The laurel and the shrub, the vine and sweet scented jessamine, roofed his dwelling, and clambered up between his closed eyelids and the stars.

Obstructions, scarcely penetrable by any foe, crowded the pathways to his tent;--and no footstep, not practised in the secret, and 'to the manner born', might pass unchallenged to his midnight rest.

The swamp was his moat; his bulwarks were the deep ravines, which, watched by sleepless rifles, were quite as impregnable as the castles on the Rhine.

Here, in the possession of his fortress, the partisan slept secure.

In the defence of such a place, in the employment of such material as he had to use, Marion stands out alone in our written history, as the great master of that sort of strategy, which renders the untaught militia-man in his native thickets, a match for the best drilled veteran of Europe.