There is nothing new under the sun, we were told and believed it. There is never anything which has not been in the past, they said, and we took them at their word. And yet last night the Playgoer was treated to something new under the sun, and first-nighters will get a glimpse of this miracle when the curtain rises on "Sarah Simple," current production of the Dramatic Club, in Brattle Hall tonight.

It is nothing new, of course, for the Dramatic Club to be producing dramas, and yet it is a distinctly new and refreshing omen that the Dramatic Club has recovered from its psycho-neurotic obsession that has been tormenting us for at least the last two years. For these last two horrible years we have come out of a Dramatic Club performance with a self-conscious feeling of inferiority in matters of comprehension.

But at last the Dramatic Club has come out from behind the curtain of obscurity, subconciousness, and even unconsciousness, and has chosen a play that is amusing, straightforward, and well adapted to the talents of amateur Thespians.

"Sarah Simple" is a modern drama of manners written by A. A. Milne originally, for Miss Ina Claire, who was present for at least part of the performance last night. Too light and frothy, some may say, but certainly possessing enough of a Noel Coward touch to make it thoroughly acceptable to a Harvard audience. "Sarah Simple" is the type of drama that we have pleaded with the Dramatic Club to attempt.

It is an age-old theme, to be sure, around which "Sarah Simple" fluctuates, one which perhaps is best generally exemplified in Barrie's "What Every Woman Knows." With no pathos and more humor than Barrie's masterpiece, it should bowl along tonight without the impediments plentifully supplied by any dress rehearsal.

A wife who has deserted her husband seven years back, returns to find him becoming enamoured of another woman, and by skillful ridicule and sophistication wins him back for her own. It is not a play to be taken seriously and makes no claim to anything more than it is--amusing, light, and genuinely entertaining, although somewhat slow in spots.

The acting last night was hampered by the usual distractions of a dress rehearsal, but Miss Clara Butler, playing the lead, gave a more than creditable performance. At home in a lightly dashing role, she carefully ignored for the most part the flickering lights, the misplaced props and the banana, which took the place of a meal.

The male lead, who must, alas, remain nameless, by request of the Club, teamed well with Miss Butler as the perplexed and somewhat unworldly husband.

The supporting cast was somewhat less distinguished, although honorable mention should go to Frederick Miller, who was outstanding as the detective novel-reading waiter.