noon
Such words as those addressed by Henry Rayne , were perhaps the only ones that could impress the hardened heart of Vivian Standish with a hatred for the crimes and follies of his life . My latest found -- Heaven 's last , best gift . My ever new delight -- _ Milton _ Christmas Eve of 188 - , with all its soft , fleecy snow , its merry sleigh bells , its decorations , its plenty and its poverty , its rejoicings and its wailings , its hopes and its fears -- the day of huge , warm fires and smouldering faggots , of sumptuous dinners and scanty crusts , the night of all others , that the satisfied thanksgiving of the rich , and the heart-rending craving of the pauper , meet at the throne of God . At noon of this bright , merry Christmas Eve , among the many passengers on board the mid-day train that rushed into the Union Depot , was one who interests us more than all the business fathers , school girls , or college students , or other absent members of Ottawa families , returning to spend Christmas with their friends . He is a young , good-looking man , in a long sealskin coat and cap . As the bell ceases its clanging on reaching the platform , he seems to pull his cap down purposely , and otherwise to gather himself into the plushy depths of his warm furs , he hires the first cabman that accosts him , shoves in his heavy valise , which is all the baggage he has , and in a gruff sort of voice , orders to be driven to the `` Albion Hotel . '' There is nothing surprising in it at all , the gentleman certainly looks like a `` Russell House '' patronizer , but then the `` Albion '' is quiet and secluded , and perhaps this gentleman prefers it to the endless noises of greater hotels .