HOME RECOLLECTIONS. 177 



Lark ? V 'Is it true, mate, that there is a real English Skylark up 

 at Jack Welsted's?' 



So it went on for three days, and then came Sunday morning. Such 

 a sight had not been seen since the first spadeful of golden earth had 

 been turned! From every quarter east, west, north, and south 

 from far-off hills and from creeks twenty miles away, came a steady 

 concourse of great rough Englishmen, all brushed and washed as 

 decent as possible. The movement was by no means preconcerted, 

 as was evident from the half-ashamed expression of every man's face. 

 There they were, however, and their errand was to hear the Lark ! 



Nor were they disappointed : there, perched on his wood-and-iron 

 pulpit, was the little minister, and as though aware of the import- 

 ance of the task before him, he plumed his crest, and, lifting up his 

 voice, sung them a sermon infinitely more effectual than the bishop 

 himself could have preached. It was a wonderful sight to see that 

 three or four hundred men, some reclining on the ground ; some 

 sitting with their arms on their knees, and their heads on their 

 hands ; some leaning against the trees with their eyes closed, so that 

 they might the better fancy themselves at home, and in the midst 

 of English corn fields once more ; but, sitting, standing, or lying, all 

 were equally quiet and attentive, and when, after an hour's steady 

 preaching, the Lark left off, his audience soberly started off, a little 

 low-spirited perhaps, but on the whole much happier than when they 

 came. 



' I say, Joe,' one digger was heard to say to another, ' do you 

 think Welsted would sell him the bird, you know? I '11 give as 

 much gold dust for him as he weighs, and think him cheap.' 



' Sell him, be blowed ! ' was the indignant response ; ' how would 

 you like a feller to come to our village at home, and make a bid for 

 our parson ? ' 



This story recalls to our mind that affecting incident 

 mentioned by Mrs. Jameson, in her t Winter Studies and 

 Summer Eambles,' of an Irishman in Canada, who on 

 hearing the trill of one of these birds, introduced from the 

 mother country, that song of other days so dear and familiar 

 to him, stood, as he said, i stock still listening with his heart, 

 and with tearful eyes thinking of the time when, a wild slip 

 of a boy, he was lying on his back on the hill side above 

 his mother's cabin, and watching the Lark singing and 

 soaring over head.' 



And by this again we are reminded of that beautiful 

 lyric of Wordsworth's, i the Reverie of Poor Susan,' in 

 which he describes the emotions of a simple country girl, 

 whose steps were arrested in Cheapside by the song of a 

 caged songster : 



