(Signed) CARBONI RAFFAELLO.
Dec. 1st, 1855.
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!
Chapter XCVII.
The End Of Men Whose Word Is Their Bond.
(Per favour of 'The Times'.)