Impressions 



the back-door is locked; when geologists cease 

 to contradict; 



When, open-eyed, we see, from Heaven's height 



The earth where long we groped in darkness drear, 



Then and there only, banished is the night; 



Suggestion vague turned to conception clear ! 



Geologists are not the only queer people we 

 meet. There is a pseudo- scientific clique that 

 appropriates the title of * ' archaeologist, " and 

 asks us to believe a great deal more than the 

 meagre facts warrant. These men all know 

 what's what when specimens are produced, and 

 spin marvelous yarns concerning every odd 

 shape of worked stone. The jagged edge of a 

 chipped stone is always a saw ; and the iron in 

 any stone implement, reddening, by oxidation 

 its surface, is always a blood-stain. The sim- 

 plest scratches on a clay bowl are claimed to 

 be of marvelous significance. The question 

 arises: Would the old-time Indians recognize 

 themselves could they read the papers read at 

 archaeological conventions ? 



There is always something impressive in see- 

 ing objects that are very old. To hold even so 

 simple a thing as an arrow-point and consider 



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