The road from Louisville to this place is pretty throughout, and seemed quite lovely as we approached Frankfort, though it was getting too dark as we passed that town to appreciate its beauties thoroughly. For some miles before reaching it, the road passes through a hilly country, with beautiful rounded knolls at a very short distance. The town is situated on the Kentucky river, the most beautiful, perhaps, in America. In crossing the long bridge, we had a fine view down its steep banks, with the lights of the town close on its margin. The state Capitol which we passed, is close to the railway, and is a marble building, with a handsome portico. We were very sorry not to have stopped to pass to-morrow, Sunday, at this place, but we were anxious to reach Lexington, in order to get our letters. We have no great prospects here, as the hotel, excepting the one at Jefferson City, is the worst we have found in America. We had hardly set foot in it, when General Leslie Combe called upon us, having been on the look-out for our arrival. He claimed cousin-ship, having married a Miss T----, but we must leave it to Uncle Harry to determine to which branch of the T---- family she can claim kindred. _November 15th._--The weather has been unpropitious, and instead of starting to explore the Upper Kentucky, which we had meant to do, we are returning this afternoon to Cincinnati. We have, however, been able to see all the sights here that are worth seeing, besides having been edified yesterday by a nigger sermon, remarkable, even among nigger sermons, for the wonderful stentorian powers of the preacher. The great object of interest here is Ashland, so called from the ash timber with which the place abounds. This was the residence of Henry Clay, the great American statesman. General Combe gave us a letter of introduction to Mr. James B. Clay, his eldest son, who is the present proprietor of the "location." The house is very prettily "fixed up," to use another American phrase; but we were disappointed with the 200 acres of park, which Lord Morpeth, who passed a week at Ashland, is said to extol as being like an English one. We saw nothing, either of the "locust cypress, cedar, and other rare trees, with the rose, the jasmine, and the ivy, clambering about them," which the handbook beautifully describes. The fact is, the Americans, as I have before observed, have not the slightest idea of a garden; and on papa's venturing to insinuate this to Mr. Clay, he admitted it, and ascribed it to its undoubted cause, the expense of labour in this country.