of the candle within had shown him with arm uplifted, but motionless, still pointing the weapon at the breast of his enemy!

The would-be assassin had felt his arm seized with an on gripe, and held fast in its first position. The pistol was wrenched from his hand; he was pushed violently backward and fell on the ground. But he had strength left to gain his feet in an instant, and finding himself alone, he lost no time in vaulting upon his horse and tearing away-leaving his pistol in the hands of his foe.

The Rifleman laughed heartily as he threw it on the table. His presence of mind, and enormous strength of arm, saved his life; and neither he nor his brother were ever, after that, molested by vagrant scouts. They were feared, in fact, more than a whole army of men; for the belief in their magic became almost universal. They enjoyed also the reputation they had earned more fairly, of hospitality, and charity to the needy; and many sufferers of the Revolution had cause to remember the kindness of the Mysterious Brothers.

THE PARKINS FAMILY.

THE Parkins Family was of note in the District of Newberry, South Carolina. They came from Winchester. One of them, Capt. Daniel Parkins, is well remembered. His sister was the wife of Hugh O'Neill, who settled on Little River, in Laurens District. It is a tradition in the family that on the death of a brotherin-law, while they were debating where he should be buried, a meteor, like a ball of fire, passing over the house, was seen to fall on a particular spot. This was regarded as a supernatural intimation where the dead should rest, and was the commencement of the graveyard now called Parkins.

Capt. Parkins, being educated in the principles of the Friends' or Quaker Society, took no active part on either side in the Revolutionary War, though he was supposed to favor the loyalists. He owned a mill on Saluda River, and employed his time in attending it, furnishing meal for the country around.

One day, one of his sisters, standing at the door of their dwelling-house, which was two or three hundred yards from the mill, saw a party of mounted men whom she knew to be whigs from Indian Creek, approaching. She knew their object must be to capture or slay her brother, who was obnoxious to them, and started to run to the mill and inform him of his danger.

The enemy saw her, and guessing her purpose, put their horses to full speed, to reach the mill before her. Fearfully glancing behind her, she saw how rapidly they were coming up, and shouted as loudly as she could, the warning to her brother, of whom she caught a glimpse at the entrance of the mill. Again her cries rang through the air; but he stirred not from his listless attitude; it was evident the noise of the machinery prevented the sound from reaching him. What was to be done?

The troopers seemed to devour the way behind her: they dashed nearer; some of them halloed to her to get out of the narrow road, or the horses would be upon her! The leading horse, galloping briskly, was alongside of her the next moment.

Obeying a quick impulse, the heroic girl snatched at the bridle of the foremost horse, pulled it off, and by jerking his head violently on one side as she did so, turned him out of the path into the woods. Then she sped on like a terrified fawn. Another rider, in advance of his companions, dashed along close to her; she seized his horse's bridle, and pulled it off as she had done the first. Her brother saw this; and as she flung out her arms towards him in token that he must fly-for she had no breath to shout-he snatched up his gun, leaped from the stone door-step of the mill, rushed into the river, and gaining a shoal, pursued it till he reached what is now called Pope's Island. This was then covered with the dense woods that shrouded all the river lands; and thick wreaths of the pendent moss, hanging from the trees like a trailing, funereal drapery, veiled the daylight from the impenetrable thickets.

As he sprang on dry land, Parkins turned to throw one glance at his baffled pursuers; then parting the curtain of moss, he disappeared in the recesses of the forest. The party in chase knew nothing of the shoal, nor how to get across to the island except by boats, and had they been able to reach it, they could not have threaded the wild labyrinth of woods; so, after a few moments' consultation, they turned back, two of them dismounting to recover the bridles Miss Parkins had thrown down, as she hastened back to the house, rejoicing in her brother's safety.

Daniel Parkins was afterwards married to Jane Caradine, who lived with her father, Abraham Caradine, farther down the Saluda. The simple wedding-cheer was interrupted by one of those incidents which occurred in the experience of many families. The inmates of the house had retired to rest, but were awakened by the ominous sound of trampling feet, and a suppressed murmur of voices. Closer the noise came, and the whispering outside betrayed the presence of

enemies.

Through the chinks of the logs, armed men might plainly be perceived; and Parkins recognized some of them; they were probably the same who had endeavoured to surprise him at the mill. He roused his father-in-law; and both sprang from their beds, snatched their muskets, and threw into the barrels handfuls of powder and shot, priming in the same hurried manner. Listening on every side, they found that the house was surrounded. The terror and despair of the young bride, thus roused at midnight to witness a mortal struggle, in which those she loved the best were certain to fall-may be imagined, but not described.

There was but one possible way for escape, and that was a desperate one! Caradine whispered his son-inlaw, and going to the door, which the bride's trembling hands were endeavoring to fasten more securely-he put her aside, threw the door wide open, and instantly

The man sprang to his feet, then staggered and fell heavily to the ground, his head striking the door-step. Caradine and Parkins, taking advantage of the confusion and darkness, leaped over his prostrate body, and flourishing their guns, dashed boldly through the enemy's midst. They ran in different directions, each knowing his life depended on his speed.

Parkins gained the cover of the wood, and made good his escape. Caradine was an elderly man, and ran heavily. He was swiftly pursued, and as he passed through the rows of his corn-field, a shot from an unseen foe arrested his flight. He stopped, pressed his hand to his side, and sank to the ground with a deep groan. At the same instant his pursuers overtook him. They stopped, and gazed at each other, for they saw that their captive was dying.

Caradine half-raised himself from the ground, and turned so as to face his enemies. "Tell me one thing," he said, quietly. "Is the rascal I shot at, dead?" "He is dead!" answered one of the party. "Then I am satisfied," said the wounded man, and sinking back on the ground-with a gasp or two-he breathed his last.

The hostile party left the ground. For the rest of the night the silence was undisturbed, except by low sobs of anguish from the bereaved woman, whose father lay slaughtered before her, while she had too much reason for believing her husband had shared the same fate.

Although a suspected loyalist, Parkins enjoyed the friendship of a gallant old soldier of liberty-Colonel Philemon Waters—his near neighbor. After the Revolution, he held many offices of public trust, and by mercantile business realized a large fortune. In 1802, he, and his wife, and two sons, died of the great epidemic of that year, called "the cold plague," all within five days. His fine estate was sold by his grandson.

An incident related of one of his descendants displays an unusual degree of courage and presence of mind. During the war, and for many years after, it was the custom, in going to Ninety-six, from O'Neill's mills, to cross Saluda River at Parkins' Ford; and plank from the pine-woods was hauled that way. A wagon and team belonging to Mrs. O'Neill, and driven by her son, a lad of seventeen, was engaged in this business, with another belonging to a neighbor-Mr. Jay. In one of their trips, they found the Saluda swollen, but concluded to ford it. Mrs. O'Neill's team attempted the passage first. When the wagon reached the deep water, it floated, with its load of plank, and horses, wagon, and driver were swept down the stream. The lad made every effort to extricate his horses by cutting them loose; but failed, not cutting the hame-strings, and losing his knife. Jay plunged into the water to swim to the rescue; but was seized with the cramp, and was obliged to climb upon a rock to save himself from drowning.

The noise of this struggle, and Jay's cry for help, reached young Parkins' ears; he ran to the river, and seeing the dangerous condition of the boy-driver and

their assistance. He succeeded in cutting loose the head horse, but in trying to liberate another, struggling with the desperate animal, the knife was knocked out of his hand. Leaving his hopeless task, Parkins threw himself on the back of the loosed mare, swam her to land, and galloped to the nearest house. Then he procured another knife, rode back to the river, swam the mare again to the wagon, which the current was sweeping rapidly downward, cut loose the other horses, and saved them all, with the driver; rescuing Jay also, from his perilous position.

ADVENTURES OF THE GLENN FAMILY.

DAVID GLENN and his young wife came from Ireland to the American Colonies about 1773, with the last of the emigrants who left the Green Isle before the outbreak of the Revolution. Landing in Savannah, Georgia, they proceeded to South Carolina, and settled on the Enoree, in Newberry District. The dispute between the Colonies and the mother country was then waxing more fierce every day; and almost every one espoused one side or the other. Glenn cast in his lot with the patriots. He thought, like the rest of the Irish Presbyterians, "it was better to endure some evils than encounter the horrors of a Revolutionary War;" yet he acknowledged that it was still better "to endure all the protracted miseries of the struggle, than fail to enjoy liberty of conscience, of person and property."

When the United States declared themselves free, sovereign and independent, Glenn vowed himself without reserve to the cause, ready to water with his blood the forests of his adopted country.

Until the fall of Charleston-in May, 1780-the upper part of South Carolina scarcely felt the footsteps of war. It is true that she had seen Richardson's gallant army in December, 1775, repairing to their "snow campaign;" she had heard the thunder of Moultrie's guns of deliverance from the first Palmetto fort, battering the wooden walls of England's dominion; had wept over some of her sons slaughtered at Stone, and at Savannah in October 1779; yet, as a general thing, quiet reigned in the country above tide water. That horrible, desolating war, which armed fathers against sons, sons against fathers, brother against brother, and neighbor against neighbor, commenced after the surrender of Charleston. For nearly three years it swept with unmitigated fury, over the region above the falls of the Great Rivers. Ninety-six District-which then covered the tract of country lying above a line drawn from Silver Bluff on the Savannah River, by the mouth of Rocky Creek on the Saluda, to Hughey's Ferry on Broad River at the close of the war, numbered, according to Ramsay, "fourteen hundred widows and orphans."

Glenn did duty as a private mounted soldier till December 1780, and, tradition says, was one of the militia men who, rallied around him by "the Game-cock of the Revolution," after the disastrous defeats at Camden

and Fishing Creek-cheered their country even in her mourning weeds—with the hope of deliverance. Afterwards, as Lieutenant-Colonel, he commanded the lower regiment in the Fork, between Broad and Saluda Rivers -till June, 1782. He used to lament an incident which occurred at the battle of Eutaw. When the British lines gave way, and they fled before the vigorous charge of the American troops, in the pursuit Glenn overtook a soldier, and ordered him to the rear as a prisoner. The man, frantic with terror, seized his horse by the bridle, and pleaded for his life. He was assured of safety, as a prisoner: but still clung to the reins in an agony of supplication; and though sternly ordered to let go, still held on. At this juncture, two of the British dragoons were seen approaching. Glenn saw that he or the prisoner must be sacrificed; the latter fell before his sword: and thus freed, he was able to save himself.

It was always Glenn's boast, that he had never taken "protection ;" and he exhibited unceasing hostility to the marauders, horse-thieves and murderers with which the country was infested. These iron outlaws, therefore, sought his life with fierce animosity.

On one occasion, Cunningham's "mounted loyalists," as they were designated in the British service, making a night attack upon Colonel Glenn, surrounded his house. They demanded that the door should be opened for them. Glenn heard the clamor outside, but knew not who was seeking an entrance. Obeying the first impulse, he sprang out of bed, and without dressing himself, threw open the door.

Instantly he felt himself seized by two men, members of that ruthless tory band, whose deeds of atrocity had obtained for them the name of "the Bloody Scout." As they drew him into the house, they inquired tumultuously for McClusky, who was his friend, and lodged with him that night. Not yet knowing the party, or their purpose, Glenn informed them McClusky was asleep in the upper part of his house. Some of the ruffians made haste to climb to the upper apartment, forced an entrance, and stabbed the sleeping patriot. Roused by the murderous stroke, and seeing his enemies in the dusky light, he begged them to spare his life; but they rushed upon him to complete their work. Thus beset, he shouted "Murder!" as loudly as possible.

hold, darted through the crowd, sprang out of the door, and, although the moon was shining so brightly as to show his flying figure, he made his escape through the peach orchard.

The marauders ran after him, shouting, and fired several times; but without effect. While Gienn was in full career, he passed a corner of the fence, where one of the party was lurking. As the cry "Shoot the fel low! Shoot him!" rang from the house, the man snatched his gun which was lying on the ground, aimed at the colonel, and pulled the trigger; it snapped; and before he could raise the weapon for a second effort, the fugitive had leaped the fence, and was in the shelter of the deep forest. While he, undressed as he was, hid himself from the outlaws, his wretched wife managed to escape their fury within the house, believing that her husband had fallen a victim. After the departure of the assailants, Glenn crept back to his house, and was received with joy as one restored from the dead.

At another time, two of the boldest and bloodiest of this savage band-Dick and Ned Turner-with Bill Elmore, and others of their associates, made a descent upon the Whig settlement of the Long Lane. They captured two lads, Robert and James Dugan, bound them, and taking them to their temporary camp about a mile distant, left them under guard. Returning then to their bloody work, they assailed two other houses in the settlement, and murdered the proprietors; inquiring for William Wilson and Colonel Glenn; for they were bent on wreaking vengeance for the death of a relative. These last were on the expedition to Eutaw. Disappointed in the hope of securing these two victims, the villains returned to the place where they had left the two youthful prisoners, and hewed them in pieces.

On the following morning the mother of the lads went forth in search of them, accompanied by one of her neighbors, and came upon the scene of the butchery. One had his hand chopped off; the other his thumb and finger; and their heads were literally split open! The weeping mother and sympathizing friend gathered up the mangled remains, wrapped them in sheets, and buried them without coffins! Horrible! is the exclamation of humanity. Yet such sad scenes must outrage humanity in civil war!

The family of Colonel Glenn, saved by his absence

"Hold your tongue!" cried the man who had hold of the colonel; "hold your tongue; it will be your Curn next!"

In a moment after, while one of his captors turned to speak to another, Glenn felt their grasp relax. By a sudden and violent effort, he jerked himself out of their

commanded this party; but others who were acquainted with his movements, declared that he was not present on that bloody night. The Long Lane settlement consisted of only a few families, thorough Whigs, and therefore exposed to midnight assault by cowardly Tories, who "never met them in broad day and a fair field, without repenting their temerity."