Wintering in the Riviera: With Notes of Travel in Italy and France, and Practical Hints to Travellers — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
Wintering in the Riviera: With Notes of Travel in Italy and France, and Practical Hints to Travellers
John Stuart Mill · en
It is too much the custom in churches in Scotland, after sermon,
to close with a hymn, a prayer, and an anthem. After an impressive
sermon, it seems only calculated to drive out the impression to have,
immediately after, the same subject and the same thoughts droned out by
the congregation in a melancholy paraphrase to a doleful tune, followed
up by the blare and fanfare of an elaborate high–sounding anthem
performed by the choir according to book. The English method, where all
this would be more appropriate, is to close quietly. But sometimes the
minister stops suddenly short, and with startling rapidity utters, ‘Now
to God the Father,’ etc. However, the rule is, whether with or without
this invocation, to close with either benediction, or a short prayer
and benediction. We did not often go to the west church at Mentone,
though near to us, because the flavour of the service inclined to be
‘high’; but the closing there was always pleasing. After the minister
had pronounced the benediction, and before the congregation rose from
their knees, the choir (composed principally of young ladies with good
and trained voices), to the accompaniment of the organ, in subdued
tones, so suitable to parting with reverent step and slow, sung to a
soft sweet tune the following simple, perhaps child–like verse:—
‘Lord, keep us safe this night, Secure from all we fear; May angels
guard us while we sleep, Till morning light appear.’
FIRST WINTER IN THE RIVIERA.
VI.
_LONDON TO SOUTH OF FRANCE._
SELECTING the route to Paris by Folkestone, we left London on the
afternoon of 1st November 1876, and slept at Folkestone. The steamboat
was to sail the following morning at 9.15, and to have proceeded direct
would have involved leaving London at the inconveniently early hour
of 7.10 A.M. The train by Dover and Calais departs fixedly at 7.40
A.M., so that one is not much better off by taking that route. But on
proceeding by Boulogne, there is a chance that the state of the tide
may throw the time of sailing to a later hour; only when this is the
case, it involves arriving at the journey’s end late in the evening.
The train in connection with the boat by which we were to sail, was due
in Paris at 4.40 afternoon—a nice time at which to arrive.
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