I was strolling aimlessly down Boylston Street the other afternoon when several dollars which had been burning a hole in my pocket suddenly burst into flame and I found myself in the Coop. By the time my pants had stopped smouldering I discovered I owned a copy of S. J.'s "Dream Department," a bottle of ink-eradicator, and twelve reams of graph paper. The ink-eradicator and the graph paper I was able to fob off on some Woolworth jobber who was loitering around the Square, but my better judgment whispered to me that the tome "Dream Department" was a priceless item, not to be offered for blood or money. And so it is.

After reeling off "Dawn Ginsberg's Revenge" and "Look Who's Talking," that venerable old zany, S. J. Perelman has again gratified his circle of admirateurs with the fantastic "Dream Department," the first book to convincingly defy Freud. S. J. has a weird genius for solving a problem when he sees one, and here presents us with a number of solutions to economic, psychological, and social problems that ordinarily go unnoticed by the laity. For example, there's snobbery at Schrafft's, and Dr. Perelman enlarges on this crucial topic in his memorable "A Pox on You, Mine Goodly Host." And then there's the important sociological question of bath-taking, which Perelman poses in the chapter entitled "Scrub Mc, Mammy, Eight to the Bar." These are but two of the twenty-five cantos which the publishers. Random House, are extending to the masses for a mere deuce ($2), bringing the price per canto to about eight cents. Why, some of the titles alone are worth eight cents: "P-s-s-t, Partner, Your Peristalsis Is Showing," "Creepy Time Gal." "Adorable Taxable You." "Reat Mc. Post-Impressionist Daddy," "To Sleep, Perchance to Steam;" and many others, too humorous to mention.