HOW A SKYLARK PREACHED A SERMON. 
How a Skylark preached a Sermon. — Stories, as well as 
poems, concerning the skylark abound ; but one of the best, 
both for interest and as showing the constant love of English- 
men for this truly English bird, came to my knowledge a few 
months ago. 
As you are doubtless aware there is no such thing as a song 
bird natural to Australia ; there are birds who chatter, birds 
who shriek, but no bird that sings. Well, there was a young 
man who went out from England as a gold-digger, and was 
lucky enough to make some money, and prudent enough to 
take care of it. He opened a “ store ” (a sort of rough shop, 
where everything, from candles to coffins, are sold) at a place 
called “ The Ovens,” a celebrated gold-field, above two hundred 
miles from Melbourne. Still continuing to prosper, he, like a 
dutiful son, wrote home for his father and mother, requesting 
them to come out to him, and, if they possibly could, to bring 
with them a lark. So a lark was procured, and in due time 
the old folks and their feathered charge took ship and departed 
from England. The old man, however, took the voyage so 
much to heart, that he died, but the old woman and the lark 
landed in sound health at Melbourne, and were speedily for- 
warded to Mr. Wilsted’s store at The Ovens. 
It was on a Tuesday when they arrived, and the next 
morning the lark was hung outside the tent, and ah once com- 
menced piping up. The effect was electric. Sturdy diggers — 
big men with hairy faces and great brown hands — paused in the 
midst of their work, and listened reverently. Drunken, brutal 
diggers left unfinished the blasphemous sentence, and looked 
bewildered and ashamed. Ear and near the news spread like 
lightning — “ Have you heard the lark ?” “ Is it true, mate, that 
there is a real English skylark up at Jack Wilsted’s?” 
So it went on for three days, and then came Sunday morn- 
ing. Such a sight had not been seen since the first spadefull 
of the 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 ! 
Mor were they disappointed. There, perched in his wood 
and iron pulpit, was the little minister, and, as though aware 
of the importance of the task before him, he plumed his crest, 
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