ABSTRACT
The ceremony of consecrating the church at Afareahitu was a long one. The missionaries preached long sermons in Tahitian, and the himénés sang psalms of joy in praise of the Almighty. The building was of coral rock; the roof, thatched with pandanus-leaves, was constructed of large beams bound together by cords of various colours, in the old Maori style of architecture. I can see the quaint scene now—the doors of the church wide open to the country, a lovely landscape of hills and tall palms;—the queen close to the missionary's pulpit, in a black robe, praying for her grandchild, and by her side her old friend the chieftainess of Papara. All about her the women in her train in white tunics. The whole church was filled with heads crowned with flowers—and in the crowd was Rarahu, whom I had left to come off the Reindeer as though she were a stranger.
