The Quest of Glory. By Marjorie Bowen. (Methuen and Co.
Os.)—This novel comes under a category of fiction which we may describe as " the luxury of woo," and, as might be expected from the name of the author, takes no inconsiderable place in the class. There is presumably a demand for this kind of literary ware, and when it is sot off with the skill which Miss Bowen knows how to use we aro not altogether surprised. And yet -what a painful thing it is to read 1 The opening scene of the story is at Prague ; the second chapter describes the retreat of the French army in mid-winter. Here we have our first distinct shock. There is a gallant young fellow, Georges d'Espagnac, who was to be, we imagined, if not the hero—that place was allotted to the really historical figure of the Marquis de Vauvenargues—at least an understudy for that part. He dies of cold and hunger in the retreat. Felix opportunitate mortis, we may say, as we follow the career of the real hero as soldier, diplomatist, and author. We frankly concede that this career is very brilliantly described; possibly there is an excessive elaboration of detail; but the general effect is fine. So far it is easy to understand admiration of Miss Bowen's book. But pleasure in it P That is less intelligible. A person lapped in luxury, with everything so ordered as to make for contentment, family and friends all that could be desired, with what is really indispensable, a good digestion, might find a kind of enjoyment per contraria in The Quest of Glory even as, if the comparison be allowed, the blest, in a certain scheme of theology, enjoy the torments of the damned. But can there be many such in this imperfect world P Anyhow they are not easily to be found among critics.
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