William Wirt, in his "Life of Patrick Henry," written in 1817, said, "His visitors have not infrequently caught him lying on the floor, with a group of these little ones, climbing over him in every direction, or dancing around him with obstreperous mirth to the tune of his violin, while the only contest seemed to be who should make the most noise."
That there were many visitors who had the opportunity to see such contests as these is evident from a paragraph in "Homes of American Statesmen":
"His home was usually filled with friends, its dependences with their retinue and horses. But crowds, besides, came and went; all were received with cordiality.... Those who lived near always came to breakfast, when all were welcomed and made full. The larder never seemed to get lean. Breakfast over, creature comforts, such as might console the belated for the loss, were promptly set forth on side-tables in the wide entrance-hall.... Meanwhile, the master saw and welcomed all with the kindliest attention, asked of their household, listened to their affairs, gave them his view, contented all. These audiences seldom ceased before noon, or the early dinner. To this a remaining party of twenty or thirty often sat down.... The dinner ended, he betook himself to his studies until supper, after which he again gave himself up to enjoyment."
Not only was he a total abstainer, but as he grew older he came to detest the odor of tobacco; so there were certain refreshments that were never offered to the guests at Red Hill.
During the closing years of his life he spent hours over the Bible. Every morning he would take his seat in the dining-room, with the big family Bible open before him. Once he said to a visitor, "This book is worth all the books that ever were printed, and it has been my misfortune that I never found time to read it with the proper attention and feeling till lately. I trust in the mercy of heaven that it is not too late."
To Betsy, a daughter by his first marriage, he wrote in 1796:
"Some good people think I am no Christian. This thought gives me much more pain than the appellation of tory; because I think religion of infinitely higher importance than politics, and I find much cause to reproach myself that I have lived so long and have given no decided and public proof of my being a Christian. But, indeed, my dear child, there is a character which I prize far above all this world has or can boast. And amongst all the handsome things I hear said of you, what gives me the greatest pleasure is, to be told of your piety and steady virtue."
As, one by one, the older children grew up and went out from Red Hill to homes of their own, they were urged to read the Bible. Dorothea was the first to be married. Then came Martha Catherine, who, at seventeen, fell in love with the hero who rescued her when she fell from a boat into the water. Sarah married Robert, the brother of the poet Thomas Campbell. It is said that at one time the poet was engaged to come to Red Hill as tutor for the younger children of the family, but was unable to keep his promise.
Because of the constant pleas that were made that he give up his quiet life and reënter politics, Henry Clay wrote, in 1796:
"I shall never more appear in a public character, unless some unlooked-for circumstance shall demand from me a transient effort.... I see with concern our old Commander-in-chief most abusively treated—nor are his long and great services remembered, as any apology for his mistakes in an office to which he was totally unaccustomed. If he, whose character as our leader during the whole war was above all praise, is so roughly treated in his old age, what may be expected by men of the common standard of character?"