THE MEN THAT GOD MADE MAD

On Easter Sunday, 1916, the rattle of shells in O'Connell Square, Dublin, from columns of British soldiery revealed to the word that another generation of Irish youth had made its bid for liberty. The leaders of the revolt were crushed as speedily as their predecessors had been, but among the rank and file there were those who carried on the tradition of insurgency even after peace had been patched up. Chief among them was Eamon De Valera, whose career closely parallels that of Hitler in Germany. Today, after a decade spent in leading a lost cause, he seems likely to achieve a precarious dominance in the Free State.

The causes of his ascendancy are not far to seek. President Cosgrave, it has been said, suffers today from his past predominance. Too much success is bad for a popular hero; Robert Emmett is better loved than O'Connell. There is little in the comparative prosperity of the Free State to catch a national ear attuned to the death keen and the patriotie plaint. The appeal of De Valera arouses memories that obliterate the economic connection of Ireland and England.

If De Valera actually becomes president, time alone will reveal his strength. Probably, like most extremists, he will find his rashness modified by responsibility. In the tariff. England has a weapon more powerful than an army. In any case, Ireland's from antic approach to political realities gives a new force to the lines of the poet who said:

The great Gaels of Ireland Are the men that God made mad

For all their wars are merry. And all their songs are sad.