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Evenings from Home.

The Sunday before last was an intensely disagreeable one. It drizzled intermittently, you recollect, and a cold raw wind blew. As the afternoon drew on, I began to remember that to church I must go, whether I liked it or not, and for the second time my self-imposed task seemed an intolerable nuisance. However, when the time came we (i.e. myself and a companion in misfortune) plucked up courage, and, duly provided with umbrellas and overcoats, set off in the direction of Chapel-street. Our first idea was to visit the Catholic Church there, but on the way we alteied the venue to Pitt-street. There is a good deal of awkwardness about a Protestant visiting a Catholic Church in England or the colonies. Abroad, of couise, one thinks nothing of it; in fact your true-born Briton stumps through the great Continental Cathedrals almost as if they belonged to him. He, of course, makes a point of seeing everything : but he feels it a duty to protest against the convictions of the natives, and by passing the high altar without bowing, clattering about during mass, and otherwise outraging decency, horrifies the pious worshippers* and. kindly priests unspeakably. Now, 1 have a dread of doing anything of this kind, and as it is the easiest thing in the world to omit some necessary form in a Catholic Church, I thought it would be better to wait till I could get an habitue to pilot me through the service safely. We therefore went to Pitt-street. This church is, in many respects, the best appointed place of worship in Auckland. The pews are comfortable, without being luxurious ; the building is stately, and yet simple ; and the service seems to me just what it should be. We arrived a few minutes before the first hymn was given out, and had plenty of time to scan the congregation. It appears to be composed of all classes, the families of respectable tradesmen and the smaller shopkeepers predominati ing. There are a great number of young folks too at Pitt-street, and they somehow give one the impression of having been well brought up. Before me sat a careworn woman, in mourning, with a bright handsome lad beside her. "The only son of his mother, and she was a widow," I found myself murmuring. Just then the boy turned round, so that I could see his face. It was a frank, open countenance, very unlike the majority. Why is it, I wonder, colonial youths are so well grounded in villany? The service was conducted by the Rev. W. Morley. This gentleman is by far the ablest preacher I have yet heard. Besides owning a clear voice, and knowing how to use it, he has evidently plenty of brains. The subject of the sermon on the occasion of my visit was a tough oue : " Conditional Immortality versus' Scripture Teaching." Few parsons could tackle such a problem without sending three-fourths of their listeners to sleep. Mr. Morley, however, did nothing of the kind. His sermon was from first to last most interesting, and the immense congregation listened to it with wrapt attention. Personally, I never lost the thread of the discourse for an instant, or found myself at all weary, and when the preacher ceased, and people pulled out their watches, it was quite a surprise to find Mr. Morley had been talking full forty minutes. Those who care for an intellectual treat should certainly make for Pittstreet when this gentleman is announced to preach on a special subject. He reminds me more of the Rev. Stopf orcl Brooke than anyone. There is the same liberal broad-church tone and coherent logical reasoning running through his sermons. It was pleasing too to notice the complete absence of vulgar rant. My ideas of a Wesleyan Church were derived from a morning spent in a little Welsh chapel some years ago. The parson there was full of blood and thunder, and the anathemas he called down on the heads of the unrepentant wicked were terrific and appalling. I half expected something of the same kind at Pitt-street. Judge, then, my surprise when such grand fare was set before me ! The Philistine.

Permanent link to this item

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/TO18801002.2.6

Bibliographic details

Observer, Volume 1, Issue 3, 2 October 1880, Page 19

Word Count
699

Evenings from Home. Observer, Volume 1, Issue 3, 2 October 1880, Page 19

Evenings from Home. Observer, Volume 1, Issue 3, 2 October 1880, Page 19

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