1835
TWICE-TOLD TALES
ALICE DOANE'S APPEAL
by Nathaniel Hawthorne
ON A PLEASANT AFTERNOON of June, it was my good fortune to be the
companion of two young ladies in a walk. The direction of our course
being left to me, I led them neither to Legge's Hill, nor to the
Cold Spring, nor to the rude shores and old batteries of the Neck, nor
yet to Paradise; though if the latter place were rightly named, my
fair friends would have been at home there. We reached the outskirts
of the town, and turning aside from a street of tanners and
curriers, began to ascend a hill, which at a distance, by its dark
slope and the even line of its summit, resembled a green rampart along
the road. It was less steep than its aspect threatened. The eminence
formed part of an extensive tract of pasture land, and was traversed
by cow paths in various directions; but, strange to tell, though the
whole slope and summit were of a peculiarly deep green, scarce a blade
of grass was visible from the base upward.
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