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XCVI.
EST MODUS IN REBUS: SUNT CERTI DENIQUE FINES,
QUOS ULTRÆ, 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 the 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 spring-tide.
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!
XCVII.
THE END OF MEN WHOSE WORD IS THEIR BOND.
(Per favour of The Times.)
"On the disgraced Sunday morning, December 3rd, whilst attending wounded diggers at the London Hotel, I was arrested by seven troopers, handcuffed, and dragged to the Camp. On my arrival there, I was commanded to strip to the bare shirt; whilst so doing I was kicked, knocked about, and at last thrown into the lock-up by half-drunken troopers and soldiers. My money, clothes, and watertight boots, which were quite new, could nowhere be found at the Camp. Gaoler Nixon had bolted.
"From the confusion and excitement of that morning, I cannot say with certainty the whole extent of my loss; but I can conscientiously declare that it amounted to £30. The only thing which I saved was a little bag, containing some Eureka dust, and my 'Gold-licence,' which Inspector Foster, who knew me, took charge of previous to my ill-treatment, and has subsequently handed over to Father P. Smyth for me.
