We left Mehdia at sunset, and next morning were already in sight of the white walls and battered _minár_ of the great mosque of Sfax. A background of green gardens and stately palm groves completed an almost perfect Oriental landscape, and it was difficult to realise, in the placid scene before us, the ordeal of fire which Sfax had undergone during the past summer. Any illusion on this head was at once dissipated as soon as the shore was reached. The ruined _batterie rasante_, the half-dismantled forts, the damaged houses, the heaps of rusty cannon balls, and a row of black crosses in the little cemetery, all contributed to bring vividly before the mind’s eye the events of the memorable 16th July. The streets in the European _faubourg_ had received highly sounding French names, and were all more or less crowded with soldiers and sailors. Repairs were going on in all directions, and ere this Sfax has in all probability resumed its wonted appearance, but even then (Nov. 28th) it was whispered in my ear that nobody could be sure of a sound skin three miles outside the gates, and matters do not appear to have greatly mended since. The one complaint at the time of my visit to Sfax was the petty tyranny of the French Vice-Consul “Giannino,” who was threatening everybody with “confidential reports to M. Roustan,” and making the best use of his opportunities. M. Freycinet has since dispensed with M. Mattei’s services, and only left him the consolation of descanting eloquently on unrequited patriotism and the ingratitude of the Republic. Great consternation was expressed at the abrupt termination of the Commission of Inquiry into the losses sustained by the Europeans during the bombardment and after the occupation, and I was compelled to undergo a series of ocular proofs as to the extent of damage suffered. The cupola of the Roman Catholic church was gone, and the house occupied by M. Leonardi, the British Consular-Agent, entirely destroyed; one Maltese had lost all his timber, and another the contents of his shop, but there was a deal of good-humoured patience mingled with much complaining, and a general belief that somehow or other the _invitta Britannia_ would bring everything right. In spite of an unfortunate element of grotesque exaggeration, there can be no doubt that a great wrong has been committed by somebody. By all means let that somebody be nameless, but as France was not at war with Tunis, and was avowedly acting as her ally, she is certainly bound to see that wrong remedied.