peace and beauty and consolation in the murmur of the river, or the rustle of the leaves, and could draw wholesome lessons from his bitterest adversity. All his language was rich with a genial philosophy, and the golden autumn of his life was bathed in a mellow sunlight, which seemed to reflect back upon, and shed itself over, his whole past.
In wonderful contrast to the Duke was one of his noblemen, Jacques, a man about his own age, who mocked at all the world, and found no good in life. He had travelled over all the earth, and seen the fashions and manners of all countries, and had been so selfish, very likely, in the pursuit of his own pleasure, that he had done no good to any one; so now, in growing old, he saw no good in other people.
They had a great many occupations and amusements in the forest. Sometimes they reclined under the spreading shade, and talked together. Jacques vented his bitterness against the world, and the Duke restrained him with his serene and happy temper. When they tired of talk and discussion, the pensive Amiens, who was a sweet singer, sang them songs. Here is something he sang as he lay under the greenwood-tree:—
“Under the greenwood-tree
Who loves to lie with me
And tune his merry note
