in former battles, he stood a conspicuous object of emulative worth to all the heroic men who surrounded him in this.  Never had his aspiring and enraptured heart beheld a victory more brilliantly glorious awaiting their noble exertions.  Ineffable delight, blended with a divine benignity, beamed over the hero’s countenance.  He felt conscious of being engaged in contending for all that is dear to man; and, consequently, struggling in a cause which could by no means be displeasing to Heaven.  He doubted little the success of his country, for he knew in what he confided; but he was not presumptuous, for he had early been instructed, that “the battle is not always to the strong.”  His own personal fate was ever humbly resigned to the will of the Great Disposer; live, or die, he was alone solicitous that he should live or die in glory.  While victory, however, from all observation, appeared within his grasp, he could not but be conscious that individual danger every where hovered around.  The Santissima Trinidada carried full sixteen hundred men; including a corps of troops, among whom were several sharp-shooters.  Many other ships had, also, Tyrolese riflemen on board.  Amidst the conflict of cannon, fired muzzle to muzzle, showers of bullets were directed on the quarter-deck; where the distinguished hero stood, fearlessly giving his orders, and chearfully abiding every peril.  His heart was animated, and his spirits were gay.  The stump of his right arm, which he always pleasantly denominated his fin, moved the shoulder of his sleeve up and down with the utmost rapidity, as was customary when he felt greatly pleased.  Captain Hardy, apprehensive that Lord Nelson’s peculiar attire pointed him out as too obvious a mark, advised the hero to change his dress, or cover himself with a great-coat; but he no otherwise regarded the precautionary advice, than by observing that he had not yet time to do so.  It probably struck his great mind, that such an act might evince too much personal attention for a commander in chief to possess.  In the mean while, the murderous desire of the enemy to single out the officers, continued growing more and more manifest.  Of a hundred and ten marines stationed on the poop and quarter-deck, upwards of eighty were either killed or wounded.  Mr. Pascoe, first-lieutenant of the Victory, received a very severe wound, while conversing with his lordship; and John Scott, Esq. his lordship’s secretary, was shot through the head, by a musket-ball, at his side, Captain Adair of the marines, almost at the same instant, experienced a similar fate.  This was about a quarter of an hour past one o’clock; and, a few minutes afterward, Captain Hardy, who was standing near his lordship, observed a marksman in the mizen-top of the Bucentaure, which then lay on the Victory’s quarter, in the very act of taking a deliberate aim at his beloved commander.  Scarcely had he time to exclaim—­“Change your position, my lord!  I see a rascal taking aim at