The annals of mankind, since the creation, demonstrate this solemn truth. The history of all the ruined republics, both of ancient and modern times, teaches us this great lesson. From Cæsar to Cromwell, and from Cromwell to Napoleon, this history presents the same solemn warning,—beware of elevating to the highest civil trust the commander of your victorious armies. Ask the wrecks of the ruined republics scattered all along the tide of time, what occasioned their downfall; and they will answer in sepulchral tones, the elevation of victorious generals to the highest civil power in the State. One common fate from one common cause has destroyed them all. Will mankind never learn wisdom from the experience of past generations? Has history been written in vain? Mr. Clay, in his Baltimore speech of 1827, expressed this great truth in emphatic terms, when he implored the Almighty Governor of the world, “to visit our favored land with war, with pestilence, with famine, with any scourge other than military rule, or a blind and heedless enthusiasm for a military renown.” He was right in the principle, wrong in its application. The hero, the man of men to whom it applied, was then at the Hermitage,—a plain and private farmer of Tennessee. He had responded to the call of his country when war was declared against Great Britain, and had led our armies to victory; but when the danger had passed away, he returned with delight to the agricultural pursuits of his beloved Hermitage. Although, like Franklin Pierce, he had never sought civil offices and honors, yet he was an influential and conspicuous member of the convention which framed the constitution of Tennessee, was their first Representative and their first Senator in Congress,—afterwards a Judge of their Supreme Court,—then again a Senator in Congress, which elevated station he a second time resigned, from a love of retirement. He was brought almost literally from the plough, as Cincinnatus had been, to assume the chief civil command. The same observations would apply to the illustrious and peerless Father of his Country, as well as to General Harrison. They were soldiers, only in the day and hour of danger, when the country demanded their services; and both were elevated from private life, from the shades of Mount Vernon and the North Bend, to the supreme civil magistracy of the country. Neither of them was a soldier by profession, and both had illustrated high civil appointments. General Taylor, it is true, had been a soldier, and always a soldier, but had never risen to the chief command. It remained for the present Whig party to select as their candidate for the Presidency the commanding General of the army, who had been a man of war, and nothing but a man of war from his youth upwards. This party is now straining every nerve to transfer him from the headquarters of the army, to the chair of state, which has been