have irresistibly drawn the novelists to the thought of the fine story that could be written around it. So far none has succeeded in the attempt to bring that dynamic and tragic experience into literature, but, in addition to some conventional fiction, the stirring of the national being by Sinn Fein has provided us with two novels of great documentary interest: The Clanking of Chains, by Brinsley MacNamara, and The Gael, by Edward E. Lysaght, both published by Messrs. Maunsel of Dublin. Mr. Lysaght was a sort of unofficial Sinn Fein representative at the Plunkett Convention, when Mr. Lloyd George decided to keep the Irish talking until America had come into the war. He was the first to leave it, being followed shortly afterwards by A. E., when these two sincere believers in the scheme discovered that the whole affair was a hoax. He is the author of Irish Eclogues, an original booklet of verse, and has reversed all the traditions and conventions of the class to which he belongs by becoming a practical and successful farmer and a strong nationalist, in spite of his having gone through the devitalizing mill of the "best" English school and university education. His personality has survived the cult of "good form," that thoroughly British substitute for good brains.
In spite of its title, The Gael has nothing to do with that ultra-modern type of stage Irishman who comes to Dublin from one or other of the old English universities and, with saffron kilt (and Cockney accent), upholds the traditions of the Gaelic State. If Mr. Lysaght's Con O'Hickie had been one of that species, he would probably have spent most of his time in town, discussing grafted copies of current Irish publications, and pronouncing them worthless because they were not written in Gaelic. At times he would have sallied forth into some Irish-speaking district, where his bare knees would shock the pruderies of the unsophisticated, and would have bullied native Irish speakers into using that language. Instead of that Con O'Hickie decides to work rather than talk for Ireland. He had been educated at an English school and an Irish imitation of an English university; he possessed a small private income, and was ripe for any form of useless employment. But, having worked as a farm labourer, he has developed a love for the life of the soil, and thinks of emigrating. It is then that Mr. Lysaght discovers him, just as it occurs to him that he might as well give his labours to his own country as to Canada.
