Mr. President, the majestic form of Mr. Clay will no more grace these halls. No more shall we hear that voice which has so often thrilled and charmed the assembled representatives of the American people. No more shall we see that waving hand and eye of light, as when he was engaged unfolding his policy in regard to the varied interests of our growing and mighty republican empire. His voice is silent on earth for ever! The darkness of death has obscured the lustre of his eye. But the memory of his services――not only to his beloved Kentucky, not only to the United States, but for the cause of human freedom and progress throughout the world――will live through future ages, as a bright example, stimulating and encouraging his own countrymen and the people of all nations in their patriotic devotions to country and humanity. With Christians, there is yet a nobler and a higher thought in regard to Mr. Clay. They will think of him in connection with eternity. They will contemplate his immortal spirit occupying its true relative magnitude among the moral stars of glory in the presence of God. They will think of him as having fulfilled the duties allotted to him on earth, having been regenerated by Divine grace, and having passed through the valley of the shadow of death, and reached an everlasting and happy home in that ‘house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.’ On Sunday morning last I was watching alone at Mr. Clay’s bedside. For the last hour he had been unusually quiet, and I thought he was sleeping. In that, however, he told me I was mistaken. Opening his eyes and looking at me, he said, ‘Mr. Underwood, there may be some question where my remains shall be buried. Some persons may designate Frankfort. I wish to repose at the cemetery in Lexington, where many of my friends and connections are buried.’ My reply was, ‘I will endeavor to have your wish executed.’ I now ask the senate to have his corpse transmitted to Lexington, Kentucky, for sepulture. Let him sleep with the dead of that city, in and near which his home has been for more than half a century. For the people of Lexington, the living and the dead, he manifested, by the statement made to me, a pure and holy sympathy, and a desire to cleave unto them, as strong as that which bound Ruth to Naomi. It was his anxious wish to return to them before he died, and to realize what the daughter of Moab so strongly felt and beautifully expressed: ‘Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried.’