Franklin College
Monday night
April 8, 1861

My Dear daughter,

I suppose Mr. Will and Erasmus will be off for Texas before this reaches you. I commence a letter to you tonight, I do'nt know when I shall finish it. I shall have to stop as soon as the bell rings and I do not know when I can begin again. As I know you will be anxious to hear of our health, I will speak of that first. My own health is but little, if any, improved since I wrote to Erasmus. I do not expect to be well till the weather changes and settles down. Joseph is much better. If he takes care of himself I have no doubt he will soon be well again. Willie is not so well today. He has not been able to be out of his room. Though he has been able to sit up some. He is better this evening and I hope he will soon recover. Annette is still rapidly improving. If today had not been so damp that I was afraid to _____ able to be up. If I can only control her appetite, I have no fears but she will soon be well again. I have never seen more violent and long continued colds than have prevailed here; but most of the students are getting better. We also have some cases of measles in college; but most of our students have had measles.

I will be anxious to hear all your plans about Texas. I do not desire to thwart your purposes. I would not be selfish. I know our family bond is broken never to be united this side of Jordon. I know, too, that Mr. Will and those little ones which clamber about your side have the highest seat in your affections, and the(y) should have; and your hearth's temple, lighted by a mother's fond heart, should make home the dearest spot on earth to them; still I must believe I have a place in your large heart and that I will still be remembered by you, and most of all, when you invoke heaven's blessing on you and yours. I fear this world will never be what it was once to me. I do not want you to think I am melancholy, for I am not; but still I pass many lonely hours. The earth still smiles in beauty, the moon and stars still come out in lovliness; but the smile - - - - - - - - You may think strange that I always say something about marrying in my letters. The reason I do is, that I do not desire to keep anything from one who I believe has kept as deep an interest in me and _____ as you have. You may rest assured that I will write you facts on this subject as well as others. Whenever I determine to marry, if I ever do, I will inform you at once.

(On Sequatchie Valley) - - - - There are so many pleasant associations connected with that charming valley that it will always be to me a dear spot. But words are not feelings and I can never make you know the emotions that swell my soul while the many joys I experienced there pass in review before me, as they often do. Words are wind, and feelings are only natural swellings of the heart; but acts are living things, like facts they are stubborn and everlasting, and good deeds are footsteps in the ladder that reaches to heaven. I can never forget the self-denying acts of your sainted mother, but of heaven and the Bible there is nothing so pure as that love which makes us forget ourselves and live for others. Oh truly the fairest land is where our loved and lost are buried. There I learned to love and there I breathed love's vows. Is it strange that it has charm for me. Oh that my immortal nature may be whitened by the light of heaven from all the stains that sin has made. Then will my soul put on her wings and go to breathe the air of heaven, and seize the revelation of her spiritual being and learn her destiny in a future life, whither to our shortsightedness the way is unmarked, and to our weak faith and little courage her realities are solemn and fearful.

At this point I was again interrupted. It is now near 9 o'clock at night. Mr. Caldwell, one of the teachers in the high school in Nashville, has been in my room since dark. We have had quite a pleasant talk, about matters and things in general and education in particular. Willie is writing a letter, at the same table at which I write, to Stearns & Co. about his museum. He is determined to take it no longer. We are all better of our colds, this evening. Nettie is well. Her gravest trouble is that she can't get enough to eat. Willie is better of hearing than he has been since he was sick. He will soon be well.

- - - - - - My heart was once light and cheerful. But now how changed. Mildew and death are there, and frost cold and frigid have changed its leaves and blossoms and shaken them to the ground. Still I desire to suffer the will of God; but suffering it and doing it are quite two things. In every condition we have something to be grateful for. No night is so dark that our Father's smiles cannot cheer it; no place is so barren, so dark removed, that his blessings and mercies cannot reach it. And how bountiful they come. New every morning, fresh every evening, and repeated every moment of our lives.

I was stopped at this point. It is now Tuesday evening. We have just closed the excerises for the day. It has been a day of more than usual excitement here. We have had a wedding, Not of our pupils, however. A Mr. Fulgham, a brother of sister Lipscomb, (he lives in Trenton, West Tennessee) and Miss Bettie Barnes, who was living at Brother Fannings, were married at 1/2 past 10 o'clock today. - - - - - 

- - - - - I hope I shall be able to see you before you move to Texas. I have not yet formed any plans for our coming vacation. It will soon be here now, only seven or eight weeks. The children all constantly, when they say anything about it, speak of going to your house, in vacation. It is highly probable if you go to Texas that Joseph will desire to go with you. I shall then be left alone with Willie & Nettie. Even Willie would be willing to give up school and be off to Texas if I were willing. It will afford me gratification, if anyone goes, that others will be with them to minister to them if they are sick. We can do well enough among strangers when we are in good health; but when sorrow, sickness, blighted hopes, clad in hue of darkness, all brood upon our heart then we need some one more near than strangers to sympathize with us. But my room is out. I want you to write as often as you can. If we are separated we ought to feel thankful that we can comfort each other by the use of the pen.

Remember me kindly to Mr. Rogers and other friends. Kiss all the children for me. As ever, your loving 

and affectionate father,

W.D. Carnes


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Transcription used with permission of Charles Massey.

Archivists:
Transcription by Charles Massey.
Image by G. Anne Sloan