"If only those old things could speak, what stories, etc., etc.!" Most of us, at one time or another, have endured or inflicted that well-intentioned banality. And here is Miss MARJORIE BOWEN, most skilful of historical romancers, setting out to tell us precisely what stories. She calls her volume _Shadows of Yesterday_ (SMITH, ELDER), explaining in a preface that is by no means the least attractive chapter that they are supposed to be the histories attached to a collection of antique oddments in a little Italian museum. No one who remembers with what persuasive charm Miss BOWEN has handled her long costume novels will be astonished at the atmosphere with which she manages to invest these little episodes; a ring, a jewel, a CHARLES II. jug--these are the materials out of which by aid of fancy she recreates the past. Of the lot, I myself should give the palm to the jug's story, a spirited little thing enough, in which a country maid, awaiting in a cottage the coming of a lover, whom she knows as "Lord Anthony," meets instead my Lady CASTLEMAINE, who tells her that the defaulting swain is really His Majesty, and explains that there exist (to put it tactfully) certain prior engagements of the royal affection. The end is a brilliant comedy stroke, which I will not spoil by anticipation for you. It is this capacity for the unexpected that saves Miss BOWEN from the danger, obviously inherent in her plan, of being too tightly bound down by the need of forcing her catalogue of relics into prominence. She has done larger work, but nothing more agreeable. * * * * *