OF THE OLD WORLD. 419 



overpoweringly sublime, that inexpressible feelings 

 of awe and strange emotions, impossible to define, 

 seemed to pervade tlie whole of our number. I 

 was the first to scramble np, and gave vent to the 

 exuberance of my exhilaration by a loud huzzah, the 

 Briton's cry, 



" Whene'er" his " soul is up and pulse beats high — 

 Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight, 

 And bid each arm be strong or bid each heart be light." 



It is heard when he expresses his devotion and greets 

 his Queen ; — it rings through the air in the van of 

 the fight, above the pealing of death-shots or the 

 shrieks of the dying; — it is the shout of victory 

 when the field is won, and may be heard round the 

 social board when friend meets friend, and tlie glor- 

 ious past is brought to mind. It rang throughout 

 the country as the final adieu of thousands as they 

 marched to embark for the seat of war, and after a 

 lapse of years it was re-echoed by the few who re- 

 turned, covered with wounds and honour, but broken 

 down in health and spirits, when they Avere welcomed 

 home by their Sovereign and grateful countrymen. 

 My gentle reader, my voice has swelled that cry on 

 all of these occasions, but never did it burst from 

 my bosom with such an intense feeling of satisfac- 

 tion without alloy as when I first placed foot upon 

 the mighty El-Bruz. 



I mounted a heap of rocks that lay piled in con- 

 fusion along a craggy ridge jutting out of the snow, 



