lived on shore the whole time, and who were injured as regards neither their persons nor their property. In short, the Maltese colonists of Sfax have been the chief sufferers by the pillage of the town, committed in the manner I have described. Some of them have indeed lost their all; hardly one has escaped unscathed. As an eye-witness I have recorded what really happened in broad daylight and in the sight of hundreds of people. The only hope of the half-ruined British community is in the support which they feel sure their claims must inevitably receive from the English Government, and in the justice and equity of the International Commission which we hear is to inquire into the whole matter.” · · · · · · · · · · One of the most disinterested witnesses of the sacking of Sfax is the poet before-the-mast, John Root. I am not aware whether he was examined by the commissioners, but he writes with an evident knowledge of what took place:— “And now comes stain on victor’s name, The town is pillaged for their gain; They rob the houses of the slain, And strew the streets with plunder. “The merchandise is thrown about, Bazaars and shops turned inside out— A scene of plunder and of rout, All hands seemed bent on mischief. “E’en fav’rite mosque, where day and night The Moslems prayed for Prophet’s light, To show them to do what was right, Did not escape the pillage. “If ’mid the plunder Arab’s face Were seen, from French he had no grace, No matter who or in what place, He fell a corpse that moment. “Thus while their goods in streets are thrown, Their souls are to the Prophet gone, For defending their own hearth and home ’Gainst Christian invader.” As I said before, the stamp of truth in John Root’s writings amply atones for his rugged metre and peculiar rhyme. · · · · · · · · · ·