would much Rather add to the happiness of all than to disstress any
am sir Your
James Reynolds
Mr. Alexr. Hamilton
No. XII.
Read this all
Sunday Night, one OClock
- My dear friend
In a state of mind which know language can paint I take up the pen but alas I know not what I write or how to give you an idea of the anguish wich at this moment rends my heart yes my friend I am doomed to drink the bitter cup of affliction Pure and unmixed but why should I repine why pour forth my wretched soul in fruitless complainings for you have said It you have commanded and I must submit heaven tow Inexorable heaven Is deaf to my anguish and has marked me out for the child of sorrow oh my dear friend wether shall I fly for consolation oh all all consolation is shut against me there is not the least gleme of hope