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Rh towards the individual, the incurable loutishness of the average undeveloped human being. If he has chosen to illustrate a universal subject by its particular application to Ireland, it is because the peculiar conditions of this country are singularly propitious to the existence of such creatures as clank their chains in his novel. So many fine and romantic figures have been thrown into bold relief by the secular war of Ireland for her national existence that the braggarts, the opportunists, and the mean exploiters have been provided with an impenetrable smoke-screen against all criticism. The war has shown us everywhere how easy it is for the worst individuals to flourish under cover of the universal preoccupation with an outside enemy. Those who are inclined to accuse Irish people of being morbidly susceptible to criticism of national faults should remember that, ever since the loss of her independence, Ireland has been in a state of war with England, and consequently indisposed to admit anything which seemed to play into the hands of the enemy. After the exhibitions of this spirit all over the recently belligerent world, Irish people need no longer apologize for their intolerance. It so happens that, as the nation has become more conscious of its capacity for self-help, as the Sinn Fein spirit has grown, there is a vastly larger measure of self-criticism than is commonly found in other countries whose national self-consciousness is alert. Mr. Brinsley MacNamara has been congratulated, for the most part, because of the power of his analysis of those elements in Irish politics which have heretofore proved a source of grave danger. Now that a new generation and a new party have achieved power and responsibility in Ireland, the warning of this novel is not wasted.

While both novels are interesting contemporary documents, it would be a mistake to salute them as masterpieces of literature. Mr. Lysaght's pleases by the originality and freshness of the material and outlook out of which The Gael has sprung. The author makes no pretensions to the title of the novelist proper, although he writes well and easily. Mr. MacNamara is a figure of more significance to those interested in the evolution of Anglo-Irish fiction. Like Mr. James Joyce, he has definitely broken with the ancient stereotypes which have served the Irish novelist since the days of Maria Edgeworth. He has some irritating tricks of style which he must overcome, and his sense of form is still rather vague,