The courageous pilot received this letter, and the reward which accompanied it, with the utmost gratitude, only expressing surprise, that his action of the 31st of August should have made so much noise, since he had shown the same zeal on many other occasions, without ever thinking of any reward, or receiving any. After paying his debts, and buying new clothes for his wife snd children, a thing which he had rarely been able to do before, he asked permission of the Intendent to go to Paris, and thank M. Necker, and see, if possible, the young King, who "loved brave men, and delighted to reward them." He went to Paris in the sailor's dress which he had formerly bought for his wedding. Some one having asked him what could have inspired him with an intrepidity so rare, he answered in these remarkable words :-"Humanity, and the death of my father. He was drowned. I was not in the way to save him, and I swore from that moment to devote myself to the rescue of all whom I might behold in danger at sea." Was ever a more pure, a more sublime homage offered to filial piety? REMINISCENCES OF THE OLD BROWN MEETING HOUSE. BY MRS. M. L. GARDINER. WE often read of old white meeting houses, of ministers and deacons, and the annals are generally interesting, inasmuch as they bring before the mind things as they were. Among the many prominent objects which arise to my mind, there is no one that comes more vividly before me than the Old Brown Meeting House of my native village. It was built in 1769. When Long Island was in the possession of the British, it was used by them for warlike purposes. At the close of the war, when the inhabitants of Sag Harbor came into peaceable possession of the house, my father, who resided in the village for nearly thirty years, maintained, with the assistance of one or two other kindred spirits, the regular worship on the Sabbath. It was chiefly through his influence that this church was, about fifty-six years ago, organized and established, and from its first establishment, until prevented by the infirmities of age, he was an efficient member, and principal officer. He lived to the great age of ninety-one; lived to see all, save one, of his brethren and sisters in the Lord, who first associated together in the formation of a church here, sink to the grave around him. He had seen the church in its prosperity and adversity; he had seen the showers of grace fall upon her hills and her valleys, and their face look green and smiling. He had seen the same hills and valleys all parched with the drought of summer, and their verdure wither, when neither the rain nor the dews of heaven descended upon Zion. And most of his family, too, one after another, he had seen sink to the tomb, while he remained like the solitary oak standing upon the top of the tempest-beaten mountain, stripped of its branches, its foliage withered, its trunk decayed, and just ready to fall and mingle with the dust of the once-surrounding forest. He loved to tell of the days of his youth, of his conversion under the preaching of the immortal Whitfield, and how the inhabitants of this village were, at the beating of a drum, congregated on the Sabbath morning in the Old Brown Meeting House. house was left in an unfinished state, not being ceiled above the galleries, which were high and broad. The timbers were all exposed, and not a few were the cracks through which the The sun-light often peeped into the preacher's face, and in hard rain storms an occasional drop would fall upon the shoulder of the divine. Nevertheless, the Old Brown Meeting House, whither the tribes went up, and where our fathers worshipped, was considered a sacred place. There were but sixteen pews in the lower part of the house, and four above, and about twenty-four slips. These were owned or hired, and so few were the inhabitants since my recollection, that I remember distinctly who occupied every pew, and can trace the families as they were seated. When about six years old, I was returning from school one Friday afternoon, with a little girl of my own age, and passing by the church, we saw the door partly open. This being an unusual thing, our curiosity prompted us to look in. My mother, who was sitting in the pew next to the pulpit, observing me, beckoned for me to come in. I did so, and pushing a bench from under her feet, I seated myself upon it. There were about a dozen people assembled; the minister, the Rev. D. Hall, was reading a hymn of Dr. Watts, commencing with these words "'Twas on that dark, that doleful night, My father, who had stentorian lungs, led the singing in good "Old Hundred," and you might have heard him and the females who joined, a long distance from the courts of Zion. The text selected, was from St. Mark, 16th chapter and 3d verse" And they said among themselves, Who shall roll us away the stone from the door of the sepulchre ?" A deep solemnity pervaded the few who were present. I saw the tears tremble upon my father's cheeks, and his bosom heave from intense feeling. Awed by the scene, I drew near my mother's knee, and laid my head upon her lap. Well do I remember how she wrapped her cloak around me. The women in those days wore long, red, broadcloth cloaks, with hoods lined with red silk. As she laid the corner of her cloak over me, she gently rested her hand upon my shoulder; I can almost feel the pressure now. Perhaps a prayer accompanied the laying on of that hand, for it was a Mother's. And there might have been a more tender feeling towards me just then, in that cold and almost empty house; for there were no stoves in those days, and none but professors of religion attended the meeting, which my parents informed me was a preparatory lecture. As I grew up, the population increased, and the Old Brown Meeting House was often crowded. In those days it was customary to have public exhibitions. These were joy ous seasons for the young, when tragedies, comedies, dialogues, and single pieces were spoken. No theatrical performance of the present day is more talked of and desired, than were those exhibitions. The first tragedy performed, was "The Revenge," written by Dr. Young. I recollect crying, when the scene opened, or rather when the calico curtain was pulled up, or drawn aside, and Leonora was discovered sleeping in an arbor, and Don Alonzo, her jealous husband, with a dagger glittering in his hand, was in the attitude of stabbing her. Young as I was, my heart was touched with romance, and 1 fancied all I saw was reality. In after years, with many of my young associates, I hailed the close of each quarter with delight, as the vacations afforded us all much innocent amusement, in speaking pieces, and assuming fictitious characters, thus making the Old Brown Meeting House ring with merriment. When reflecting upon the days of my childhood, I have wondered how these public exhibitions could have been countenanced as they were, but such was the fact, and the good and the pious always attended them. Another memorable event to me was, when my brother, then in his fifteenth year, delivered his first public oration before the Village Debating Society-it was in the Old Brown Meeting House. His youthful appearance, his nervous step are before me, and my hand, as memories rise, seems to tremble, as when I stood in the choir and sung the ode written for the occasion. And again, I see him, when after having been graduated at Yale, and while studying the law in New York, he visited the home of his childhood. During that visit, he delivered an oration on the Fourth of July, 1814. Methinks I can see him as he stood upon the platform, surrounded with hoary-headed men, some veterans of the Revolution. Their faces glowed with pure patriotic feeling as they gazed upon the youthful speaker, standing before them in the first flush of manhood. He spoke of our armies and our triumphs over a haughty foe; spake of our little striped bunting and our naval exploits; repeated the words of the gallant Lawrence, "Never give up the ship!" The hoary-headed men around him, who remembered the days that "tried men's souls," wept audibly, and affected the whole congregation. Short was the term of this beloved, this idolized brother. He died in New York, in the twenty-sixth year of his age, and desolate indeed was the house of his father. Another event, still more vivid, more thrilling than all the rest, will make me for ever remember the Old Brown Meeting House. The remains of one whom my young heart loved, were brought The there, ere laid in their narrow bed. There, the last fond kiss was imprinted upon his icy forehead, and there, bending in anguish over the young, the loved, and the beautiful, I could have bid the world adieu, and willingly with him have slept the long, long sleep of death. Who that has stood by the bier of the early dead, can wonder I remember the Old Brown Meeting House? The parish, for many years, was in an unsettled state. There were two parties, and they did not agree in the. choice of a pastor, until 1812, when the Rev. I. D. G. was installed over the church and congregation. The population of our village steadily increased; the whale-fishery was extending, and wealth flowed in with great rapidity. Soon after his installation, the pastor was bereft of his wife, an amiable, lovely, and truly pious woman, and the writer became the mother of her three children. In 1814, peace was declared, and a joyful day it was for our village. We had been, through the war, exposed to the enemy, their fleet laying in Gardiner's Bay, and a thousand false alarms constantly agitated us. noonday sun beheld us upon the alert, and the midnight hour witnessed our broken slumbers. Still every Sabbath, in the Old Brown Meeting House, the pastor maintained his post, nor deserted it through the whole campaign. He preached after an attack of the enemy one Saturday night, while the troops were quartered here, and the next day, the Sabbath, many of the inhabitants were at work throwing up fortifications against a foe, which we were expecting every moment would attack us. In the pulpit he stood, and with true eloquence encouraged his hearers to put their trust in the God of battles. When through the length and breadth of our beloved country, Peace sounded her silver trumpet, when every mountain-top, hill, and valley, clapped their hands in the general jubilee, when the olive branch, made greener by our glorious victories, waved triumphantly over our favored land, Peace was celebrated in the Old Brown Meeting House. In 1815, the Rev. L. Beecher visited the island, and spent some time with us. He preached often in the Old Brown Meeting House; when the glory of the Lord descended like a cloud upon us. A powerful revival commenced and continued for many months, and bright was the temple of our God. Those were happy days, when our own house, at early dawn, was crowded with inquiring souls. How did the old christians rejoice! Mothers in Israel sat with their red cloaks wrapped around them, looking more like sainted spirits, than pilgrims of a day; so solemn, so happy, so heavenly did they appear. Blessed ones-ye are now in glory! Long have your harps been strung to your Redeemer's |