You all know how much I wish that you should take a thorough and intelligent interest, and, in due time, an active part, in public affairs. I don’t mean that you should adopt politics as a profession, because, as matters stand in this country, poor men, as most of you will be, are not able, as a rule, to do this and retain their independence. But I want you to try to understand politics, and to study important questions as they arise, so that you may be always ready to support, with all the influence you may happen to have, the measures and policy which you have satisfied yourselves will be best for your country. Of course I should like to see you all of my own way of thinking; but this is not at all likely to happen, and I care comparatively little whether you turn out Liberals or Tories, so that you take your sides conscientiously, and hold to them through good and evil report; always remembering, at the same time, that those who are most useful and powerful in supporting a cause, are those who know best what can be said against it; and that your opponents are just as likely to be upright and honest men as yourselves, or those with whom you agree. My brother’s example taught me this, and I hope it may do as much for you. There is a little poem of Lowell’s, which brings out so well the contrast between the two forces constantly at work in human affairs, and illustrates so beautifully the tempers which should underlie all action in them, that I am sure you will thank me for quoting it here. It is called “Above and Below:”— ABOVE. I. O dwellers in the valley land, Who in deep twilight grope and cower, Till the slow mountain’s dial-hand Shortens to noon’s triumphant hour— While ye sit idle, do ye think The Lord’s great work sits idle too, That light dare not o’erleap the brink Of morn, because ’tis dark with you? Though yet your valleys skulk in night, In God’s ripe fields the day is cried, And reapers, with their sickles bright, Troop, singing, down the mountain-side: Come up, and feel what health there is In the frank Dawn’s delighted eyes, As, bending with a pitying kiss, The night-shed tears of earth she dries. The Lord wants reapers: oh, mount up, Before Night comes, and cries “Too late!” Stay not for taking scrip or cup, The Master hungers while ye wait; ’Tis from these heights alone your eyes The advancing spears of day may see, Which o’er the eastern hill-tops rise To break your long captivity. BELOW. II. Lone watcher on the mountain height! It is right precious to behold The first long surf of climbing light Flood all the thirsty east with gold: But we, who in the twilight sit, Know also that the day is nigh, Seeing thy shining forehead lit With his inspiring prophecy.