Treading down the path less travelled...

The weather was beautiful yesterday, so it was a great opportunity to visit Beacon Hill, a place that I always wanted to go after seeing the photo in the travellers' guide. We took the T and alighted at Park Street Station and we hit the Granary Burying Ground.


This cemetery was established in 1660, the third oldest burying ground in Boston and it is sure a tourist spot! Because you will get to see the graves of the most famous people in Boston - Samuel Adams, Paul Revere, James Otis, Benjamin Franklin's parents, John Hancock and Peter Faneuil. Also buried there are the Boston Massacre victims and the wife of Isaac Vergoose, who is believed to be "Mother Goose" of the nursery rhyme fame.

Monument of John Hancock

Monument of Benjamin Franklin's parents

A statue of General Hooker at the Old State House

Daniel went snapping away the moment 

he saw the monument of these brave fallen fire fighters.

These are the beautiful houses in Beacon Hill.

I went crazy the moment I found this house because this is the 

former home of Louisa May Alcott, the author of Little Women!

A little woman posing outside the former 

home of the author of Little Women... how apt!

American Poet Robert Frost used to live in Beacon Hill as well. 

Former home of Robert Frost.

Not only did Alcott and Frost live in Beacon Hill. Politician Henry Kissinger, writer Julia Ward Howe and actor Edwin Booth used to reside in Beacon Hill. 

Beacon Hill, such a scenic and peaceful residential place, is probably where the authors got their inspirations from. However, it has now developed into an expensive residential area which I believe could be tough for struggling writers of the past. 

The trip to Beacon Hill brought so much memories of my secondary school days when I studied Literature. I remember reading Little Women and many other works by Louisa May Alcott. I vividly remember the beautiful poems of Robert Frost. Take sometime to read this very famous poem of his. Enjoy.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.