The French army, spread over all the provinces of the Peninsula, was surrounded by enemies; but could encounter none. The guerillas showed themselves on every side, but they could not be come at any where. Invisible foes, Proteus-like,—they ceaselessly dispersed or rallied at the voice of their chiefs. Well-informed on all points, the enemy’s most trivial movements were signalled to them, and prompt and faithful reports reached them through the peasants. Was a weak garrison left in a small village,—it was next day swept away by a guerilla! Was any considerable force of troops led against these free-booters,—not a soul was to be met. At the order of the chiefs the soldiers concealed their arms, and dispersed, only to unite at a totally different point! Mark well the Spanish guerilla, the guerillero of the Peninsula, the kleft of the Greeks, and the bandit of Italy, such as are known to be men of spirit, and think not that this insurgent is looked on with an unfavorable eye in his own country; far otherwise, he renders too many services, and performs his business with too much conscience, not to be occasionally visited with notions of valor and glory. He assassinates, martyrs, and mutilates; but thinks no offering more acceptable to one of the old saints he invokes, or to his guardian patron.