fall
in until half-past eight, A.M. Meanwhile I took the opportunity to
visit the grave and monument of Henry Clay, which are in the cemetery a
short distance from the depot. The monument is very large, and upon the
top of the tall shaft stands a statue of the departed statesman. His
grave is about forty rods from the monument. It was pointed out to me by
one familiar with the spot. It is ten feet north of the monument erected
by him to the memory of his mother, Mrs. Elizabeth Clay, formerly
Watkins. There are no stones to mark the spot where he lies, as his
remains will undoubtedly soon be removed to the vault prepared for them,
at the base of the monument. Finding some coffee beans, as they call
them here, upon the grave, and which grew upon a tree overshading it, I
secured them for a memento. I also visited the place allowed for the
burial of soldiers who die in the hospitals here. The space allotted is
upon an eminence, and the manner of burying is novel and interesting.

The graves were arranged in circles, the first circle enclosing a space
twenty feet in diameter, with the foot of the grave towards the space,
and the head outwards. The second circle outside of this, and so on.
There were several circles already finished. The space is reserved for
the erection of a monument at some future time. There are many fine
specimens of sculpture in this cemetery, and monuments in great
profusion. At half-past eight we were called upon to fall in, and
immediately marched to our encampment. This was situated upon the Fair
Grounds, three-quarters of a mile from the city. It was a beautiful
situation, amid a grove of black walnuts and maples, commanding a fine
view of the surrounding country, which includes many interesting
localities. The Ashland Estate, well known as the residence of Henry
Clay, is but a mile from our camp. This estate is very large, comprising
originally one thousand acres.

Thursday, April 2d, I started on a visit to this place. Just before
reaching the house we came upon two children, a boy and a girl, who were
playing in a grove adjoining. They were about ten or twelve years of
age. Upon coming up to them to make some inquiry, I noticed in the
features of each a striking resemblance of the man whose memory we hold
in reverence. Upon making inquiry, I learned they were grand children of
Henry Clay. Their father, James Clay, was absent, holding a high
position in the rebel army; his family occupying the h