THE HOOT-OWL IN MODERN LIFE

A Word on His Relation to the High-Brow and His Recent Amazing Success in Our Best Society

James L. Ford

Author of "The Literary Shop" etc.

LEARNED men of all kinds have flourished in New York since that dignified era described in Philip Hone's Diary when persons of the truest and highest distinction and achievement actually frequented the best society in the town. In those days fashion and true learning were, so to speak, on terms of neighborly intimacy and not, as they seem to be to-day, opposing factors in a bitter family feud.

A generation or so ago we developed in America a species of beings generally known as High-Brows. We have all met them. Some of us have even had to contend with them in our family life. They are a peculiar race, with singular habits and a point of view distinctly their own. Roughly speaking, High-Brows are beings of abnormal intellectual ambition but practically devoid of vision, or the power of intellectual achievement. They eat sparingly and are not always inclined to communicative sociability.

They thrive—near colleges—in any climate. They are gentle, easily led and usually harmless.

So much for the parent bird!

DUT, within the past few years a new type of being has sprung up in New York, allied to the High-Brow, but a great deal more deadly. I allude to the Hoot-Owl, a species which is now spreading with alarming rapidity in our best society. He is the foster child of the High-Brow, but differs radically from his parent in a number of ways. He is less ambitious, intellectually, but much more communicative. He is also less normal in his anthropological type, and invariably presents a strange, uncouth, and usually shaggy appearance, when mingling in society. He is a wasteful and voracious feeder. He is intensely sociable and flourishes best in salons and dining-rooms. He is ferocious only when hungry, tired, or thwarted in eating.

THE Hoot-Owl is regarded by women in society with the same favor that they bestow upon lap dogs. His growing popularity in the best social circles is, it would seem, due partly to the advances of Feminism.

Within the memory of persons now living, it was a rare thing to meet in metropolitan society women who openly drank cocktails, smoked cigarettes or had met any actors, socially. Roughly speaking, they knew but one kind of men and one kind of women.

As this type of woman became, with the approaches of Feminism, more and more daring, she threw off, one after another, the shackles of social convention, until, to the horror of her elders, she developed a craze for meeting "Interesting Men," and even for meeting "Men Who Do Things." In her lexicon, these phrases did not mean men who are engaged in building an East River bridge, discovering a new mineral, or irrigating a desert, but only included such activities as writing—it mattered not what; acting —no matter how; and harassing honest folk by means of a variety of musical instruments.

Association with these "Interesting Men" gradually brought into existence a multitude of "Brilliant Women," who may always be known by their habit of giving a serious uplift even to the most frivolous and entertaining conversation, by the introduction of what they call "problems." Most of these problems relate, in one way or another, to sex.

FROM the ranks of the Interesting Men, the first of the Hoot-

Owls forged his way to the front, acquiring instant popularity, partly because of his uncouth appearance.

Charles Lamb has told the story of the pig that was accidentally roasted in the burning of a house in China and whose flesh, so roasted, was found to such a degree palatable by the Chinese that they proceeded to immure other pigs in other houses and then to apply the torches in order to obtain more of the new dainty.

The name of the original Hoot-Owl has long since been forgotten, but, by his strange countenance, he set the facial pace for his successors, and from that day to this no man has gained full recognition as a social exponent of Hoot-Owlry who did not DOSsess some abnormality of feature, gesture or hair.

practiced to-day, hoot-owlry is the science of talking learnedly about things of which thespeaker is profoundly ignorant. Scandinavian literature is a pet grazing ground for Hoot-Owls in

regular standing. Sociology also enjoys a high place in their conversational forum. Indeed, any man, provided he be of queer visage, has only to visit the submerged and grimy quarters of ia city on the plea of a sociological investigation in order to earn for himself an honored place in society. After such a visit he may be called upon at any moment for an "Interesting Talk on a Vitally Significant Theme" before a drawing-room of Brilliant Women.

It was very much in the same way that we bred the Parlor Anarchist who receives so many invitations to dinner simply because he is a Menace to Society. This particular type is most fluent in discussing "The Volcano Under the City's Crust." Twenty years ago, in a far simpler age, almost any woman could stagger the fashionable world by declaring herself a Socialist, and the greater her wealth and the more luxurious her habits, the more impressive became her pose. But to-day, in our more exalted social circles, Socialism is too common to cause so much as a passing remark.

THE hoot-owl loves to hoot about the stage and, on that topic, seldom fails to excite the wide-eyed interest of his feminine hearers. The pose of understanding the dramatist's art, the most difficult of all the arts, always seems to be a popular one with him. When he assumes it he invariably deplores the present low state of the drama, but is slightly cheered by the knowledge that a great many men and women of academic habits of thought—college professors and high-brows—are now taking an interest in the theatre, and are even writing dramas calculated to uplift it. It is true that the anxiety of our theatrical managers to present plays that nobody wishes to see prevents many of these masterpieces from seeing the light, but it is consoling to know that many of them are finally printed, at their own expense, in book form. The Hoot-Owl always clamors for what he calls "intellectual acting," and if he has spent ten days in Paris he never fails to tell us something about the intellectual acting at the Comedie Frangaise.

OFTEN wonder what would happen if a man of ordinary visage were to arise, in a drawing-room filled with Brilliant Women, and explain that, as a rule, the learned classes contribute nothing but disaster to the stage and that one might as well talk of intellectual snoring as of intellectual acting. If he were allowed to proceed unmolested, he might wind up his remarks by saying that the plays that have been printed and not performed have been among the most worthless dramatic contributions to our age.

THE profit and emoluments of Hoot-Owlry—outside of the dubious reward known as being a Favorite in Society—consists chiefly of tea, buttered toast, layer cake, many luncheons, a few dinners and countless opportunities for the unrebuked exercise of the vocal organs.

I am sorry to have to add that the richest and most coveted matrimonial prizes are never open to the Hoot-Owl, for it is a melancholy fact that women of great means, although they often delight in hirsute and eloquent lecturers, critics, and anarchists still seem to prefer silent and smooth-haired husbands.

As time rolled on—so Lamb avers—the Chinese discovered that a pig could be roasted in an oven as well as in a burning house, and, one of these days, the Brilliant Women will learn that a man of startling or extraordinary countenance is not the only source of wisdom. They will learn that even baldheaded men and men without beards can sometimes be trusted in matters of philosophy, sociology and the drama. With this simple discovery Hoot-Owlry will cease to be regarded as one of the learned and polite professions and the race of Hoot-Owls will noiselessly and peacefully pass away. When that day comes we shall no longer receive, as we now so often do, scented invitations from hostesses with a cerebral leaning, worded something as follows:

"Do, like a dear, drop in to-morrow afternoon to drink a cup of tea and to hear Professor Hugo Stubbs, an amateur biologist. He has a silky red beard and chats deliciously about sex."

"Will you dine with us, very informally, on Thursday, to meet Lionel Percival, and go on to our little Socialists' club, where Mr. Percival, our American Karl Marx, is to speak? He has very long ears and talks charmingly about assassinations."