Distinguished.

Martin, Hugh Blair, 1775

I begin with distinguishing true gentleness from passive tameness of spirit, and from unlimited compliance with the manners of others. That passive tameness, which submits without struggle to every encroachment of the violent and assuming, forms no part of Christian duty ; but, on the contrary, is destructive of general happiness and order. That unlimited complaisance, which, on every occasion, falls in with the opinions and manners of others, is so far from being a virtue, that it is itself a vice, and the parent of many vices. It overthrows all steadiness of principle, and produces that sinful conformity with the world which taints the whole character. In the present corrupted state of human manners, always to assent and comply is the very worst maxim we can adopt. It is impossible to support the purity and dignity of Christian morals, without opposing the world on various occasions, even though we should stand alone. That gentleness, therefore, which belongs to virtue, is to be carefully distinguished from the mean spirit of cowards, and the fawning assent of sycophants. It renounces no just right from fear. It gives up no important truth from flattery. It is, indeed, not only consistent with a firm mind, but it necessarily requires a manly spirit and a fixed principle in order to give it any real value. Upon this solid ground only, the polish of gentleness can, with advantage, be superinduced. 

Hugh Blair, from "Gentleness"

Zephyrs.

Chatham, Fall Evening, 1982

OCTOBER'S CALL

Do you ever in the fall,

Hear the sighing woodland's call,

When the frosts of autumn turn the leaves to brown?

Do you ever feel a thrill,

Of delight in autumn's chill,

When the deep, dark shades of evening settle down?

Do you ever like to be,

Like the aborigine,

In a tent down in the woodland dark and wild,

Where the Hoot Owls with delight,

Chill with terror and affright,

Those who in their lonely haunts may be beguiled?

Do you love the camp fire's light,

Sputtering, sparkling, burning bright,

Then receding as the dying of the day?

Do you love the lullabies,

Of the zephyrs as they rise,

And among the forest branches softly play?

Come, then, 'tis October calling,

And the ripened nuts are falling,

And we'll build a booming camp fire near the tent,

For the year is not complete,

If we miss October's treat.

'Tis the sweetest hour the year has sent.

Ed Blair