Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.

We watch'd her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro.

The year's in wane; There is nothing adorning; The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning!

Comfort and indolence are cronies.

Some minds improve by travel, others, rather, resemble copper wire, or brass, which get the narrower by going farther.

There are three things which the public will always clamour for, sooner or later; namely: novelty, novelty, novelty.

Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!