When the time is near for dying, Shield me, save, and set me free! SONNING CHURCH. BAPTISMS. J. A. S October 3rd, Walter Wakelin, son of Edward & Ellen Cox, Sonning. 6th,-(Privately), Ethel, daughter of Bransby and Eliza Cloves Brooks, Sonning. roth, Theresa Annie, daughter of Charles and Mary May, Sonning Eye. 10th, -Elizabeth Sarah, daughter of William and Elizabeth Sarah Lambden, Woodley. MARRIAGE. October 13th,-At Sonning Church, Joseph Wells to Maria White, both of Woodley. SONNING CHURCH. BURIALS. October 3rd, Alice White, of Playhatch, aged 3 months. 15th,-Fanny Hambledon, Woodley, aged 1 year. Bibles, Prayer Books, and Hymn Books, may be obtained at the Boys' School, Sonning. 15 M. 16 Tu. 7 с 24th Sunday after Trinity. Holy Commu 8 M. [nion. 21 с 26th Sunday after Trinity. Holy Com. [munion. 9 T. 25 Th. 12 Fr. 13 Sa. 14 C 25th Sunday after Trinity. Holy Baptism. 30 Tu. S. Andrew, Ap. Back numbers of the Magazine can be had on application. Church Services. ADVENT. SONNING.-Sundays, 11 o'clock in the morning; half-past 3 in the afternoon. Wednesdays, 7 o'clock in the evening. ALL SAINTS'.-Sundays, 11 o'clock in the morning; 3 in the after noon. Wednesdays, II o'clock in the morning. THE PROPAGATION OF THE GOSPEL. The annual collections in aid of the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, were made on the First Sunday in Advent, November 28th. The Right Rev. the Bishop of Colombo preached at Sonning in the morning. The collections at Sonning amounted to £18 6s. 8d. and at All Saints' to £2 3s. 6d. THE JANUARY NUMBER OF THE MAGAZINE. We are happy to inform our readers that arrangements have been made for re-printing the first number of the Magazine, so that all who now subscribe, will be able to complete the volume for the year. The re-printed January number can be had any time after the first week in December. A READING. We have much pleasure in announcing that Mr. James Hallett has kindly consented to give a Reading in the Boys' Schoolroom, Sonning, on Thursday, December 16th. Further notices will be issued nearer the day. CENTRAL FRANCE. LE PUY. The next place which we visited in Auvergne was the city of Le Puy. To accomplish the journey there from Clermont in one day, we were obliged to rise at four in the morning. It was cold and damp, almost raining, the great square in front of our inn, was dark and deserted; not a sound was to be heard except the jingling of the horses' bells, as they stood sleepily shaking their heads, ready to take us to the railway; not a human being was to be seen except a few of the hotel servants groping about with lanterns. In fact an early start is rather a melancholy proceeding; I thought that I and my fellow travellers wrapped up in our cloaks, with our staves in our hands, looked like guilty people stealing away in darkness and silence from the scene of our misdemeanour, or like persons making their escape from a besieged or plague-stricken place. An hour's sleep in the railway carriage however, and the dawning of day, soon revive the spirits. The train took us as far as a village named Langeac, whence we had to travel to Le Puy in a country diligence or stage coach. Langeac is a miserable filthy little place in the midst of beautiful hills. We got some breakfast in a dirty cabaret or small inn, crowded with people as dirty as the inn, and then waited nearly an hour for the starting of the diligence. This vehicle was in shape much like an omnibus; the driver sat on a small perch in front. I and one of my companions on a small seat, covered by a hood, just behind and below him, so that his legs were dangling before us all the way. Our other companion being too tall to arrange himself comfortably under this little canopy, betook himself to the inside of the vehicle, of which the inmates looked neither cleanly nor refined. I specially remember a man with a large red nose, carrying billiard cues in his hand, and a fat coarse looking woman, holding some live hens on her lap. Three sorry looking horses were at last harnessed to this choice conveyance, and we slowly jolted through the steep, uneven streets, a wild haggard looking woman (the landlady I believe), running alongside the leading horse and screaming out directions to the driver. We soon reached a broad river, the Allier; the bridge had been broken down by a heavy flood the year before, so we had to cross in ferry boats; the great cumbrous diligence, under the superintendence of the screaming woman, was successfully shoved and hauled into one, and we passengers crossed in another. Our journey to Le Puy lasted several hours; the road was for the most part exceedingly pretty, sometimes winding round the shoulders of hills, sometimes crossing deep ravines, or going along the side of them, through fir woods. We stopped once to refresh horses and passengers, at a wretched little roadside inn, but hungry as we were, two of us found it impossible to eat the cold mutton reeking with garlic, which was set before us. At last, about five in the afternoon, from the top of a hill, we looked down upon Le Puy in the distance. And a most extraordinary sight it was. The city is built on several irregular rocky heights which start up abruptly, some almost needle shaped. The Cathedral is planted on the top of one, a colossal figure of the Virgin Mary and Infant Saviour on another, and on a third, which is pointed like a spire, is a little chapel dedicated to St. Michael. Soon after our arrival we walked to the Cathedral. The ascent to it is greater than to any Church I ever saw. You approach it first of all by a steep and narrow street, and then by a flight of 134 steps; the West front seems quite to overhang you as you look at it from the bottom of this stone staircase. Inside it is rather deficient in beauty, for it suffered terribly in the Great Revolution, when so much destruction was wrought among the Churches of France, and it was badly restored in the reign of Louis the 18th. The next day, after another visit to the Cathedral, we threaded our way through steep narrow crooked streets, like those of an Italian town, to the foot of the Roche (or the Rock) Corneille, on the top of which is placed the great image of the Virgin Mary and the Holy Child. It is made of 212 cannons brought from the Crimea, and is beautifully executed; the attitude of the Virgin is graceful, and the Infant Jesus, whom she holds in her arms, is stretching out one hand as if in the act of blessing the town beneath. There is an ascent by flights of steps to the top of the rock, and a winding staircase inside the image itself, which I went up and sat on the top of the head, holding on to the circlet of iron stars which surrounds it. The view over the whole town and the beautifully hilly country around it, from this elevation, is quite magnificent. As we went down the rock again, it was curious to see the heads of persons who were ascending the inside of the image, peeping out like little dolls, through the slits made in the drapery to let in air and light. Another climb up 274 steps, brought us to the top of the needle-shaped rock, on which the little chapel of St. Michael is perched. This was founded by a Bishop of Le Puy, in the 11th century; the interior is almost circular, supported on low columns well carved at the capitals; it is quite empty, for service is held only once a year in this airy little Church, on St. Michael's Day. Such are the chief points in Le Puy which are capable of description. But no description of these peculiar features in detail, can give any adequate image to the mind of the very peculiar character of the city as a whole. It is a place to be seen rather than described. Its antiquity (a Bishop of Le Puy was among the first Crusaders) its quaintness, its remote and romantic situation among the volcanic hills of Auvergne, invest it with a singular charm and interest such as many greater and more celebrated places fail to afford. We reached Lyons by rail late that evening, and left it early in the morning, travelling due South. It was raining and chilly at Lyons, but after passing Valence, the point where the climate changes, it became excessively hot, for about here you pass into sunny smiling Provence. The line follows the course of the Rhone, which flows along with a rapid eddying stream. On either side of it are vineyards and meadows, planted with mulberry trees, willows and poplars, and above rise high hills, softly beautiful at a distance, but bare and arid on a closer view. Far away on the left-hand, the heavy massive range of the Alps of Dauphiny appears. About two o'clock we reached Orange. The interest of this place consists in two splendid memorials of the time when France (or Gaul as it was called) belonged to the Romans. These are an Arch of Triumph, and the remains of a Theatre, both solid vast structures of stone. Whatever the Romans made or built, roads, bridges, aqueducts, theatres, they always executed in the most gigantic massive scale. They evidently intended that their works should last as long as the world itself. We walked first to the Arch. It is impressive, simply from the appearance of solidity, strength, durability and vastness; it is a picture of majestic repose. The sides are sculptured with scenes emblematic of victory by sea and land. The Theatre is a stupendous piece of solid stone-work. The huge wall which formed the back of the stage still remains; it is 111 feet high, 13 feet thick, and 334 long, composed of great blocks fitted together without cement. Immediately in the centre of it is a great niche in which was placed the statue of the Emperor. Passing through a door in the centre of this wall, you find yourself opposite the semi-circular rows of stone seats which were built fronting the stage, against the side of a hill. On one of these seats can be traced the carved letters "Eq. Grad. iii." which is short for "Equitum Gradus iii," signifying that this was the third row assigned to the Equites or Knights, a class who occupied some of the best seats in the Roman theatres. Such are the relics of proud Imperial Rome, which tower with oppressive grandeur over the mean little dwellings of the modern town of Orange. We walked back to the station, as we had walked from it, under our umbrellas, to shield us from the scorching sun, in the midst of carts and mules, laden with grapes, for the inhabitants were in the full bustle of the vintage. Late in the evening we reached Avignon. W. R. S. |