I have thought often, when listening to British birds at their morning rehearsals, what a sensation would ensue if Master Bob, in his odd-fashioned bib and tucker, should swagger into their midst, singing one of those Low- Dutch voluntaries which he loves to pour down into the ears of our mowers in haying time.

Not only would such an apparition and overture throw the best-trained orchestra of Old World birds into amazement or confusion, but astonish all the human listeners at an English concert.

With what a wonderment would one of these blooming, country milkmaids look at the droll harlequin, and listen to those familiar words of his, set to his own music:- Go to milk! go to milk! Oh, Miss Phillisey, Dear Miss Phillisey, What will Willie say If you don't go to milk! No cheese, no cheese, No butter nor cheese If you don't go to milk.
It is a wonder that in these days of refined civilization, when Jenny Lind, Grisi, Patti, and other celebrated European singers, some of them from very warm climates, are transported to America to delight our Upper-Tendom, that there should be no persistent and successful effort to introduce the English lark into our out-door orchestra of singing-birds.

No European voice would be more welcome to the American million.

It would be a great gain to the nation, and be helpful to our religious devotions, as well as to our secular satisfactions.