With "Hogan's Alley" at the Fenway and "Irene" at the Metropolitan, Boston is called to notice that St. Patrick's Day must be coming. Which means green in the button-hole, spring in the air, and that joyous feeling in the heart which we haven't had since the snow turned black. "Irene" is a laughing little comedy well executed except in one spot and nicely adapted to the talents of Colleen Moore. The fatal spot is a color-film of a fashion show--perhaps very gratifying to those who like fash ions, but hard on those who think well of their eyes. De gustibus non disputandum est, which means that some people have heard about the lady who kissed the cow. Miss Moore as the mischievous and often penitent Irene starts as a poor but Irish heroine and frolics through to the arms of her handsome millionaire lover. She has her troubles and her tears, but they are happy troubles, like roller-skating home from naughty men in wicked cabarets; and smiling tears like Irish tears should be. George K. Arthur as the effeminate modiste-shop proprietor provokes many of these, as well as a giggle or two, and besides adds considerable humor of his own to this playfully diverting comedy