The place is well filled. Everywhere meets the eye the gay calico
draperies worn on great occasions by the higher classes, and forming
a strange contrast of patterns and colours. In some instances, these
are so fashioned as to resemble as much as possible European
garments. This is in excessively bad taste. Coats and pantaloons,
too, are here and there seen; but they look awkwardly enough, and take
away from the general effect.
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.
