On the 1st of August, at noon, they had the happiness to descry the port of Alexandria; with an aspect, however, far different from what it had before presented to their disappointed view. They perceived, with delight, that it now appeared filled with ships; and had, soon, the undescribable transport to behold the French flag flying on board several of them. A tumult of joy animated every bosom in the British squadron, at sight of the enemy. The humblest individual felt himself a hero; and had a great right so to feel, since every individual was eagerly prepared to risque his life for the safety and glory of his king and country. The brave admiral was calm, but no mortal can convey to another the sense of ineffable delight which glowed in every fibre of his frame. The bliss of his bosom, at this impressive moment, was that of extatic perfection; for, it admitted not the smallest doubt of success. His calmness was the result of his piety; for his noble heart was pouring forth to Heaven the sacred effusions of gratitude, anticipatory of the glorious conquest which he was about to prove the honoured medium of atchieving. This perfection of bliss is felt but by a few favoured mortals, and with none will it consent to abide. That it was, for a moment, felt by the immortal Nelson, when he first beheld the French fleet, a due consideration of his entire character, so powerfully presses on the mind of his biographer, that he cannot resist the temptation to tender it as an assumed fact.