This newspaper is looking around for a man who has a childlike sense of humor and who feels indiscriminate affection for animals. Such a man is needed to do the paper's circus reviews. In his absence, however, the job must continue to be done, and if the present reviewer has no sense of humor at all, and if he like only a few selected domesticated dogs and horses, and finds uniquely unappealing the sight of an elephant carrying with its trunk another elephant's tail, he at least responds like all normal American children to such marvelous human beings as Francis Brunn, Unus, and Harold Alana.

The first is a superb juggler, the second stands on the forefinger of his right hand in astonishingly precarious locations, and the third skips rope on a very high wire. Such performances are the stuff that circuses are made of. Everything they wear, every move they make, is vivid, dramatic, extravagant. Brunn generates more color than all the John Murray Anderson extravaganzas put together. Never for the a second does he stand still. Not does he ever simply catch anything; he grabs things out of the air. He is showman, and the circus is nothing if it is not a show.

It is, of course, supposed to be the greatest show of all. And it probably is. It has, certainly, more things happening at once to the accompaniment of louder music than any other show could manage, even if it wanted to. When the animals, which some people presumably love, are about, there are dozens of them doing dozens of different stunts. When the tumblers are tumbling, there are five different groups of them doing then different acts. And there are aerial ballets and aerial adagio acts and aerial this and aerial that any flying trapezes. And there are small automobiles full of great numbers of large clowns. And no matter what is happening, fifteen other things are happening at the same time.

Then, finally, there are several of the those big John Murray Anderson production routines. All the girls in gaudy costumes riding on elephants, while the bands plays "So In Love" in slow march time--that sort of thing. The last of these, the grand finale, is an inspiring hunk of patriotism. "The Glorious Fourth," it is called, and the program says it is a Proud, Rousing, Heart-Clutching Tableau. It is Dedicated to the People of the United State and to All the Free Peoples of the Earth Who Place Their Faith In the Leadership of the President of Our Country in the Struggle to Maintain Their Way of Life Against the Menacing Hordes of World Aggressors. A nifty little sentiment, that. No circus nowadays is complete without it.