A Parody Outline of History | Page 4

was actually
Browning's prophetic message to America in regard to the submarine
sinkings.
"Oh, we're sunk enough here, God knows! But not so sunk that
moments--etc." It is an extraordinary evidence of the man's genius that
in 1840 he should have perhaps foreseen prophetically the happenings
of seventy-six years later! Not only did Browning seem to know what
was bound to happen, but he told us the remedy. I sat right down and
wrote to my good friend the president, enclosing a marked copy of the
poem. On the sixth of April, 1917, war was declared.
May 7, 1912, was the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of Robert
Browning. On that memorable date I was traveling to Ohio at the
request of my dear friend Miss Jones to deliver an address at the
Columbus School for Girls. Curiously enough the name of my Pullman
car was Pauline. Not only did that strike me as remarkable, but I
occupied upper berth number 9 in car 11, two numbers which, added
together, produced the exact age at which Browning published the
poem of that name. At once I recited the opening lines, "Pauline, mine
own, bend o'er me--thy soft breast shall pant to mine--bend o'er me," to
the porter.
I like to believe that the spirit of Browning arranged that entire journey,
for the other occupant of this well-omened berth was that admirable
statesman Warren G. Harding. When I sat down I noticed that he was
reading Henry Sydnor Harrison's "Queed", a book which was justly

popular at that time. I at once showed Mr. Harding an article I had
written in which I stated that not only was "Queed" a real novel, with a
real plot, and real characters, but that I believed the readers were
stimulated by the spiritual advance of the hero. The future president
agreed with me and said he thought that literature was a great thing.
Encouraged by this I confessed that I was on my way to deliver a
lecture on modern poetry. Mr. Harding replied that he thought poetry
was a great thing. "Splendid!" I cried, and taking a copy of Browning
from my bag I read him several selections. Mr. Harding said that of the
American poets he liked James Whitcomb Riley best. Personally, while
I have for Mr. Riley only wonder and praise, I think that the English
poet strikes a more inspiring, more eternal note.
I then read to Mr. Harding Browning's "Evelyn Hope". He said that he
knew a Mrs. Walter Hope in Marion, but that he was not sure her first
name was Evelyn. As I knew that Mr. Harding liked a good pun, I
remarked facetiously that "hope springs eternal", meaning that probably
there were in existence several families of that name.
I am happy to state that with that meeting began a friendship which has
lasted for many years. When Mr. Harding was nominated for the
presidency, I wrote at once, enclosing a copy of "The Advance of the
English Novel" which I had published in 1916. On the title-page I
wrote, "To the Hero of a Much More Spectacular Advance", meaning
that the progress made by the English novel was as nothing compared
to Mr. Harding's rapid and well-deserved rise. In reply I received the
following:
6 July, 1920. MY DEAR PROFESSOR PHELPS:
Many thanks to you for your congratulations and your kindness in
sending me your brilliant, searching essays which I hope to be able to
read in the near future. WARREN G. HARDING.
Just as I am always glad that I am an American, so I think we should all
believe whole-heartedly in the glorious future which lies ahead of us.
We should all pay high tribute to the ideals and sincerity of those great
leaders Woodrow Wilson and Warren Harding. What a pity that some

people believe that there is any antagonism or essential difference in
the aims of those two worthy men. Both are absolutely sincere--both try
to make the world a better, more happy place. And to the critic of
history-- as to the critic of art and literature--those are the essential
things. Viewing the past and glimpsing the future of American history I
cannot help feeling that Browning had us perhaps unconsciously in
mind when he wrote:
God's in his heaven: All's right with the world!

Chapter Two
CRISTOFER COLOMBO A Comedy of Discovery. In the Manner of
James Branch Cabell
In fourteen hundred ninety two In the city of Genoa. --Old Song.
They of Genoa tell with a shrug how in the old days Cristofer Colombo
whom men called the Dreamer left Dame Colombo to go in search of
the land of his imagining.
And the tale tells how, on a twilight Thursday, Colombo walked alone
on the edge of