Marcus Clarke

Summary

Marcus Clarke "Horace" in the Bush (1896)

Marston started.
"You seem familiar with the poet," said he.
The stranger smiled sadly.
"Sir," he answered, "I have spent my life in exposing plagiarisms from my--from Horace's writings. It is melancholy to see how the so-called 'original' writers have pilfered from the ancients."
"Sit down, sir and join us!" cries Marton, fairly astride his hobby. "What will you take?"
"You have no Massic?" asked the guest, seating himself.
"To be sure we have," says honest Dibdin. "Coppinger, hot whisky to the gentleman."
The stranger smiled and proceeded. "The moderns are thieves."
"They are," said Marston.
Source: Wikisource

Marcus Clarke "Horace" in the Bush (1896)

We turned and saw the box passenger, a comfortable, well-dressed fellow with blear eyes.
"Do you mean to say," cried Marston, fired at the interruption, "that Horace did not copy from the Greek? Why, that elegant Epicurean was swaddled in Greek literature. The classics of his day were birched into him by Old Orbilius. He was Greek even in his politics, first a republican, and then a monarchist."
"He has been copied even in that," said the new comer; "there is nothing like free land selection to make your radicals conservative.
Source: Wikisource

Marcus Clarke "Horace" in the Bush (1896)

With Jack Junk home from sea!"
"Hear! Hear!" roared the Professor, banging on the table, "Habet! Habet! He's got it, by Hercules! A delicate paraphrase, if ever there was one."
But Didbin snored unconscious.
"Another strain, O most musical of strangers! No? Another drink then!"
"We won't go home till morning," roars O'Donoghue, "dum rediens jugat asthra Phaybus. Till the early milk froightens the cats from door-step. Hurroo! Nunc pede libero pulsanda tellus. Now's the time to shake a loose leg, boys!"
"Let us batter down a door," cries M'Taggart.
"Or filch a sign," says Marston.
Source: Wikisource

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