National Geographic : 1936 Jul
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE rnotograpn oy Klcnara w. sears AT BOSTON IN 1876 ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL SENT THE FIRST MESSAGE BY TELEPHONE "Mr. Watson, come here, I want you." With these now historic words, Dr. Bell summoned his assistant by telephone in this building on March 10, 1876. Here, forty years later, on March 13, 1916, the inventor of the telephone and Mrs. Bell attend the unveiling of a memorial tablet com memorating the momentous invention achieved in this building on Exeter Place. Second president of the National Geographic Society, Dr. Bell was a trustee of The Society until his death in 1922 (page 76 and Plate XI). wanted than there were hands to make them. From this necessity came inven tions; shoe machinery, the cotton gin, me chanical wool combers, all New England's complex factory life. For busloads who daily visit these his toric shrines about Boston, here is visual, fascinating evidence of how their ancestors lived and fought, by land and sea. How pirates were outwitted, whales killed, wars waged, privateers launched, trade carried on with China, and how New England became mistress of the seas are all graphically shown in the matchless sea faring exhibits of Peabody Museum, also at Salem. Here, too, is the visual story of life in the Far East, a century or more ago, as these Yankee skippers found it. Besides its amazing show of ship models, pictures of historic clippers, and crude paintings of Canton and Shanghai homes of exiled Boston and Salem traders of long ago, to this museum have been added rare life sized ethnological groups, collections of oriental art and handcraft, boats, weapons, dishes, jewelry, and wearing apparel. How profitless a walk out to Salem's "Gallows Hill," where a few "witches" were hanged, compared with a silent, vivid hour, imagination at play, among these wonders of bygone ways and days! Follow the route of Paul Revere's ride, if you will, and see Lexington, Concord, and that bridge where patriots fired "the shot heard round the world." But never with the Boston Sunday crowds! The road becomes a river then, a thick sluggish stream of crowded busses, family flivvers, "foreign" cars with Iowa or Utah license tags, motorcycles, and fat girls in shorts walking, reducing.