Faithfully to each one's hide. Masters of Arts, they're soon approved, And universally beloved; And, as one might well expect, Art shows practical effect. CONCLUSION. One day travelling through the land, With a field-glass in his hand, A well-dressed man of fortune came; Mister Peep, they called his name. "Can't I, as I pass," said he, "View the distant scenery? Beauty reigns elsewhere, I know, Whereas here 'tis but so-so." Here he pitched into the pond, Viewed the mud and naught beyond. "Paul and Peter,--look and see Where the gentleman can be!" So said Fittig, who just then Walked forth with the little men; But fu'l soon it was made plain Where the gentleman had lain, When he, minus hat and glass, Stood all dripping on the grass. "_Allez!_ Plish and Plum, _apport!_" Came the order from the shore. Strictly trained to fetch and carry,-- Not a moment did they tarry,-- Fetched the lost goods from the deep. "Very well," cried Mister Peep. "Nice dogs, friend, I'll buy the two; How'll a hundred dollars do?" Papa Fittig's head inclined: "The gentleman is very kind." On new legs he seems to stand, Such a pile of cash in hand. "Ah, you darlings, Plish and Plum! We must part--the hour has come-- On this very spot, right here, Where we four, this time last year, Were united, by the pond, In a sweet and solemn bond. May your life in peace be led, With beefsteak for daily bread." Now all this was seen by Sly, Just then happening to pass by. "Very pleasant," mutters he, "Yes, no doubt, but not for me." Envy, like a poisoned dart, Stung him to the very heart. All before him misty grows; Legs give way and back he goes, Down into the oozy damp; Quenched forever is life's lamp! Left alone upon the shore, Quickened by his breath no more, Faintly gleams the expiring soul Of the pipe within the bowl; One blue cloud I see ascend, _Futt!_ the tale is at an End. University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.