EVANS’s by SAM COWELL, and by CHARLES YOUNG as Dido on the stage of the St. James’s Theatre.  Odd this!  The air has been a bit altered, but I thought that comic songs once out of date were dead and done for.  The success of this is proof to the contrary.  Will “Ta-ra-ra-boom” achieve a second success in 1922?  Perhaps.  A capital entertainment, which has caught on at the Court, says

THE HUMBLE B. IN BOX.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  DRAWING-ROOM INANITIES.

She.  “NO, DON’T SIT THERE, MR. SPLOSHER—­THAT’S MY UGLY SIDE!”

He (wishing to please).  “WELL—­A—­REALLY—­I DON’T SEE ANY DIFFERENCE!”]

* * * * *

“NOT AT HOME!”

(A DUOLOGUE ON A DOORSTEP.)

    SCENE—­The G.O.M.’s front door.  Two expectant callers,
    EIGHT-HOURS BILL and Miss SARAH SUFFRAGE, in sore
    disappointment and some disgust, interlocute:—­

Mr. Bill (sardonically). You too?  Ah! he ain’t no respecter of
          pussons, he ain’t!

Miss Sarah (tartly).  Well, this tries the temper of even a
          Suffrage she-saint. 
    I did think,—­but there, you cannot trust Men—­even Grand Old Ones!

Mr. Bill.  Trust?  Them as do trust Party Leaders are gen’rally sold
          ones. 
    It don’t a mite matter which side.

Miss Sarah.  Well, as far as I see,
    The other side shows the most signs, BILL, of favouring Me! 
    I’m sure Mister BALFOUR was awfully civil and nice.

Mr. Bill.  You won’t trust Prince ARTHUR too far, if you’ll take my
          advice.

Miss Sarah.  Well, no,—­but I should like to pay out—­the other.  Ah,
          drat him! 
    I’d comb his scant wool, the old fox, could I only get at him.
    I’d pamphlet the wily old word-spinner.

Mr. Bill.  Ah!  I’ve no doubt;
    But wot can we do when his flunkey assures us he’s out?

Miss Sarah.  We’re out, anyhow.

Mr. Bill.  Ah! you see you ain’t never got in. 
    But me, his old pardner and pal!  It’s a shame, and a sin! 
    He’s throwed lots of cold water of late.  I am blowed if I likes
    His wobbleyfied views about Payment of Members, and Strikes. 
    And then that HOOD bizness!  Long rigmarole—­cheered by the Tories! 
    I fear it’s all Ikybod now with our G.O.M.’s glories.

Miss Suffrage.  I never quite liked him—­at heart.  Mrs. FAWCETT,
          she warned me.

Mr. Bill.  Well, now, I did love him!  You see, he so buttered and
          yarned me;
    And now—­he won’t see me!  O WILLYUM, I carn’t understand it.