Every neighborhood has a soul. At home in Cambridge, it's an ancient academic, carrying along traditions from its childhood long ago while chasing the endless pursuit for more knowledge. Manhattan, a workaholic financier, functioning on caffeine and Adderal, taking brief moments to enjoy a TV show only to work until 4 am the same night. The Mansions at Newport are the ghosts of the American Princess-esque 1920's, unaware in their assuming superiority that they have been dead for decades.
Beacon Hill, though, Beacon Hill is special. The spirit of Beacon Hill is the Spirit of Boston. Wearing a golden crown, this neighborhood carries with it the responsibility of our city's identity. You can feel the weight of the surviving Brahmin families, find yourself surrounded by students, walk the unchanged sidewalks that are as they were hundreds of years ago, minus a salon or two.
Beacon Hill is home to our greatest hospital, our oldest jail (now hotel), our capital of Government, our most photographed street, our most exclusive social club, our prized Athenaeum, and so much more. It touches the incredible engineering project that became Back Bay, gently presses up against Storrow Drive, and looks out upon our green Common. If there is a place that is more Boston than Beacon Hill, I don't know it.
Beacon Hill's soul is a Boston family, raised skating on the frog pond, jumping off the Esplanade dock, wandering the cafes of Charles Street, and voicing their opinions at the steps of the State House. It's a Boston family on a walk with their golden retriever, drinking their iced coffees despite a windchill below 30 degrees. It's returning from the Cape in July and settling into a book as you watch the sun set over whatever newest building has been added to the skyline. Beacon Hill shares the stories of old Boston to any who are willing to listen, and those who can muster the strength to walk it's steep and winding streets.