LETTERS of Condolence or sympathy are the most difficult and important of any which friendship or affection can dictate. They should relate chiefly, as a rule, to the subject by which they are elicited, and express sympathy rather than aim at administering consolation. Letters of condolence, from the sympathizing pen of friendship, fall upon the heart of man like the gentle dews of evening on the parched earth. In the composition of such, there must be no high-flown words or expressions, no straining after effect. If heart speaks not to heart, in the simplest, most soothing language of nature, words will, to the sufferer, prove cold and unimpressive— worse than useless.

The letter should not be too long, but earnest and sincere. When addressing a person who is laboring under any grievous calamity, it is bad taste to make light of it; by treating that loss as a matter which a little firmness would enable the party who has suffered it, to endure calmly, we irritate, rather than soothe. It is better to enter into the feelings of the mourner,—to eulogize the departed relation,—to rebuke the ingratitude of the false friend,—to confess the inconstancy of fortune, or otherwise, according to the circumstances; and, without magnifying, to lament the full extent of the condoled party's affliction. Thus we seem to share, and therefore in some degree, lessen the sorrow of the sufferer. Courtesy demands that letters of condolence on death should be written on black-edged paper and sealed with black wax—if wax is used—even if you are not in the habit of using mourning paper habitually.

Thomas Jefferson to John Adams, on the Death of Mrs. Adams.

MONTICELLO, Nov. 13, 1818.

The public papers, my dear friend, announce the fatal event of which your letter of October the 20th had given me ominous foreboding. Tried, myself, in the school of affliction, by the loss or every form of connection which can rive the human heart, I know well and feel what you have lost, what you have suffered, are suffering, and have yet to endure. The same trials have taught me that for ills so immeasurable, time and silence are the only medicine. I will not, therefore, by useless condolences, open afresh the sluices of your grief, nor, although mingling sincerely my tears with yours, will I say a word more where words are vain, but it is of some comfort to us both that the time is not very distant at which we are to deposit in the same cerement our sorrows and suffering bodies, and to ascend in essence to an ecstatic meeting with the friends we have loved and lost, and whom we shall still love and never lose again God bless you and support you under your heavy affliction.

TH. JEFFERSON.

On the Loss of Property by Fire.

MONTICELLO, IND., Aug. 16, 1879.

My Dear Friend Young:—Your recent misfortune in the loss of property at Logansport has proved a very serious matter, and I am deeply pained at the disastrous circumstances attending the same. It is a hard trial to see consumed in a few hours the work of years; but knowing your disposition, I cannot believe you will become disheartened, or, in any sense, give way to melancholy. On the contrary, I firmly believe your usual activity and enterprise will suggest some plan for speedily restoring to its former beauty and elegance, the character and surroundings formerly the pride of the place. You have my warmest sympathy and best wishes, and if I can in any way further your interests, believe me ever ready to do so.

Very cordially yours,

DAVID WOODRUFF.

NATHAN YOUNG, ESQ.,

Logansport, Ind.

On Business Embarrassment.

CHICAGO, March 15, 1879.

My Dear Mr. Green:—I have to-day learned of your business embarrassments, and with regret, your despondency over this misfortune. I need hardly assure you of my sympathy and faith in your honorable discharge, to the best of your ability, of your obligations. It is extremely unpleasant and humiliating, especially to such sensitive natures as yours, to pass through these ordeals, but having the confidence of many former associates, you may with energy and resolution regain lost ground, and reap the reward due honor and integrity. I hope you may come out of this trouble better than you anticipate, and recuperate more quickly than you have thought possible. Believe me ever

Your friend,

FRED. BUTLER.

FRANK GREEN, ESQ.,

St. Louis, Mo.

To a Friend on the Death of a Wife.

BOSTON, May 6, 1880.

My Dear Will:—I sincerely commiserate you in this your fearful and awful visitation.  Sad indeed it is to lose your wife and your expected child in one short moment! Your dear wife, we are all well aware (as far as human beings can form a word_to_justify_prev_line

judgment of the lives of their fellow creatures), was in every act, deed, and word, a true Christian. Your account of her death is deeply touching; but how grateful you must have felt to see her so resigned and happy in the thought that, although her loss would cast a shadow on your life on earth, you would meet her hereafter in that better world, where no trouble or sorrow is to be found. She was good in every acceptation of the term; her charities, so unostentatiously dispensed; her cheerful willingness to relieve any real distress, her talents and charms, endeared her to all. Naturally you must deeply grieve for the loss of one so dear and excellent. You have again another source of grief in the loss of your child, dear Will, and at present all consolation must seem to you impossible; but God has ordained that time shall bring comfort and soothing for all earthly sorrows, and to its healing influence we must leave you. As soon as you feel equal to the journey, come to us, and stay as long as you feel inclined. We will walk and ride together. There is great healing in Nature, and open-air exercise—I speak from experience—does as much as reason and philosophy in soothing a great grief.

My wife unites with me in best regards and truest sympathy.

I am ever,

Your sincere friend,

V. C. SPOFFORD.

WILLIAM BLACK, ESQ.

To a Friend on the Death of a Husband.

FREEPORT, ILL., July 6, 1880.

My Dear Mrs. Goodman:—If any consolation can be afforded under so heavy an affliction as you have just experienced, it must come from a higher power than mine. Your own strong sense of religion, and of our duty of resignation to a power that is beyond our control, and a will that is ever beneficently directed toward our good, must uphold you in this most bitter trial. I well know how painful the well-meant, but often mistaken, officiousness of friends may be on such occasions, or I should have hastened to your side, and sought to assuage the pangs of your overworn spirit.

It were a melancholy pleasure to dwell upon the virtues and accomplishments of your late beloved husband; but the subject is too painful for me, and, in the confidence that he is in the enjoyment of an everlasting happiness, such as, my dear Jane, even you could not have realized to him on earth, I hope that you will support your spirits both for your own and your children's sake, and look forward to that brighter and happier world in which we shall go to those who cannot return to us. God comfort you.

Your affectionate and sorrowing friend,

JULIA MEAD.

From a Young Lady to her Mother, Who Is Ill.

My Dear Mamma:—I am grieved to see you so poorly, but I trust you will not make yourself worse by troubling yourself about household affairs or thinking anxiously of me. I will see that everything is properly done, and I will attend to all my own duties just the same as though you were well, and able to look after me.

But I most earnestly hope, my dear mamma, that you will soon be better, and I pray God night and day for your speedy recovery.

I am, my dear mamma,

Your affectionate daughter,

MARIE.

To a Friend on the Death of Her Sister.

NEWARK, N. J., Oct. 5, 1880.

My Dear Maria:—The melancholy intelligence of your sister's death has grieved me more than I can express, and I beg to tender you my heartfelt sympathy. Truly we live in a world where solemn shadows are continually falling upon our path—shadows that teach us the insecurity of all temporal blessings, and warn us that here “there is no abiding stay.” We have, however, the blessed satisfaction of knowing that death cannot enter that sphere to which the departed are removed. Let hope and faith, my dear friend, mingle with your natural sorrow. Look to that future where the sundered ties of earth are reunited.

Affectionately yours,

ADA JONES.

TO MRS. MARIA FISHER,

566 Ford street, Brooklyn.

To a Friend on a Sudden Reverse of Fortune.

FORT WAYNE, IND., Dec. 10, 1880.

My Dear Friend:—I am truly pained to hear of the melancholy change in your circumstances. I had hoped that your husband's position and connections would have prevented the possibility of his embarking in any scheme where there seemed room for uncertainty. But, unhappily, the speculative spirit of the age is too seductive to be easily withstood, and we are every day hearing of families being reduced to absolute poverty, more from mischance than willful error.

But you must not only cheer up, but labor to cheer your husband likewise. Let him find that he possesses a wife who will not display her annoyance at the deprivation of many—perhaps unnecessary—luxuries of life, and whose determination to economize will make poverty seem less poor, and whose affection will insure him that comfort which the wealthiest position, without undivided affection, would wholly fall to realize.

Nor must you look at matters as hopeless. Although changed in your means, you have not lost in character. Your true friends look upon you with the same eyes as formerly, and for the shallow and insincere you ought not, cannot care. Besides, a favorable change must result from your husband's persevering and consistent efforts; and by the exercise of economy, and the patient submission to a few privations, you may ere long fully recover the position you have already adorned, and which legitimately belongs to you.

That success and happiness may soon spring out of the present unfavorable condition of things, is the hearty and earnest wish of,

Yours ever affectionately,

CLARA WILSON.

TO MRS. EMILY EATON.

To a Sister on the Death of a Child.

Sister Darling:—I cannot write what is in my heart for you to-day; it is too full—filled with a double sorrow, for you and for myself. Tears blind me; my pen trembles in my hand. Oh! to be near you! to clasp you in my arms! to draw your head to any bosom and weep with you! Darling, God comfort you, I cannot.

SARAH.

To a Mother on the Death of a Babe.

CHARLESTON, S. C., Dec. 4, 1875.

My Dear Mary:—I feel that a mother's sorrow for the loss of a beloved child cannot be assuaged by the common- word_to_justify_prev_line

places of condolence; yet I must write a few lines to assure you of my heartfelt sympathy in your grief. There is one thing, however, that should soften the sharpness of a mother's agony under such a bereavement. It is the reflection that little children are pure and guileless, and that “of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.” “It is well with the child.” Your precious babe is now a treasure laid up in a better world, and the gate through which it has passed to peace and joy unspeakable is left open, so that you, in due time, may follow. Let this be your consolation.

Affectionately yours,

SARAH YOUNG.

MRS. MARY BROWNING,

Norfolk, Va.

La Fayette to Jefferson, Announcing the Death
of Madame de La Fayette.

[The following sadly beautiful letter, though not strictly a letter of condolence, relates to the subject of death, and therefore belongs to this class.]

ANTEUIL, Jan. 11, 1808.

My Dear Friend:—The constant mourning of your heart will be deepened by the grief I am doomed to impart to you. Who better than you can sympathize for the loss of a beloved wife? The angel who for thirty-four years has blessed my life was to you an affectionate, grateful friend. Pity me, my dear Jefferson, and believe me, forever, with all my heart,

Your,

LA FAYETTE.