Abraham Lincoln’s literary powers were a product of his life experiences and his innate abilities.  From a young age, his exposure to tragedy had been personal and continuous.  The death of his mother, the death of Ann Rutledge, and various other hardships had given him an acute sensitivity to the meaning of loss.  In the writing of letters of consolation, Lincoln was able to harness these sentiments and express them in ways that gave specific tragedies a timeless and almost cosmic significance.  We have already here discussed the famous Bixby Letter.  Two other letters of consolation from Lincoln’s hand, much less well-known, merit our attention as models of compassion and heartfelt sympathy. 

A young man named Elmer Ellsworth had worked at Lincoln’s law office in Springfield, Illinois before Lincoln’s election to the presidency.  He had campaigned vigorously for his employer, and was always full of positive energy.  In time both the president and his wife Mary grew quite fond of Ellsworth’s infectious personal charisma.  His engaging spirit and optimism likely helped to assuage Lincoln’s persistent melancholy; he was aboard Lincoln’s train when the president-elect traveled from Illinois to Washington D.C. in February 1861 to assume the duties of office.  In 1861 Ellsworth was 24 years old.  At the outbreak of war, he formed his own military unit, which came to be called “Ellsworth’s Zouaves.”

Once Ellsworth’s unit was inducted into active military service, it moved to take possession of the city of Alexandria, Virginia.  Of particular irritation was the fact that a Confederate flag  flying from a hotel in Alexandria was visible from the White House.  In May, Ellsworth and a few of his men entered the city and sought to pull down the rebel flag.  Ellsworth successfully removed it, but as he was leaving the hotel, he was cut down by a shotgun blast from the hotel proprietor, a man named James Jackson.  Jackson himself was immediately killed by one of Ellsworth’s comrades.  Lincoln was informed of his friend’s death by Navy captain Gustavus Fox, who visited the White House personally to deliver the terrible news.  Lincoln was shattered, and could not speak for a few moments.  Fox left him alone.  Senator Henry Wilson and a reporter, unaware of what had just happened, then approached Lincoln from behind as he was looking out a window. 

Lincoln, thinking he was alone, turned around to face his visitors and told them, “Excuse me, but I cannot talk.”  He then broke down into tears, sobbing in his handkerchief.  Such a display of emotion in the presence of others was extremely rare for the reserved and composed Lincoln.  He said, “I will make no apology, gentlemen, for my weakness.  But I knew poor Ellsworth well, and held him in great regard.  Just as you entered the room, Captain Fox left me, after giving me the painful details of Ellsworth’s unfortunate death.  The event was so unexpected, and the recital so touching, that it quite unmanned me…Poor fellow!  [I]t only shows the heroic spirit that animates our soldiers…in this righteous cause of ours.  Yet who can restrain their grief to see them fall in such a way as this; not by fortunes of war, but by the hand of an assassin.” 

The president and his wife insisted on seeing Ellsworth’s body, which was at the navy yard in Washington.  When Lincoln saw the lifeless body of his young friend, he again wept.  “My boy…my boy,” he repeated in anguish.  “Was it necessary that this sacrifice be made?”  Ellsworth death was significant in that it was the first tragedy that brought home to Lincoln the war’s true and terrible cost.  While the conflict would claim the lives of many hundreds of thousands in the years to follow, this was the first death that the White House experienced on a personal level.  Lincoln ordered Ellsworth’s body to be delivered to the Executive Mansion, where he would preside over the funeral ceremony in the East Room on May 25.  The president even accompanied the coffin to the train station, from where Ellsworth’s remains would be delivered to his parents and fiancé in New York.  During some moments of free time, Lincoln composed the following letter of condolence to Ellsworth’s parents:

My Dear Sir and Madam:

In the untimely loss of your noble son, our affliction here, is scarcely less than your own.  So much of promised usefulness to one’s country, and of bright hopes for one’s self and friends, have rarely been so suddenly dashed, as in his fall.  In size, in years, and in youthful appearance, a boy only, his power to command men, was surpassingly great.  This power, combined with a fine intellect, an indominable energy, and a taste altogether military, constituted in him, as seemed to me, the best natural talent, in that department, I ever knew.  And yet he was singularly modest and deferential in social intercourse. 

My acquaintance with him began less than two years ago; yet through the latter half of the intervening period, it was as intimate as the disparity of our ages and my engrossing engagements, would permit.  To me, he appeared to have no indulgences or pastimes; and I never heard him utter a profane, or intemperate word.  What was conclusive of his good heart, he never forgot his parents.  The honors he labored for so laudably, and, in the sad end, so gallantly gave his life, he meant for them, no less than for himself.

In the hope that it may be no intrusion upon the sacredness of your sorrow, I have ventured to address you this tribute to the memory of my young friend, and your brave and early fallen child.  May God give you that consolation which is beyond all earthly power.

Sincerely your friend in common affliction,

A. Lincoln

As we find so often with Lincoln’s writings, the Ellsworth letter strikes a perfect balance between intimacy and formality.  He expresses an appreciation of his dead friend’s merits, and carefully notes them; but he never unduly dwells on trivial personal details.  Perhaps most importantly, the emotion expressed is honest and sincere.

On December 5, 1862, a man named LtCol. William McCullough was killed in action near Fredericksburg, Virginia.  Lincoln knew McCullough, who had once been a circuit court clerk in McLean County, Illinois.  The death of a former acquaintance and legal colleague moved the president to write what may be the most intimate and profound letter of condolence ever penned by an American president.  It is addressed to McCullough’s daughter Fanny.  Because he was writing to a young girl, Lincoln abandoned formal epistolary constructions; his tone is simple, direct, and calibrated to his reader.  The resulting letter is something that any grief-stricken person anywhere could relate to.  It reads:

Washington,

December 23, 1862

Dear Fanny,

It is with deep regret that I learn of the death of your kind and brave Father; and especially, that it is affecting your young heart beyond what is common in such cases.  In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares.  The older have learned to ever expect it.  I am anxious to afford some alleviation of your present distress.  Perfect relief is not possible, except with time.  You can not now realize that you will ever feel better.  Is not this so?  And yet it is a mistake. 

You are sure to be happy again.  To know this, which is certainly true, will make you some less miserable now.  I have had some experience enough to know what I say; and you need only to believe it, to feel better at once.  The memory of your dear Father, instead of an agony, will yet be a sad sweet feeling in your heart, of a purer and holier sort than you have known before.

Please present my kind regards to your afflicted mother.

Your sincere friend,

A. Lincoln

This letter was written ten months after the death of Lincoln’s young son Willie.  It was the most devastating personal loss he ever experienced.

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Read more stories from history and biography in the essay collection Digest.