Experts, when examining old documents of Colonial days, after counting thousands of signatures, found the New York 'Dutch' and the Pennsylvania 'Germans' were above the average in education in those days.

Their dialect, the so-called 'Pennsylvania German' or 'Dutch,' as it is erroneously called by many, is a dialect which we find from the Tauber Grund to Frankfurt, A.M.As the German language preponderated among the early settlers, the language of different elements, becoming amalgamated, formed a class of people frequently called 'Pennsylvania Dutch'." Professor Harbaugh, D.D., has written some beautiful poems in Pennsylvania German which an eminent authority, Professor Kluge, a member of the Freiburg University, Germany, has thought worthy to be included among the classics.

They are almost identical with the poems written by Nadler in Heidelberger Mundart, or dialect.
Mary, who had been listening intently to the Professor, said, when he finished talking to Ralph: "Oh, please, do repeat one of Professor Harbaugh's poems for us." He replied, "I think I can recall several stanzas of 'Das Alt Schulhaus an der Krick.' Another of Professor Harbaugh's poems, and I think one of the sweetest I have ever read, is 'Heemweeh.' Both poems are published in his book entitled 'Harbaugh's Harfe,' in Pennsylvania German dialect, and possess additional interest from the fact that the translations of these poems, in the latter part of the same book, were made by the author himself." "Oh, do repeat all that you remember of both the poems," begged Mary.
The Professor consented, saying: "As neither you nor Mr.Jackson understand the Pennsylvania German dialect, I shall translate them for you, after repeating what I remember.

'Heemweeh' means Homesickness, but first I shall give you 'Das Alt Schulhaus an der Krick'." [A]DAS ALT SCHULHAUS AN DER KRICK.
Heit is 's 'xactly zwansig Johr, Dass ich bin owwe naus; Nau bin ich widder lewig z'rick Un schteh am Schulhaus an d'r Krick, Juscht neekscht an's Dady's Haus.
Ich bin in hunnert Heiser g'west, Vun Marbelstee' un Brick, Un alles was sie hen, die Leit, Dhet ich verschwappe eenig Zeit For's Schulhaus an der Krick.
* * * * * Der Weisseech schteht noch an der Dhier-- Macht Schatte iwwer's Dach: Die Drauwerank is ah noch grie'-- Un's Amschel-Nescht--guk juscht mol hi'-- O was is dess en Sach! * * * * * Do bin ich gange in die Schul, Wo ich noch war gans klee'; Dort war der Meeschter in seim Schtuhl, Dort war sei' Wip, un dort sei' Ruhl,-- Ich kann's noch Alles sch'.
Die lange Desks rings an der Wand-- Die grose Schieler drum; Uf eener Seit die grose Mad, Un dort die Buwe net so bleed-- Guk, wie sie piepe rum! * * * * * Oh horcht, ihr Leit, wu nooch mir lebt, Ich schreib eich noch des Schtick: Ich warn eich, droll eich, gebt doch Acht, Un memmt uf immer gut enacht, Des Schulhaus an der Krick! [Footnote A: From "Harbaugh's Harfe." Published by the Publication and Sunday School Board of the Reformed Church, Philadelphia, Pa.

Used by permission.] THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE AT THE CREEK.
Today it is just twenty years, Since I began to roam; Now, safely back, I stand once more, Before the quaint old school-house door, Close by my father's home.
I've been in many houses since, Of marble built, and brick; Though grander far, their aim they miss, To lure heart's old love from this Old school-house at the creek.
* * * * * The white-oak stands before the door, And shades the roof at noon; The grape-vine, too, is fresh and green; The robin's nest!--Ah, hark!--I ween That is the same old tune! * * * * * 'Twas here I first attended school, When I was very small; There was the Master on his stool, There was his whip and there his rule-- I seem to see it all.
The long desks ranged along the walls, With books and inkstands crowned; Here on this side the large girls sat, And there the tricky boys on that-- See! how they peep around! * * * * * Ye, who shall live when I am dead-- Write down my wishes quick-- Protect it, love it, let it stand, A way-mark in this changing land-- That school-house at the creek.
HEEMWEH.
Ich wees net was die Ursach is-- Wees net, warum ich's dhu: 'N jedes Johr mach ich der Weg Der alte Heemet zu; Hab weiter nix zu suche dort-- Kee' Erbschaft un kee' Geld; Un doch treibt mich des Heemgefiehl So schtark wie alle Welt; Nor'd schtart ich ewe ab un geh, Wie owe schun gemeldt.
Wie nacher dass ich kumm zum Ziel, Wie schtarker will ich geh, For eppes in mei'm Herz werd letz Un dhut m'r kreislich weh.
Der letschte Hiwel schpring ich nuf; Un ep ich drowe bin, Schtreck ich mich uf so hoch ich kann Un guk mit Luschte hin; Ich seh's alt Schtee'haus dorch die Beem, Un wott ich war schunm drin.
* * * * * Wie gleich ich selle Babble Beem, Sie schtehn wie Brieder dar; Un uf'm Gippel--g'wiss ich leb! Hockt alleweil 'n Schtaar! 'S Gippel biegt sich--guk, wie's gaunscht-- 'R hebt sich awer fescht; Ich seh sei' rothe Fliegle plehn, Wann er sei' Feddere wescht; Will wette, dass sei' Fraale hot Uf sellem Baam 'n Nescht! * * * * * Guk! werklich, ich bin schier am Haus!-- Wie schnell geht doch die Zeit! Wann m'r so in Gedanke geht.
So wees m'r net wie weit.
Dort is d'r Schhap, die Walschkornkrip, Die Seiderpress dort draus; Dort is die Scheier, un dort die Schpring-- Frisch quellt des Wasser raus; Un guk! die sehm alt Klapbord-Fens, Un's Dheerle vor'm Haus.
* * * * * Zwee Blatz sin do uf dare Bortsch, Die halt ich hoch in Acht, Bis meines Lebens Sonn versinkt In schtiller Dodtes-Nacht! Wo ich vum alte Vaterhaus 'S erscht mol bin gange fort.
Schtand mei' Mammi weinend da, An sellem Rigel dort: Un nix is mir so heilig nau Als grade seller Ort.
* * * * * Was macht's dass ich so dort hi' guk, An sell End vun der Bank! Weescht du's?
Mei' Herz is noch net dodt, Ich wees es, Got sei Dank! Wie manchmal sass mai Dady dort, Am Summer-Nochmiddag, Die Hande uf der Schoos gekreizt, Sei Schtock bei Seite lag.
Was hot er dort im Schtille g'denkt?
Wer mecht es wisse--sag?
HOME-SICK NESS.
I know not what the reason is: Where'er I dwell or roam, I make a pilgrimage each year, To my old childhood home.
Have nothing there to give or get-- No legacy, no gold-- Yet by some home-attracting power I'm evermore controlled; This is the way the homesick do, I often have been told.
* * * * * As nearer to the spot I come More sweetly am I drawn; And something in my heart begins To urge me faster on.
Ere quite I've reached the last hilltop-- You'll smile at me, I ween!-- I stretch myself high as I can, To catch the view serene-- The dear old stone house through the trees With shutters painted green! * * * * * How do I love those poplar trees; What tall and stalely things! See! on the top of one just now A starling sits and sings.
He'll fall!--the twig bends with his weight! He likes that danger best.
I see the red upon his wings,-- Dark shining is the rest.
I ween his little wife has built On that same tree her nest.
* * * * * See! really I am near the house; How short the distance seems! There is no sense of time when one Goes musing in his dreams.
There is the shop--the corn-crib, too-- The cider-press--just see! The barn--the spring with drinking cup Hung up against the tree.
The yard-fence--and the little gate Just where it used to be.
* * * * * Two spots on this old friendly porch I love, nor can forget, Till dimly in the night of death My life's last sun shall set! When first I left my father's house, One summer morning bright, My mother at that railing wept Till I was out of sight! Now like a holy star that spot Shines in this world's dull night.
* * * * * What draws my eye to yonder spot-- That bench against the wall?
What holy mem'ries cluster there, My heart still knows them all! How often sat my father there On summer afternoon; Hands meekly crossed upon his lap, He looked so lost and lone, As if he saw an empty world, And hoped to leave it soon.
At the conclusion of his recital, Mary heartily thanked the Professor, and, at his request, obediently seated herself at the old, but still sweet-toned cottage organ, and expressed her willingness to play any old-time songs or hymns requested, and saying, "I know Aunt Sarah's favorite," commenced playing, "My Latest Sun is Sinking Fast," followed by "This Old-Time Religion," "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," "One of the Sweet Old Chapters," "Silver Threads Among the Gold" and the sweet old hymn, "In the Summer Land of Song," by Fanny Crosby.
At John Landis' request, she played and sang "Auld Lang Syne." "When You and I Were Young, Maggie," "Old Folks at Home" and "Old Black Joe." Lucy Robbins, when asked for her favorites, replied; "In the Gloaming," "The Old, Old Home'" "The Lost Chord" and "Better Bide a Wee." The Professor then asked his daughter Elizabeth to give them the music of a song from German Volkslied, or Folk Song, with the words of which all except Mary and Ralph were familiar.