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Long, Long Weary Day,' sung by all your pretty cousins. Well, take up the original, and translate it if you can. The current version is very fair, perhaps as good a one as can be made. But after all it is 'only the wrong side of the piece of tapestry,' a faded leaf- a refraction in a cracked looking-glass. A 'Scotch' version might bring us a little nearer to it; but then, after all, one must needs be Scotch born to fully appreciate it. It may be accurately done, but with exact feeling it cannot.

--

and

However, be it good or bad, I give, with all due apology, my version with it the original. If the English be 'right homely,' let it be remembered that the original neither rhymes nor reasons 'in crimson,' as Friar John hath it.

The Old School-House on the Creek.

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It is exactly twenty years,
Since I set out to roam;

Once more, all right, my land I seek,
And stand by the school-house on the creek,
Just next to daddy's* home.

In a hundred houses I have been,

Of marble, stone, and brick;
And all that I have seen, I say,
I'd swap and welcome, any day,

For th' school-house by the creek.
Who's tired of home, and wants to fly,
Ah! let him never go;

I tell him plain, before-hand, true,
It's humbug all, 'twixt me and you,
And he will see that's so.

All round about in every place,

I've travelled, high and low;
But never had such real joy,
As when I was a merry boy,

In that old school, you know.

How all goes rushing through my head;
I stand and think and look,
And all long vanished from my brain,
As from its grave comes back again,
And stands there like a spook.

The little creek is playing where
I played exactly so;

And under the same elder-bush
Are playing too the little fish,
As smart as long ago.

The willow standing by the door
Shades the roof every bit;

The vine is green too, I declare,

And a black-bird nestles - look a-there!
O LORD! just think of it!

*Atty. Suabian, Aetti.

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Wer Rules verbrecht der nemmt sie Schleg, Who breaks the rules must get a crack,

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Poor little scamps! And there they squat! Just think! what misery!

It is no wonder, take my word,

That little 's learned, though much is heard, On that same bench, you see!

With all the drawbacks, any how,

'T was still a first-rate school; You'll find no schoolmaster - go look, Who'd cipher so, clear through the book, And never skip a rule.

Right cross he was, I must confess,
And used to whip all round;
Severely all good rules observed,
And who got licked that same deserved
Completely, I'll be bound.

When dinner came, and school was out, How good we felt, I say;

Some chose a game of ball i' the place, And some preferred to run a race,

And some would soldiers play.

The big girls swept the school-house out, And then the boys must go,

To help the girls they all pretend, But out the master makes them wend; 'Against the rules,' you know.

The little girls in ring go round,

Their fun by th' water share; But when big girls are in the ring, Now is n't it a curious thing!

Big boys are always there!

The large boys play at tag with them,
The small are always missed!
See how they jump like any cat,
And she who's caught-be sure of that-
My goodness! how she's kissed!

But Christmas was the jolly time,

What fun it was, I vow!

We went and shut the master out,
The doors and windows barred about -

'Master-- a present now!'

And mightily the master tried

By force his way to win;

But when he rapped, as if 't would fall, We hung a writing out on th' wall, 'O IF YOU CAN, CUM IN!'

At last the master must give in,

Sheepish, with ne'er a frown;
He handed apples round 'n a plate,
And may be 't was n't just first-rate,
To see how 't all went down!

O wu sin' now die Schuler all,
Wo hawa do gelernt?

A deel sin' wiet awek gereest,
By fortune uf un' ab gecheest -
Deel hot der Tod geernt!

Mei Hertz schwellt mit Gedanka uf,
Bis Ich schier gar verstick!
Konnt heula's dut mir nau so leed-
Un, dock gebt mir die groschte Freed,
Des Schul-haus an der Krick!

Good bye! alt Schul-haus-echo Kreischt
Good bye! Good bye! zurueck;

O Schul-haus! Schul-haus! mus Ich geh?
Un' du stehst nord do alle' aleh -
Du Schul-haus an der Krick!

O horcht ihr Leut wo nach mir lebt,

Ich Schreib euch noch des Stick:

Ich warn euch, droh euch, gebt docht acht
Un' nemmt for ever guten acht,
Des Schul-haus an der Krick!

Oh! where are now those school-boys all?

What have they learned to win?
Some, wide awake, afar must fare,
Some chased by fortune here and there,
Some Death has garnered in.

My heart beats fast with earnest thoughts,
My breath comes short and quick;
Oh! I could cry for very grief,
Yet feel strange joy-you bring relief,
Oh! school-house on the creek!

Good-by! old school-house, echo cries
Good-by again so quick;

O school-house! must I now begone,
And you still stand there all alone,
O school-house by the creek?

Ye people all for whom I write,

To this my warning stick:

I warn you, threat you, speak you fair,
Oh! always take the best of care

Of the school-house by the creek.

I regret that I am unable to give in this article, translations of the Haemweh, or 'Home-Sickness;' and the Regebogai, or 'Rainbow,' by the same author, which appeared in the Lancaster Guardian. The first of these poems is remarkable for a downright reality of homely home-feeling, expressed in plainest words, illustrated by word pictures, drawn from memory, with the vividness which can only result from the extremest simplicity. There is a foreshadowing of this even in the first verse:

ICH wees net was die Ursach is'

Wees net warum ich's thu':
En jedes Yohr mach ich der Weg
Der alte Haemath zu.

Hab weiters nix zu suche dort-
Ke Erbschaft un ke Geld;

Un doch treibt mich das Haem-gefuehl

So stark wie alle Welt

Nord start ich ewa ab, un geh'
Wie owa schon gemelt.'

'I DON'T know what the reason is,

It is n't very plain;

But every year I'm on the way
To the old home again.
There's nothing there for me to take
No money thence I'll bring;

But the home-sickness drives me there,
As strong as every thing;

So up I start and on I go,

Right glad when on the wing.'

With each succeeding verse arise fresh pictures of boyhood's olden time There is the old home through the trees; there the chimney which, when it smoked, awoke sweet longings in the boy, who was at work in the fields, for he augured by a very natural capnomancy, or 'smoke-divination,' that cakes were being baked. The red reflét of the sun, fire-like on the windows, which so often puzzled him of old, is there still; there are the poplars, but mightily grown since

'DIE Mamme war ans Grandats g'west

Dort warra Baeme wie die ;

Drei Wiplein hot sie mitgebracht
Un g'sat 'Dort plantzt sie hie!'

'Mother had been to grandfather's there were trees like these ; she brought three of their twigs home with her, and said: 'There, plant them here!' We did it - would you believe it now - those are the very same!' Another reminiscence of the mother in this poem is truly touching and beautiful.

measure.

In the 'Rainbow,' we have the same memories of childhood, but in a livelier In it the children hunt for the further end of the rainbow, believing that if they can once discover where its foot touches earth, there will lie all manner of fine golden cups, forks, and bowls. The little ones roam and ramble, but all in vain, through the clover; they return empty-handed, but get a lesson on searching for riches, with a fine moral, which for the poet at least was well worth as much as all the plate in Tiffany's show-cases.

I have heard with pleasure that Dr. Harbaugh has seriously considered the suggestion made to him by friends, that he should publish a volume of Pennsylvania German lyrics. Should he do so, it will be something more than a literary curiosity, something more than a relic of a quaint dialect, which will soon pass away; for it will be a collection of as truly natural rural poetry, elevated to beauty by simple truthfulness, as any living poet has written.

THE SEVENTEENTH-YEAR LOCUSTS.

(CICADA

SEPTEM DECEM.)

BY HON. G. P. DISOSWAY.

THIS insect has made its appearance, at different periods, in various sections of our land; and, from careful observation, exactly seventeen years after its last visit. Upon Staten Island, the surface of the earth frequently presents the appearance of a large sieve, from the innumerable holes made by the locusts, coming out of their subterranean passages to the open air. They spend almost the whole of their lives under ground, in the larva state, not living more than six or seven days of their seventeen years above ground, perfect or winged.

The locust takes scarcely any sustenance, as far as we can judge, after it reaches its perfect state, depositing its eggs on the ends of tender shoots of trees and shrubs, in little cavities, which they make for the purpose. When these are hatched, the larvæ or grubs, falling to the ground, bury themselves, and there live during the long period of their retirement, before a reäppearance. At first they appear in a very soft state, but casting off their sloughs, the sun and air soon harden the wings, the transformation requiring only a few minutes.

There is no insect in the animal world that multiplies so rapidly as these,

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