vations in religion are very commonly deprecated; but there is one
in practice which might very safely be attempted, i.e., to _obey_ the
gospel. This has been seldom done, even among those that bear the
Christian name. How few, even among the members of churches, do really
mould their lives from day to day by the teachings of our Lord and his
disciples!

This same thought may be presented in another form. Let us remark, then,
that while the true teachings of religion are found in the Bible, yet a
new edition of them seems wanted, viz., the actual obedience of those
that adopt them as their creed and rule of life. To make these doctrines
manifest in the lives of any considerable number among men, would give
them a power such as they have rarely had.

We have had a great many translations of the Holy Scriptures; the best
of all would be their translation into the daily practice of Christian
people.

THE WILD AZALEA.

A MEMORY OF THE HIGHLANDS.

Up on the hills where the young trees grow,
Looking down on the fields below--
Long-leaved chestnuts and maples low;
Up where lingereth late the sun,
When the soft spring day is nearly done,
Dying away in the west;
Up where the poplar's silver stem
Bends by the marsh's grass-fringed hem,
By the soft May wind caressed;

Up where the long, slim shadows fall
From the scarlet oak and the pepperidge tall,
Where the birds and the squirrels tirelessly call,
Where in autumn the flowers of the gentian blue
Look up with their eyes so dark and true,
Up into the hazy sky,
Dreaming away as the red leaves drop,
And the acorn falls from its deep brown cup,
And the yellow leaves float by;

Up where the violets, white and blue,
Bloom in sunshine and the dew,
Tenderly living their still life through,
Where the deep-cut leaves of the liverwort grow,
And the great white flowers of the dogwood blow
Over the pale anemones;--
Cometh a perfume spicily shed
From the wild Azalea's full-wreathed head
Lifted among the trees.

There where the sun-flecked shadows lie,
Quivering light as the breeze laughs by,
And the leaves all dance 'neath the soft spring sky;
Blossoming bright when the twigs grow green,
And the sunlight falls with a tenderer sheen
Than comes with the summer noon,
Blossoming bright where the laurel gleams,
Lifting its sculptured flowers to the beams
Of the warm, glad sun of Jun