FOR those who are intent upon wandering into out-of-the-way places, Daniel Streeter's latest literary and nomadic side-light will afford amusement enough to warrant at least a hasty reading. It must be admitted at the outset, nevertheless, that the word, "side-light" has not been misapplied. Then we wonder what a circus would be with out its side-show; enough for some, no doubt, but there would be many more who would clamor for the sight of the freaks, hidden under the smaller tent.

After we have sped through a maze of humor, which makes up in quantity what it lacks in quality (as the saying goes), and if we have been able to speed through this maze of humor, we will light upon the second part of the book with great relish. The author has conveniently, though perhaps not wisely, divided into two sections the story of his wanderings up the valley of the Dinder River into the foothills of the Abyssinian border. The first he uses to question the reader and himself on "Why do men do it?; the second to answer that question. Paris, we find, has its lures, but the call to "go somewhere," has also and the lures of the latter are apparently greater for we find ourselves wandering with the author through wild desert and dried-up-river beds that teem with game, especially buffalo. Pictures of the upper Nile, of strange places such as Makwar, of the valley of the Dinder, of Rosaries flit before us with amazing rapidity. We are able to feel the heat of the sun and enthuse over the coloring of the sunsets with the author, despite the fact that his descriptions lack the length which is usually needed to be convincing. Throughout the narrative, the history, or whatever you wish to call this book, there runs a dry and sometimes monotonous humor. Perhaps it is because one becomes more accustomed to it, perhaps it is because it seems to fit in so well with the weirdness of the surroundings,--for one reason or another we cease to be bored with the witticisms of the two travellers (for it was Lake's idea that they escape Paris) when at last they are on the trail. Trail is rather a strong word to use, for the wanderings were directed mainly by the valley of the Dinder. Streeter manages to keep us with him on his wanderings and one might almost say in his mental wanderings as well.

The style is rapid and sketchy, though poignant. Streeter gains his end in describing the natives, or a scene, or a hunt without pressing sentence after sentence upon us. Photographs in great number help us to gain a more thorough knowledge of what the author has seen. Perhaps more praise ought to be given the author for supplying us with such an amount of visual record; those who care to read the book will enjoy them; those who don't will suffer.

Keeping along with Streeter's caravan for such a while makes us feel as he does; that when we came to the end of the book, as he came to the end of his travels, "A feeling of depression swept over us--an undefinable regret. We were about to leave the Dinder River. It was too bad."