If you think I'm making my pile, you think rong, so you've got no need to ask me when I'm going to send money home, like you did in the last letter.

I jest keep myself and that's about all, because things ain't what they used to be in this busted up country.

And that remminds me what it was as I ment to tell you when I cold get a bit of time to rite.

Not so long ago, I met a chap as used to work for somebody called Snowdon, and from what I can make out it was Snowdon's brother at home, him as we use to ere so much about.

He'd made his pile, this Snowdon, you bet, and Ned Williams says he died worth no end of thousands.