Abby Sage Richardson

“ Orlando, all the while believing her a shepherd youth, but in spite of himself drawn to her by an interest which was, very likely, a subtle instinct of recognition, asked her how she would cure love. Then she told him he might woo her as if she were indeed his Rosalind, and she, affecting all the caprices and humors of a girl, would so disgust him with the sex, that he would never wish to see a woman again. ”

“ Now, Oliver, who was not naturally a vicious person, had become soured and morose that nature had not treated him more kindly. He was neither handsome nor intellectual. Both his brothers excelled him in good gifts. He was forced to see their better qualities, and contrast them with his own, and so there arose in him a spirit of envy, which, by constant secret nourishing, had become very bitter and powerful. So much did this feeling increase as he saw how handsome and elegant in person his brother Orlando was growing under his roof ”

“ Most men would have been morose and bitter under all his wrongs, but the Duke was so sweet and gentle of spirit, so in harmony with the nature amid which he lived, that he could hear teachings of 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. ”

“ This she took to her cousin, who looked a pretty beardless boy in her disguise of Ganymede, and bade her read it. Then it turned out that Rosalind was not a whit more sensible than Orlando, except that being a woman, she could dissemble better, but loved the handsome youth after the same fashion that he loved her. What should she do next but set out in the forest to meet Orlando, still in her disguise, and having met him, engaged him for a talk, in which she played the saucy stripling to perfection. She accused him of being in love, and he confessed it. ”

“ 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. ”