"What was that one we played with Pamela, you remember, Jock?
We took a subject, and tried who could say the most obvious thing about it." "Oh, nothing clever, for goodness' sake," pleaded Miss Watson.

"I've no head for anything but fancy-work." "'Up Jenkins' would be best," Jock decreed; so a table was got in, and "up Jenkins" was played with much laughter until the clock struck ten, and the guests all rose in a body to go.
"Well," said Miss Watson, "it's been a very pleasant evening, though I wouldn't wonder if I had a nightmare about that funeral pyre ...

I always think, don't you, that there's something awful pathetic about Christmas?
You never know where you may be before another." One of the guests, a little music-teacher, said: "The worst of Christmas is that it brings back to one's mind all the other Christmasses and the people who were with us then...." Bella Bathgate's voice was heard talking to Mrs.M'Cosh at the door: "I dinna believe in keeping Christmas; it's a popish festival.

New Year's the time.

Ye can eat yer currant-bun wi' a relish then.