Chapter XCVI.
Est Modus In Rebus: Sunt Certi Denique Fines, Quos Ultrae,
Citraque Nequit Consistere Rectum.
Have I anything more to say? Oh! yes, mate; a string of the realities of the things of this world.
Some one who had been spouting, stumping, and blathering—known as moral-force 'starring'—in 'urbe et argo', for the benefit of the state prisoners, had for myself personally not humanity enough to attend to a simple request. He could afford to ride 'on coachey,' I had to tramp my way to Ballaarat. I wished him to call at my tent on the Eureka, and see that my stretcher was ready for my weary limbs.
Full stop. My right hand shakes like a reed in a storm; my eyes swell from a flood of tears. I can control the bitterness of my heart, and say, "So far shalt thou go;" but I cannot control its ebb and flow: just now is springtide.
If I must again name a noble-hearted German, Carl Wiesenhavern, of the Prince Albert Hotel, who was my good Samaritan, I must also annex the following three documents, because my friends in Rome and Turin may take my wrongs too much to heart!