I have often heard a stave or two of psalmody, hummed over by rakish young fellows, like a snatch from an opera.
With respect to singing, as in most other matters, the Tahitians widely differ from the people of the Sandwich Islands; where the parochial flocks may be said rather to Heat than sing.
The psalm concluded, a prayer followed.

Very considerately, the good old missionary made it short; for the congregation became fidgety and inattentive as soon as it commenced.
A chapter of the Tahitian Bible was now read; a text selected; and the sermon began.

It was listened to with more attention than I had anticipated.
Having been informed, from various sources, that the discourses of the missionaries, being calculated to engage the attention of their simple auditors, were, naturally enough, of a rather amusing description to strangers; in short, that they had much to say about steamboats, lord mayor's coaches, and the way fires are put out in London, I had taken care to provide myself with a good interpreter, in the person of an intelligent Hawaiian sailor, whose acquaintance I had made.
"Now, Jack," said I, before entering, "hear every word, and tell me what you can as the missionary goes on." Jack's was not, perhaps, a critical version of the discourse; and at the time, I took no notes of what he said.

Nevertheless, I will here venture to give what I remember of it; and, as far as possible, in Jack's phraseology, so as to lose nothing by a double translation.
"Good friends, I glad to see you; and I very well like to have some talk with you to-day.

Good friends, very bad times in Tahiti; it make me weep.