ON the 8th of September 1869, a religious revolution took place in Madagascar. The priests and diviners of the idol Kelimaláza came to the Queen, and urged that, like her predecessors, she should again take the idol into her palace, and place her whole kingdom under its protection. The Queen had, from the commencement of her reign, eighteen months before, taken her stand as a Christian; and in the previous February, in the presence of her people, had been baptized as a Christian. Her husband, the Prime Minister, and an influential body of nobles and officers, had adopted the same faith: and Christianity was making great strides among her subjects generally. The keepers of the three national idols had in consequence been deposed from their position as keepers of the ruler’s conscience, as directors of lucky and unlucky days, and as instigators of the persecutions, from which the land had suffered great harm. They had also been deprived of their special privileges. They were no longer Andríans, entitled to the scarlet umbrella, exempt from the jurisdiction of the ordinary Courts, and having the power of life and death over their own clan; they were simply Hovas, and were bound to render to their sovereign that feudal service, to which all other members of the tribe were subject. All this was trying enough. Men, who have long enjoyed exclusive privileges at others’ expense, are usually dissatisfied when their vested interests are set aside without compensation. And when, in the month of June, the Queen laid the foundation of her Chapel Royal, and summoned these priestly families to do their share in building it, they made a last desperate attempt to recover their former position. They came to the Queen and urged her to place the land under the idols once more. The occasion was felt to be an important one. There was a hurried consultation. A large number of officers was summoned; and a discussion commenced among them as to how the difficulty should be met. A happy suggestion offered by one of them, that the idols should be burned, was heartily approved by all. Due authority was given by the Queen, and several officers were at once dispatched on horseback to the village where the chief idol was kept. Arrived at the idol-house, the leader went in and brought the idol out, “Whose idol is this?” he asked of the bystanders. “It belongs to the Queen,” was their reply. “If this idol be mine,” saith Ránaválo-manjáka, “I need it not: let it be burned.” And burned it was, with all its trappings, to their consternation and grief. The other royal idols shared the same fate.