On Sunday morning the people assembled early (rather too early for us) outside the chapel; and as soon as we had breakfasted, stowed away our packages, beds, etc., at the farther end, and covered them over with our tent to make things tidy, we let the people in. Mr Pillans’ gorgeous rug again did duty as covering for the rough little table which served as a reading-desk, while the doctor’s photographic chemical box made it a convenient height. The chapel was soon well filled with people, about four hundred and fifty in number; they came in following the governor and his officers, who took their seats first. Then came the commander’s wife, a very stout, pleasant-looking lady, who, with two or three others, were dressed in European style, as also were the chief men of the congregation. The ladies, however, did not patronise chairs, but had cushions laid on the floor. About half the congregation seemed to be Sihànaka, the rest were Hovas. As soon as service was over, the singers begged that I would teach them a new tune; so, as at other places, the large paper copy of one, which was then new and very popular at the capital, was brought out, and we practised it until we had to ask them to let our lunch be got ready. They then removed into the schoolhouse and sang away until it was almost time for the afternoon service; and then again in the evening until late at night. They also learned another new tune and hymn; and not only on Sunday night, but early next morning, they were still at these two tunes, and the last thing heard as we left the place was, “There is a happy land,” etc., over and over again. [Sidenote: ANNOYING AND PAINFUL GRASS]