[Illustration:  Madagascar—­gathering of the people for the making of laws.]

On the day of the coronation three hundred thousand people gathered to meet their sovereign.  Preceded by a hundred ladies, and by her Ministers and Council, the Queen was borne to the assembly in simple state.  The old scarlet banners, which were the emblems of the idols’ presence, were wanting in the procession.  Around the canopy that shaded her throne, were written the words of the angels which welcomed the Redeemer into the world.  In front and to her right stood the table which bore her crown.  On another table to the left, was the Bible presented to her predecessor by the British and Foreign Bible Society.  Her royal speech contained many elevated sentiments:  but it specially announced to all her people liberty of conscience in regard to christianity of the fullest kind.  “This is my word to you, O ye under heaven, in regard to the praying:  it is not enforced:  it is not hindered:  for God made you.”

For several weeks in a quiet way worship was maintained, and the Bible read in the palace on the Sabbath-day:  the native ministers were invited to conduct the service.  In the country districts gratifying advance has been made.  Village chapels have increased in number.  In the sacred city of Ambohimanga which foreigners may not enter, two churches have been gathered outside the walls:  and on one occasion one of the missionary brethren addressed a vast congregation in the open market near.  In Vonizongo the churches have increased.  Far away to the south of the capital, the visits of our brethren to the Betsileo awoke new life among the converts; and, among the forests of Tanala, the noble princess Ittovana, one of the ablest among the able nobles of the island, has declared herself a Christian.

The most conspicuous manifestation of the sympathy of the Queen and her leading nobles with this advance of religious opinion appeared in November last, on the opening of the second of the Memorial Churches, the church at AMBOHIPOTSY.  Thirty years ago, in March, 1836, on a Sunday morning, the little prison of the capital at Ambatonakanga was opened, and a young woman was led forth to be put to death.  She was just thirty, fair to look upon, and of gentle manners; and her face was lit with that bright radiance which springs from the conviction that God and heaven are very near.  She walked forth with firm step; she was surrounded by the guards; and though going to die, she began to sing in a joyous tone the hymns that she had loved.  Followed by a crowd, of which some hooted and some were lost in wonder, she passed through the city, towards the dreary ditch at the south end of the long ridge on which the capital is built.  The scene before her and on either side was one of unusual beauty.  East, west, and south, the broad green plain of Imerina stretched to the