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Updated: June 29, 2025
Then it will amuse me to write it, and I shall do so as carefully and as cleverly as possible The first winter days in London are not madly gay, so that I have plenty of time; and if the fog is brown outside, the fire is red within. I like the quiet of this season; the glowing chimney-corner, in the midst of the December mirk, makes me think, as I sit by it, of all sorts of things.
Oh, if she cease to smile, as thy looks say, What if? I shall have drained my splendor down To the last flaming drop! Then take me, darkness, And mirk and mire and black oblivion, Despairs that raven where no camp-fire is, Like the wild beasts. I shall be even blest To be so damned. Most often this conception of love's flamelike lightening of life for the poet is applied to Sappho.
And yon place, ye see, Davie whilk was a very suitable place to hide in, as I'm free to own was pit mirk from dawn to gloaming. "How did you know the hour to bide your tryst?" I asked. "The goodman brought me my meat and a drop brandy, and a candle-dowp to eat it by, about eleeven," said he. "So, when I had swallowed a bit, it would be time to be getting to the wood.
"An' guid rizzon had she for that, gien a' 'at gangs throu' my heid er I fa' asleep i' the lang mirk nichts be a hair better nor ane o' the auld wives' fables 'at fowk says the holy buik maks sae licht o'." "What mean ye?" demanded Miss Horn, sternly and curtly.
The sun gaed doun amang unco-lookin' clouds; it fell as mirk as the pit; no a star, no a breath o' wund; ye couldnae see your han' afore your face, and even the auld folk cuist the covers frae their beds and lay pechin' for their breath. Wi' a' that he had upon his mind, it was gey and unlikely Mr. Soulis wad get muckle sleep.
"It fell about the Martinmas, when nights are long and mirk, The carline wife's three sons cam hame, and their hats were o' the birk. It neither grew in syke nor dyke, nor yet in ony sheugh, But at the gates o' Paradise that birk grew fair eneuch."
If we go down into the valley beneath us by a road bearing south-west, we shall find ourselves at Beck Hole, where there is a pretty group of stone cottages, backed by some tall firs. The Eller Beck is crossed by a stone bridge close to its confluence with the Mirk Esk.
Ev'n both at Preston and Falkirk, That fatal night ere it grew mirk, Piercing the wounded with their durk, Caused many cry! Such pity's shown from Savage and Turk As peace to die. A woe be to such hot zeal, To smite the wounded on the fiell! It's just they got such groats in kail, Who do the same. It only teaches crueltys real To them again.
John gazed across the familiar fields to the huge city on the horizon. Soon night would fall, darkness would encompass all things. And then, out of the mirk, would shine the lamps of London. Warde's voice put his thoughts to instant flight. Some intuition told John that something had happened. Warde said quietly "A letter has come for you in Harry Desmond's hand-writing."
He stared out into the mirk beyond the flare of gas in the entrance-way, slowly bringing his mind to bear on the city at his feet, with its maze of dotted lights. The afternoon had been cold and gusty, with now and then a squall of hail from the north-west. The mass of the station buildings behind him blotted out whatever of daylight yet lingered.
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