What do you whistle in your bathtub when you are in a reminiscent mood? Is it _The Typical Tune of Zanzibar_, or _Baby, Baby, Dance My Darling Baby_, or _Starlight, Starbright_, or _Tell Me, Pretty Maiden_, or _A Simple Little String_, or _J'aime les Militaires_ (if you whistle this, ten to one your next door neighbour thinks you have been to an orchestra concert and heard Beethoven's _Seventh Symphony_), or _Sister Mary Jane's Top Note_, or _A Wandering Minstrel I_, or _See How It Sparkles_, or the _Lullaby_ from _Erminie_, which Pauline Hall used to sing as if she herself were asleep, and which Emma Abbott interpolated in _The Mikado_, or _A Pretty Girl, A Summer Night_, or the _Policeman's Chorus_ from _The Pirates of Penzance_, or _The Soldiers in the Park_, or _My Angeline_, or the _Letter Song_ from _The Chocolate Soldier_, or _I'm Little Buttercup_, or the _Gobble Song_ from _The Mascot_, or the _Anna Song_ from _Nanon_, or the march from _Fatinitza_, or _I'm All the Way from Gay Paree_, or _Love Comes Like a Summer Sigh_, or _In the North Sea Lived a Whale_, or _Jusqu'la_, or _The Harmless Little Girlie With the Downcast Eyes_, or _They All Follow Me_, or _The Amorous Goldfish_, or _Don't Be Cross_, or _Slumber On, My Little Gypsy Sweetheart_, or _Good-bye Flo_, or _La Legende de la Mere Angot_, or _My Alamo Love_? There is a very subtle and fragrant charm about these old recollections which the sight or sound of a score, a view of an old photograph of Lillian Russell or Judic, or a dip in the _Theatre Complet_ of Meilhac and Halevy will reawaken. But it is only at a revival of one of our old favourites that we can really bathe in sentimentality, drink in draughts of joy from the past, allow memory full away. You whose hair is turning white will be in Row A, Seat No. 1 for the first performance of a revival of _Robin Hood_. You will not hear Edwin Hoff in his original role; Jessie Bartlett Davis is dead and, alas, Henry Clay Barnabee is no longer on the boards, but the newcomers, possibly, are respectable substitutes and the airs and lines remain. You can walk about in the lobby and say proudly that you attended the _first_ performance of the opera ever so long ago when operettas had tune and reason. "Yes sir, there were plots in those days, and composers, and the singers could _act_. Times have certainly changed, sir. Come to the corner and have a Manhattan.... There were no cocktails in those days.... There is no singer like Mrs. Davis today!"