tain the truth, or falsehood, of the poets they admire. The
accuracy of Byron's descriptions of foreign lands has long
been admitted; the accuracy of Mr. Miller's descriptions is not
admitted, we believe, by those who are familiar with the ground
he professes to have gone over.

Another point of resemblance between Byron and Mr. Miller is,
that the underlying idea of their poetry is autobiographic. We
do not say that it was really so in Byron's case, although he, we
know, would have had us believe as much; nor do we say that it
is really so in Mr. Miller's case, although he, too, we suspect,
would have us believe as much.

Mr. Miller resembles Byron as his "Arizonian" resembles Byron's
"Lara." _Lara_ and _Arizonian_ are birds of the same dark
feather. They have journeyed in strange lands; they have had
strange experiences; they have returned to Civilization. Each, in
his way, is a Blighted Being! "Who is she?" we inquire with the
wise old Spanish Judge, for, certainly, _Woman_ is at the bottom
of it all. If our readers wish to know _what_ woman, we refer
them to "Arizonian:" they, of course, have read "Lara."

Byron was a great poet, but Byronism is dead. Mr. Miller is not a
great poet, and his spurious Byronism will not live. We shall all
see the end of Millerism.

_THE REAL ROMANCE._

The author laid down his pen, and leaned back in his big easy
chair. The last word had been written--Finis--and there was the
complete book, quite a tall pile of manuscript, only waiting for
the printer's hands to become immortal: so the author whispered
to himself. He had worked hard upon it; great pains had been
expended upon the delineations of character, and the tone and
play of incident; the plot, too, had been worked up with much
artistic force and skill; and, above all, everything was so
strikingly original; no one, in regarding the various characters
of the tale, could say: this is intended for so-and-so! No,
nothing precisely like the persons in his romance had ever
actually existed; of that the author was certain, and in that he
was very probably correct. To be sure, there was the character
of the country girl, Mary, which he had taken from his own
little waiting-maid: but that was a very subordinate element,
and although, on the whole, he rather regretted having introduced
anything so incongruous and unimaginative, he decided to let it
go. The romance, as a whole, was too great to be injured by one
little coun