New-York tribune., 1873-09-08
BOSTON,.
LITERARY NOTES.

tFRoM A REGULAR CORRESPONDENT OF THE TRTBUNE.l
BOSTON, Sept. 6.-J. r. 0sgOOd g. Co. are
about 10 publish book from the proofs OF which have
received much pleasure, viz. the Poems" Of W d.
HOwells. Mr. Howells Is best known prose writer
His Venetian Journeys" his " Chance Acquaintance
Wedding Journey" etc, etc, have been widely reau
BY the lovers OF what and finest In literature DOM
IN England and in America. Everywhere his name 10
familiar as author Of dainty, delicate denelous
prose; and now We have a volume OF MS
poems. possessing all the qualities OF ms prose-
clothed with dreamy grace Vi rn' 'n,"
which adOrns his thoughts as girls sof raiinent so'
OF her beauty Tenderness. rather than tragic power
isMr Howels's distinguishing characteristic; ye' 'uo
"Piots Story" with which the book opens Is 70 u.
last degree tragic and highly wrought II is story OF
The days before the War; A,planter, weakly goou-
patured ana kind, aud feakly go0d-natured anu
vicious slender bo4y and SOUL 1T neither for o'lDs
nor hating" had brought board Mississippi steam
boat beautiful woman. with just blood enough Ion
her mother darkening her eyes and her mar "
make her race known to a trader" but whom any
ordinary would have thought TO De w'e lne
planter staked his money against the ganoerS Oh 'ne
boat and lost and lost, until at last he staked her-ano
still he lost He went to to tell her. and the gam
bler who had won her with him-a picturesque ras-
eal with long black hair and mustaches. The woman
turped and seeing her MASTER rose to meet him with
smile Ike wfes aud then her eyes fell on the gam
bler face dark aud ustfu and fierce. and full OF mer
eiess cunning" few words made her understand her
fate. Then.
"say is so' she cried. On the weak white lips OF
Died a scky smile, and he said. Louise, have sold
God is my judgei MAY never see such look of de-
Descste anguish, as that which the cast on her
Grpinc her breast with her little hands if he had
Standing IN silence space, as fixed as the Indian
Carved out of wood, on the pilOthouse OF the old
Then. with gurelng moan, ike the sound in the
Came back her voice, that rising. nuttered, through
Into terrible shrek stopped my heart while she
Sold me sold me sod-And you promised to give me
PROMISED me, for the sake of our htue boy in Saint
LOuisi
whai viii you say our boy when he cries for Inc there
in Saint LOulsf -
What Will you say to our God l-Ah, you have been
No cod GOD! He shall hear itand all of the angels
Even the devils in hen!-and none will believe when
Sold l1e!"-Her voice died away with wall, and in
silence
Down she sank deck and covered her face with
htr hngers.
The passengers hocked round the woman. The chill
dren cried and their mothers hugged them closer but
the gambler ordered the Captain TO put him of at the
next town and roughly bade the rise at
aud get ready 10 20 with him.
bhcshe seemed not 10 heed MN, Dut rose nAe one lnal
Slid from ms grasp and neety the steps of the
gangWdy,
Up to the iurricane-deck, in silence, without lamenta
uOu.
Straight to the OF the boat where the wheel
Followed her last t she turned and stood at bay for
Looking them in face and in the face Of the gambler
Not to hcr-nOt one of all the compassionate
Not one 10 save her ot all the plying angels in heaven
Not bolt Of Goa TO strike hm dead there before her.
Wildly she waved HIM back, We waiting III silence and
over the swarthy face the gambler pallor of pas.
Passed like CLEAN of lightning the west in the
White sue stood and mute till he put forth his hand to
secure her:
Then she turned and lcaped-ln mid air futered
Down then, whiring fell, like broken-winged bird
Down the cruel wheel that caught her, and hurled
her, aud crushed her.
Ana the fssming water plunged her. and hid her for
One to hear the sulen close her. No
the pilot hated by that spot alone in the
night time.
In striking this stormy and exciting tale is
the exquisite poetic tenderness Of Forlorn" the poem
which next succeeds the PILOTS story" 1t is poet
sOrroWlug for her who The OF the world
10 HIM. He has lost her, sOmehow-through his own
colduess or carelesSneSS perhapSOr because he was
not strong enough TO compel his fate She is not
dead only dead TO him. aud he passes his days and
nights long search and pinng for her. Most Of ell,
he baunts the old house where she used TO be-
Red roses, in the slender burning,
Breathed all upon the air
The passion and the tenderness and yearning,
The waiting and the doubling and despair.
Still with the music Of her voice was haunted
Through all lts charmed rhymes,
The open book of such a one as chanted
The things he dreamed IN old, Old sUmmer-times
The silyern chords OF the piano trembed
still with the music wrung
From them; the silence of the room dissembled
Tne closes Of the songs that she had sung
The languor OF the crimson shawl's abasement--
Upon the iOor-the absence at the easement,
The solitude and hush were full OF her.
without. and going from the room aud never
Departing, did depart
Her steps and one that too late forever
Felt them 20 heavy Ger his broken heart
And sitting in the houses desolation,
He could not bear the gloom,
The vanishing encounter and evasion
OF things that were and were not In the room.
Through midnight streets he followed neeng visions
OF faces aud Of forms;
He heard old teDderneSses and derisions
Amid the sobs and cries OF midnight storms.
BY midnight lamps and from the darkness under
That lamps made at their feet
He saw sweet eyes peer out in innocent wonder,
And sadly follow after hun down the street.
Between him and his quest the monday crowds OBJ
truded their resessness he felt the soft uter
slken robes as he turned some Ahe was aware
that she looked at him from garret easements he
her shadow swim upon the walls Of splendid mansions
she flashed upon him from rapid carriages and then,
back from all the hopeessnes OF search she drew him
90 the old house. at night He thought she TO
him, but IL was only the phantom Of his hope. Then
turning, he her looks regard him out Of the white
mirror then from the window he beheld her, holding
yearning TO him from the vague darkness OF the
night she looked his shoulder he read but the
face was there no longer when he turned toward IT. She
followed him down the long stairs or whispering
before him her shadow went through the rooms. The
spiders made their webs there, the hat cung to the
walls, and all