["This bird has long been celebrated for the manner in which it passes over the waves, pattering with its webbed feet and flapping its wings so as to keep itself just above the surface. It thus traverses the ocean with wonderful ease, the billows rolling beneath its feet and passing away under the bird without in the least disturbing it."--_Wood's Popular Natural History._] Only a Petrel, I, Telling the storm is nigh; Fleet o'er the waves I fly, When skies look stormy. When things are calm and slow, I 'midst Brum rocks lie low; But when wild breezes blow Men may look for me. Lured from my Midland home, When gales begin to roam Proudly I skim the foam, Flappering and pattering! I with the airiest ease Traverse the angriest seas Round the wild Hebrides Bellowing and battering. But the wild Irish coast Suits my strong flight the most. Breeze-baffling wings I boast, Nothing disturbs me. Cool 'midst the tempest's crash, Swift through the foam I dash, Wind flout or lightning flash Scares not, nor curbs me. Sea-birds are silly things, Squat bodies, stunted wings. Where is the bard who sings Penguin or puffin, Grebe, guillemot, or gull? Oh, the winged noodles, null, In timid flocks and dull, Squattin' and stuffin'! I, like the albatross, Love on the winds to toss, Where gales and currents cross My fodder finding. Let Gulls and Boobies rest Safe in a sheltered nest, I'm bold the breeze to breast Tamer fowl blinding. Only a Petrel, I, Calm in a calm I lie, But when 'neath darkening sky Strife lifteth her face, When the red lightnings glare, Then, from my rocky lair Darting, I cleave the air, Skimming sea's surface. Some swear the storm I raise; That's superstition's craze; But on tempestuous days, Wild, wet, and windy, Herald of storm I fly. Only a Petrel, I, But when my form you spy,-- Look out for shindy. * * * * * "BENEFITS FORGOT."--This is the title of a serial in _Scribners'_. Many over-strict persons will not read it, being under the impression that the story is essentially theatrical. A natural mistake. Nothing in an actor's life could give occasion for more bitter reflection than the memory of "Benefits Forgot," especially after they had been got up and advertised at great personal expense. * * * * * TO A FINE WOMAN. (_By a Little Man._) "Can my eyes reach thy size?" Asked the Lilliputian poet, As I've read. Can my head Reach your shoulder? It's below it. Women all are so tall Nowadays, but you're gigantic; One so vast, sweeping past, Makes my five feet four feel frantic. Each girl tries exercise, Rows, rides, runs, golf, cricket, tennis, Games for an Olympian-- Greek Olympia, not "Venice."