressed, but to whom much consideration was shown. After dinner there was music; and the stranger sitting beside me, conversed with much affability: we spoke of music, and after a long conversation, I rose to ask him his name. I learned that it was M. Lascaris de Ventimiglia, and that he was a knight of Malta. The following day, I saw him coming to my house, holding in his hand a violin. “My good young man,” said he on entering, “I remarked yesterday how much you like music; I already look upon you