had been built years before the war, and had been the parish church of Thomas and his family. The drive of ten miles did not seem inconvenient then. But it became impossible to get so far afterwards. The family fell into a way of reading the service at home, and the neighbors liked to attend, and the large household was frequently swelled to quite a congregation. Occasionally the bishop or one of the clergy were there, and were surprised to see the number that could be gathered together, almost without giving out any notice. In the afternoon the daughters held a service and Sunday-school for the negroes, and the large library was well filled by them. They delighted in the chants and hymns, and knew much of the service and the catechism by heart.
Many years after they were free, a brawny blacksmith sent a message to his teachers of these days, "Tell de ladies I ain't forgit what dey teach me in de Sunday-school."
Thomas never allowed anything to interfere with his attending the services. Oftentimes friends came in, or other things happened that made it an effort to break off. But when the hour came, he would say, quietly, "We always have the service at eleven o'clock on Sundays," and the guests were invited to join him. It was a surprise to many who knew him only as a charming companion, always ready for any sort of amusement that was not really wicked. Some persons who had not been in a church for years felt constrained to go in to these services. The quiet dignity of the head of the house made it difficult to approach him with a light excuse.
He did not himself lead the daily family prayers in his house, or conduct the church services on Sundays. His deep humility made him feel unworthy to take this part.
He loved to hear his daughters read the service and the prayers. If for any reason they were omitted, he would ask for them. When he was sick, we always had the services around his bed. He was not one to express his religious feelings, but no one felt more deeply
