Skylark Sermon
How a Skylark Preached a Sermon.
STORIES, as well as poems, about the sky-
lark abound; but the following story shows
the constant love of Englishmen for this
truly English bird. There is no such thing
as a song-bird natural to Australia; there
are birds that chatter, and birds that
shriek, but no bird that sings. Well, there
was a young man who went out from
England as a gold-digger, and was fortunate
enough to make some money, and prudent
enough to take care of it. He opened a
"store" (a sort of rough shop, where almost
anything could be had) at a place called
"The Ovens," a noted gold-field about two
hundred miles from Melbourne. As he
continued to prosper, this young man, like
a dutiful son, wrote home for his father and
mother, asking them to come out to him,
and, if they possibly could, to bring with
them a lark.
The old folks agreed, and in due time, with
a lark in charge, they took ship and left
the shores of England.
His father, however, took the change so
much to heart that he died; but his mother
and the lark landed in sound health at
Melbourne, and were speedily forwarded to
Mr. Wilsted's store at "The Ovens." It
was on Tuesday when they arrived, and the
next morning the lark was hung outside
the hut, and at once began piping up. The
fleet was wonderful. Sturdy diggers big
men with great brown hands paused in the
midst of their work and listened reverently,
drunken diggers left unfinished the
blasphemous sentence, and looked
bewildered and ashamed. Far and near the
news spread rapidly: "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 morning. Such a sight had
not been seen since the first spade-full of
the golden earth had been turned! From
every quarter east, west, north, and south
from far-off hill, and from creeks twenty
miles away, came a steady stream of
rough, brawny Englishmen, all brushed and
washed as decent as possible. The
movement was not arranged beforehand,
as was plain from the half-ashamed
expression of every man's face as he met
his acquaintance in the crowd. There they
were, however, and their errand was to
hear the lark! Nor were they disappointed.
There, perched in his wood-and-iron pulpit,
was the little minister, and, as if he knew
the importance of the task before him, he
plumed his crest, and, lifting up his voice,
sang them a sermon, which touched his
audience more closely than perhaps even
the bishop himself could have done.
It was a wonderful sight to see those
three or four hundred men, some lying 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 cornfields once more;
but, whether sitting, standing, or lying, all
were equally quiet and attentive; and when,
after an hour's steady preaching, the lark
ceased, his audience suddenly started off,
a little low-spirited, perhaps--, but on the
whole happier than when they came. Yea,
and doubtless in many a breast the lark's
warble had stirred the memories of the
lessons learned in the village school, or in
the village church at home, and had
wakened unuttered longings for those
"means of grace" for which they had cared
so little when they were within their reach.
So the skylark preached his sermon, and
many of his congregation wished that they
could have taken him away with them, to
preach to them in their distant diggings
day by day.
"I say, Joe," one digger was heard to say
to another, "do you think Wilsted would
sell him the bird, you know? I'll give as
much gold-dust for him as he weighs, and
think him cheap."
"Sell him! not he!" was the indignant
answer; "how would you like a fellow to
come to our village at home, and make a
bid for our parson?"
"Home Pets."
