Winter 1955 • Vol. XVII No. 1 Fiction |

The Chevigny Man

The last of the Renaissance men," said Paul Teeling, tipping the bottle uncertainly at the jigger as if trying to salt the tail of an elusive bird. "Poet, art-critic, novelist, playwright, traveller, officer—he was in the British Navy during the first war, you know—editor and a dozen other things. Veritably an uomo universale." This sounded a little pedantic. "A man of parts, really. He's had a dozen distinguished careers." That made it better. He now noticed that in his excitement he had given Marian, his wife, a double shot of the good Bourbon and the Dean a single one of the imitation Scotch. "But will he live?" asked Watters from the sofa. Poor Watters. Paul looked at him and almost smiled. Still sniping from the bushes even after he'd been completely out-maneuvered. Watters' man was Samuel Daniel, who died in 1619—no chance of his ever coming to the campus to lecture. "Not a doubt," said Paul pointedly. "His Collected Poems alone makes him one of the outstandi

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The Thin Voice

By Robie Macauley

The last of the Renaissance men," said Paul Teeling, tipping the bottle uncertainly at the jigger as if trying to salt the tail of an elusive bird. "Poet, art-critic, novelist, […]

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