It was what is called a real old-fashioned Yuletide. The snow had been falling, falling, falling all day long; it had begun at grey daylight in the morning, in little pellets like millet seed, which lay white and unmelted on the frozen pavements. But as the hours went by, these were changed for flakes as big and broad as butterflies' wings, that fell fast and "eident" all the day; and that night the more aristocratic thoroughfares of Glasgow were as silent as a city of the dead. Not that they were deserted by any means, for passengers flitted about in garments draped with snow, and snow-laden cabs drove past, but not a sound could be heard from hoof of horse or foot of man.…
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