Mr. Nash deserves well of the Republic. He has given it another good book. May garlands and hosannahs and things attend his way. In the past, he has tormented the language of Manhattan into some of the most flagrant and beguiling lyrics of our time. He has done things to words, that would make Joyce shudder and turn away and say: "Not that, not that!" In "Happy Days" (heartily dedicated to the general proposition: "Far less malice toward none") there is not a chemical trace of reformation. Implausible as it may sound, this is a more diamantine book than "Hard Lines," it wheels more wheedingly than "Free Wheeling." It is as full of new notes as a farm loan bank. Mr. Nash has perfected his output alarmingly.

The London Times has weightily observed that Mr. Nash's verse "would be improved if the author took more care with his...