But it is the array of countenances that most strikes you. Each is suffused
with the peculiar animation of the Polynesians, when thus collected in large
numbers. Every robe is rustling, every limb in motion, and an incessant buzzing
going on throughout the assembly. The tumult is so great that the voice of the
placid old missionary, who now rises, is almost inaudible. Some degree of
silence is at length obtained through the exertions of half a dozen strapping
fellows, in white shirts and no pantaloons. Running in among the settees, they
are at great pains to inculcate the impropriety of making a noise by creating a
most unnecessary racket themselves. This part of the service was quite comical.
    There is a most interesting Sabbath school connected with the church; and
the scholars, a vivacious, mischievous set, were in one part of the gallery. I
was amused by a party in a corner. The teacher sat at one end of the bench, with
a meek little fellow by his side. When the others were disorderly, this young
martyr received a rap; intended, probably, as a sample of what the rest might
expect if they didn't amend.
    Standing in the body of the church, and leaning against a pillar, was an old
man, in appearance very different from others of his countrymen. He wore nothing
but a coarse, scant mantle, of faded tappa; and from his staring, bewildered
manner, I set him down as an aged bumpkin from the interior, unaccustomed to the
strange sights and sounds of the metropolis. This old worthy was sharply
reprimanded for standing up, and thus intercepting the view of those behind; but
not comprehending exactly what was said to him, one of the white-liveried gentry
made no ceremony of grasping him by the shoulders, and fairly crushing him down
into a seat.
    During all this, the old missionary in the pulpit - as well as his
associates beneath - never ventured to interfere, leaving everything to native
management. With South Sea islanders, assembled in any numbers, there is no
other way of getting along.
 

                                  Chapter XLV

                  A Missionary's Sermon; with Some Reflections

Some degree of order at length restored, the service was continued, by singing.
The choir was composed of twelve or fifteen ladies of the mission, occupying a
long bench to the left of the pulpit. Almost the entire congregation joined in.
    The first air fairly startled me; it was the brave tune of Old Hundred,
adapted to a Tahitian psalm. After the graceless scenes I had recently passed
through, this circumstance, with all its accessories,