The Sun. — 1860-01-17 (London, England)

THE WAR IN 1110ROC;0.  The Times' correspondent, " coached" by Spanish officers almost as ignorant as himself of military matters, affects to laugh at the Moors, who cannot abide the bayonet, who are slow in firing, who wear dirty white robes, and carry antiquated arms. So laughed the Italian patricians when Valerian rode forth to chastise Sapor and the Persians; so sneered our journalists when English troops were sent to chastise the despicable Affghans, who slew us among their passes like sheep. To some mcn history teaches no lesson, and the past is a useless blank. The Times may deride the scantily dressed Moor, with his long cumbrous matchlock, and his fierce but undisciplined cavalry; but those who have seen the Moor and Spaniard side by side can laugh at the sophistries of a prejudiced reporter. The Moors, as competent observers assure us, are tall, stalwart, clean-built men, of unimpeachable ts, courage and great strength. They dress light because of the burning climate, they are dexterous swordsmen and good shots. Some of their tribes are horsemen, fierce and skilful as the old Mamelukes or the murdered Janissaries—as superior to the illmounted Spaniards as our own Hussars are to our rustic yeomanry. They inhabit a country without roads, and which in the rainy season is impassable; in winter, rains, coming down in deluge rivers, will torment and cow the Spaniards ; with the summer heat, a " dins cohors" of fevers will fight against the invaders, who will find their_ paltry artillery poor weapons against sun-strokes and the unseen blows of African malaria. Our readers, too, must remember that these Spaniards are not the Spaniards of the Cid, or of Ferdinand and Isabella's reign. They are the degraded, priest-ridden, demoralised subjects of a modern Messalina, sons of the men who fled from the French whenever bayonets were crossed men whom the Iron Duke always spoke of with disajt li!teTuhse for winning irnsn,iwn byeg gust, as Peterborough had done before : " her officers the greatest robbers, her soldiers the greatest cowards"—men who to this we dol the victories vt ic moreovertorie s tremember, e denybe r are men not enervated civilisation's down bed ; they are staunch believers Morocco less than in Turkey Deism--in hommedan innovations ; they fight iforn at corruptedhpeui pure wives, children, and home ; they know the country and bide their time. Heat and famine will fight their quarrel, and drive the Spaniard to his ships. At Gibraltar the Moors have been our true friends ever since we held that bone of contention. But for them there have been times during French sieges when we should have been starved out over and over again. Let us not imitate repudiating Spain's ingratitude, and forget our "friends in need ;" let the Spanish historians leave out all mention of our saving victory of Salamanca, but let us not forget the friendly Moors and their timely cargoes of beef. That rock is a sore sight to Spanish eyes. There may come a day when Moorish beef ' I will again be needed at "Gib," and Tetuan will be the nearest place to get it. The motive is not a contemptible one. A man cannot face death on potted meats, and Moorish oxen will again be sought. Gibraltar—that fattens on Moorish trade, that lives on the money of Moorish merchants, and depends ou Barbary for food—has surely no reason for wishing to see the Spaniards victorious.— , The Leader and Saturday Analyst.