The New World Translation Defended (Feb 2018)

https://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/

Introducing a new blog dedicated to the New World Translation Bible, a Bible version that is unfairly criticized. Simply visit https://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/ and right now it features the following articles:

John 1:3, 4, Punctuation, Staircase Parallelism and Caris

We can see from the above that the closer one gets to Trinitarian controversy surrounding Nicaea, the more the punctuation changes in favor of showing Jesus as creator.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/01/john-13-4-punctuation-staircase.html

The Three Heavenly Witnesses, article in The Liberal Christian

This passage is admitted by learned Trinitarians lo be an interpolation, and they decline making use of it in support of their hypothesis. 

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/01/the-three-heavenly-witnesses-article-in.html

Joseph Priestley on the Trinity 1782

The doctrine of Transubstantiation implies a physical impossibility, whereas that of the Trinity, as unfolded in the Athanasian Creed, implies a mathematical one; and to this only we usually give the name of contradiction

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/01/joseph-priestley-on-trinity-1782.html

The Trinity Doctrine Contradicts Human Reason, By William S Andrews 1829

The strongest argument against the doctrine of the trinity is, that it contradicts the plainest dictates of human reason, and involves in itself propositions which are directly and utterly opposed to each other. One of these propositions is, that God is a single, independent, and almighty being,—the other is, that he is composed of three distinct persons or agents, united together in some mysterious manner, having but one will and consciousness, and together constituting the divine essence. 

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-trinity-doctrine-contradicts-human.html

Answering James L. Melton's Criticisms on the New World Translation

 Did you know that the early church fathers did not make any connection between Exodus 3:14 and John 8:58? The Greek versions they used were akin to Aquila’s and Theodotion’s where it reads “esomai hos esomia.” When translated, this reads “I will be what who I will be.” This is just like the TRUE reading at Exodus 3:14. 

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/answering-james-l-meltons-criticisms-on.html

The Maxim that Proves the Trinity Doctrine as False, by Theophilus Lindsey 1790

It may be assumed as a maxim, which cannot be controverted; that a doctrine of such importance as that which relates to the Being that made us, and whom we are to worship, whether it be one person, one intelligent agent, or consisting of two or three such persons; cannot depend upon one or two particular passages of scripture, especially such as are doubtful and obscure; but must be what is apparent throughout the whole, wherever the name of God occurs, and be every where plain and intelligible to the ordinary plowman, who makes use of his understanding, as to the greatest scholar.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-maxim-that-proves-trinity-doctrine.html

Questions on John 1:1 and John 20:28

This brings us to Smart's Rule as discussed on B-Greek. The rule is stated as: "In native [not translation] KOINE Greek when the copulative KAI connects two substantives of personal description in regimen [i.e. both or neither have articles] and the first substantive alone is modified by the personal pronoun in the genitive or repeated for perspicuity [Winer 147-148;155] two persons or groups of persons are in view."

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/questions-on-john-11-and-john-2028.html

The ISV Bible and the Divine Name

In a letter to the ISV in the late 1990's I wrote to ask them about [not including the Divine Name and I got this response:

"In regards to your puerile insistence on the "Divine Name" -- I have news for you. The ISV is in English, not Hebrew. If you want to use the "Divine Name" -- whatever you may think that it is (how DO you pronouce JHWH, or is the Divine Name KYRIOS, or is it Lord, lord,  LORD, L-rd, L-RD, God, G-d, G-D?) -- go right ahead and spend two million dollars to prepare your own English language base translation of the Bible like we did.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-isv-bible-and-divine-name.html

Samuel Fripp on John 8:58 and Exodus 3:14

... in that very interesting passage, (Exod. iii. 14.) where Moses asks by what name he is to describe the GREAT ETERNAL to his countrymen, “God said unto Moses, I AM THAT I AM.” Thus it is translated in our common version. Luther's is, more correctly, as follows: “I will be what I will “be.” (Ich werde seyn der ich seyn werde.) 

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/samuel-fripp-on-john-858-and-exodus-314.html

EPI/Over, Revelation 5:10 and the New World Translation

"Our best Greek scholars prefer rendering the preposition 'epi,' OVER, and then it will read, 'we shall reign over the earth.'" The Earthen Vessel and Christian Record & Review, Volumes 12-14 (Baptist) 1856

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/epiover-revelation-510-and-new-world.html

The New World Translation and the word(s) OTHER and FIRSTBORN and ACTIVE FORCE

It is the Bible that calls Jesus "the firstborn of all creation," "the beginning of God's creation," the "only-begotten Son" and links Jesus to the "created" Wisdom of Proverbs (Col 1:15; Rev 3:14; Jn 3:16; Prov 8:22-30 cf. Lu 11:47/1Cor 1:24 RSV).

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-new-world-translation-and-words.html

The Trinity Doctrine Embarrassed with Numerous Difficulties by Alvin Lamson 1828

To say of Christ, that he is divine and human, infinite and finite, omnipotent and weak, is to assert nothing more strange or mysterious, it is contended, than to affirm of man that he is mortal and immortal. But the fallacy of this statement is quite obvious. The expressions in question do not belong to the same class, nor have they any real, but only a seeming resemblance. When we say that man is mortal and immortal, we do not employ terms, which, in the connexion in which they stand, have any opposition or repugnance; they are not, in fact, opposites; they convey no incompatible ideas.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/difficulties-with-trinity-doctrine-by.html

An Appeal to Pious Trinitarians by Henry Grew 1857

Christian brother; can you open your bible and read, God is three; or that the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, are one God; or any words of equivalent import? Even the interpolation of 1Jo 5:7, does not affirm that the three are one God. What do we read in the Word of the Lord on this important subject? “Hear, O Israel? The LORD our God is ONE LORD.” – De 6:4 . “God is ONE.” – Ga 3:20. “There is but one God, the Father.” – 1Co 8:6.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/an-appeal-to-pious-trinitarians-by.html

The New World Translation and Johannes Greber

Also, the 1936 Greber NT was in German. The English translation was not made by him, but by a professional translator, corrected by a committee of American Clergymen and thoroughly revised by a teacher. The German and English versions at John 1:1 do not even agree with each other.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-new-world-translation-and-johannes.html

A Reply to Sam Reed on John 1:1 in the New World Translation

In this video at the 5:13 mark Dr Sam Reed singles out 43 words out of an over 1500 word Appendix, 43 words ripped right out context and they use these 43 words to make it sound like the NWT translators are saying that all anarthrous constructions (where there is no definite article) MUST be translated with an "a." However, the KIT and 1950 NWT appendix never says that at all.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/a-reply-to-sam-reed-on-john-11-in-new.html

Is 1 John 5:7 Evidence of the Trinity? (Video)

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/is-1john-57-evidence-of-trinity-video.html

The Attack on Hobby Lobby Is Incoherent and Unjust

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-attack-on-hobby-lobby-is-incoherent.html

The Herald of Gospel Liberty (1904) and John 1:1

The passage might better have been rendered thus: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was a divine being.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-herald-of-gospel-liberty-1904-and.html

Matthew 25:46 and the word KOLASIN By James T. Haley 1911

We [now] refer to the Greek word kolasin, translated "punishments" in verse 46. This word has not in it the remotest idea of torment. Its primary signifisation is to cut off or prune or lop off, as in the pruning of trees, and a secondary meaning is to restrain.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/matthew-2546-and-word-kolasin-by-james.html

The Unitarian Response to: I and My Father are One by Winthrop Bailey 1822

If it be said, that these are the translations of known Unitarians; I reply: our common translation is the work of known Trinitarians. If prejudice render the former suspicious; it renders the latter not less so.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-unitarian-response-to-i-and-my.html

"The Word was a God" from a 1695 Tract 

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-word-was-god-from-1695-tract.html

The Word was a god, and Origen, by William Allen 1860

...it was not the purpose of John to represent the Word as the infinite, supreme, almighty God. Origen, who wrote in Greek, in the third century, and understood the language better than any modern critic, says, that John's assertion is that, "the logos, or word, was a god," using the word god in its inferior, well-known sense, as is proved by his omission of the article.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-word-was-god-and-origen-by-william.html

Philo and the Logos as the Second God, by Kenneth Sylvan Guthrie 1899

Inasmuch as the Logos appears as the representant of God, he may also be called God; but with this distinction: The unbegotten God is called "The God," the Logos is called "God," without the article. The Logos is the "second God," and "the highest angel;" as the Platonic archetypal idea of man, he may be called the divine man.

http://newworldtranslation.blogspot.com/2018/02/philo-and-logos-as-second-god-by.html

Visit A Tribute to my Beloved Dog Teddy

The Dog At His Master's Grave

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The Dog At His Master's Grave 

HE will not come," said the gentle child,
And she patted the poor dog's head,
And she pleasantly called him and fondly smiled,
But he heeded her not, in his anguish wild,
Nor arose from his lowly bed.

'Twas his master's grave where he chose to rest,
He guarded it night and day,
The love that glowed in his grateful breast,
For the friend who had fed, controlled, carest,
Might never fade away.

And when the long grass rustled near,
Beneath some hasting tread,
He started up with a quivering ear,
For he thought 'twas the step of his master dear,
Returning from the dead.

But sometimes when a storm drew nigh,
And the clouds were dark and fleet,
He tore the turf with a mournful cry,
As if he would force his way, or die,
To his much-loved master's feet.

So there through the summer's heat he lay
Till autumn nights grew bleak,
Till his eye grew dim with his hope's decay
And he pined, and pined, and wasted away,
A skeleton gaunt and weak.

And oft the pitying children brought
Their offerings of meat and bread,
And to coax him away to their homes they sought,
But his buried master he ne'er forgot,
Nor strayed from his lonely bed.

Cold winter came with an angry sway,
And the snow lay deep and sore,
Then his moaning grew fainter day by day,
Till close where the broken tomb-stone lay,
He fell, to rise no more.

And when he struggled with mortal pain,
And Death was by his side,
With one loud cry that shook the plain,
He called for his master;—but called in vain,
Then stretched himself and died.

Mrs. Sigourney.

The Medical Powers of Music by J.G. Millingen 1839

Buy my published Kindle book on Amazon on the Strange History of Medicine for only 99 cents

The Medical Powers of Music by J.G. Millingen 1839

The powerful influence of music on our intellectual faculties, and consequently on our health, has long been ascertained, either in raising the energies of the mind, or producing despondency and melancholy associations of ideas. Impressed with its sublime nature, the ancients gave it a divine origin. Diodorus tells us that it was a boon bestowed on mankind after the deluge, and owed its discovery to the sound produced by the wind when whistling through the reeds that grew on the banks of the Nile. This science became the early study of philosophers and physicians. Herophilus explained the alterations of the pulse by the various modes and rhythms of music. In the sacred writings we have many instances of its influence in producing an aptitude for divine consolation. The derangement of Saul yielded to the harp of David, and the hand of the Lord came upon Elisha as the minstrel played. In Egypt certain songs were legally ordained in the education of youth, to promote virtue and morality. Polybius assures us that music was required to soften the manners of the Arcadians, whose climate was heavy and impure; while the inhabitants of Cynæthe, who neglected this science, were the most barbarous in Greece. The medical power of harmonious sounds was also fully admitted. We find Pythagoras directing certain mental disorders to be treated by music. Thales, called from Crete to Sparta, cured a disastrous pestilence by its means. Martinus Capella affirms that fevers were thus removed. Xenocrates cured maniacs by melodious sounds, and Asclepiades conquered deafness with a trumpet. In modern times it has been related of a deaf lady that she could only hear while a drum was beating, and a drummer was kept in the house for the purpose of enabling her to converse. Aulus Gellius tells us that a case of sciatica was cured by gentle modulations, and Theophrastus maintains that the bites of serpents and other venomous reptiles can be relieved by similar means. Ancient physicians, who attributed many diseases to the influence of evil spirits, fancied that harmonious sounds drove them away, more especially when accompanied by incantations; and we find in Luther, “that music is one of the most beautiful and glorious gifts of God, to which Satan is a bitter enemy.”

In more modern times we have several instances of the medical powers of music, and the effect produced by Farinelli on Philip of Spain is well known. This monarch was in such a deplorable state of despondency from ill health, that he refused to be shaved or to appear in public. On the arrival of Farinelli, the Queen was resolved to try the power of music, and a concert was ordered in a room adjoining the King’s chamber: Farinelli sang two of his best airs, which so overcame Philip that he desired he might be brought into his presence, when he promised to grant him any reasonable request he might make. The performer, in the most respectful manner, then begged of the King to allow himself to be shaved and attended by his domestics, to which Philip consented. Farinelli continued to sing to him daily until a perfect cure was effected.—The story of Tartini is rather curious: in a moment of musical enthusiasm he fell asleep, when the devil appeared to him playing on the violin, bidding him with a horrible grin to play as well as he did; struck with the vision, the musician awoke, ran to his harpsichord, and produced the splendid sonata which he entitled “the Devil’s.” Brückmann, and Hufeland relate cases of St. Vitus’s dance, cured by music, which, according to Desessarts, also relieved Catalepsy. Schneider and Becker have ascertained its influence in hysteric and hypochondriac affections.

A still more singular effect of music is related by Roger in the case of a poor wretch broken upon the wheel. In his agonies he blasphemed in the most fearful manner, and cordially damned the spiritual comforter who sought to reconcile him to his sufferings. Some itinerant musicians chanced to pass by, they were stopped by the priest and requested to play to the patient, when to the surprise of all around, he seemed relieved, and became so tranquil, that he attended with calm resignation to their exhortations, confessed his manifold offences, and died like a good Christian.

Rousseau, who entertained a sovereign contempt for French music, observes, that the Cantates of Bernier cured the fever of a French musician, while they most probably would have given a fever to a musician of any other country.

This remark of Rousseau reminds me of the French philosophical traveller (I believe it was Diderot), who on his journey to London from Dover, while horses were changing, had the curiosity to see a sick ostler with a raging fever attended by a country practitioner, who, despairing most probably of his patient, said, that he might be allowed to eat any thing he wished for. The man asked for a red-herring, which was forthwith given to him. Our tourist, generalizing like most of his brethren, immediately noted in his diary—English Physicians allow red-herrings to fever patients.

Some months after he changed horses at the same inn, and asked how long the unfortunate creature had survived his herring, when, to his utter surprise, he was informed that the hale, hearty fellow who was bringing out the relays, was the very man. He of course pulled out his journal and entered—red-herrings cure the fever of Englishmen.

Our traveller crossed over, and having accidentally seen in a French inn a poor devil whose case appeared to him similar to the sturdy ostler, he ventured to prescribe a similar remedy, which the patient only survived an hour or two; when his death was announced, he philosophically shrugged up his shoulders, and wrote in his book—Though red-herrings cure fevers in England, they most decidedly kill in France.

We frequently meet with lunatics who, although they have no remembrance of the past circumstances of their life, recollect and perform airs which they had formerly played.

Various well-authenticated cases lead us to suppose, that a sensibility to music long latent may be called into action by accidental circumstances. A case is on record of a countrywoman, twenty-eight years of age, who had never left her village, but was, by mere chance, present at a fête where a concert was performed, and dancing to a full band afterwards followed. She was delighted with the novelty of the scene; but, the fête concluded, she could not dismiss from her mind the impression the music had produced. Whether she was at her meals, her devotions, her daily occupation, or in her bed,—still, or moving about,—the airs she had heard, and in the succession in which they had been performed, were ever present to her recollection. To sleep she became a stranger,—every function became gradually deranged, and six short months terminated her existence, not having for one moment lost this strange sensation; and during this sad period, when any false note on the violin was purposely drawn, she would hold her head with both hands, and exclaim, “Oh! what a horrible note! it tears my brain!”

Sir Henry Halford relates the case of a man in Yorkshire, who after severe misfortunes lost his senses, and was placed in a lunatic asylum. There, in a short time, the use of the violin gradually restored him to his intellects; so promptly, indeed, that six weeks after the experiment, on hearing the inmates of the establishment passing by, he said, “Good morning, gentlemen; I am quite well, and shall be most happy to accompany you.”

Curious anecdotes are related of the effect of music upon animals. Marville has given the following amusing account of his experiments. “While a man was playing on a trump-marine, I made my observations on a cat, a dog, a horse, an ass, a hind, some cows, small birds, and a cock and hens, who were in a yard under the window: the cat was not the least affected; the horse stopped short from time to time, raising his head up now and then as he was feeding on the grass; the dog continued for above an hour seated on his hind-legs, looking steadfastly at the player; the ass did not discover the least indication of his being touched, eating his thistles peaceably; the hind lifted up her large wide ears, and seemed very attentive; the cows slept a little, and, after gazing at us, went forward; some little birds that were in an aviary, and others on trees and bushes, almost tore their little throats with singing; but the cock, who minded only his hens, and the hens, who were solely employed in scraping a neighbouring dunghill, did not show in any manner that the trump-marine afforded them pleasure.” That dogs have an ear for music cannot be doubted: Steibelt had one which evidently knew one piece of music from the other: and a modern composer, my friend, Mr. Nathan, had a pug-dog that frisked merrily about the room when a lively piece was played, but when a slow melody was performed, particularly Dussek’s Opera 15, he would seat himself down by the piano, and prick up his ears with intense attention until the player came to the forty-eighth bar; as the discord was struck, he would yell most piteously, and with drooping tail seek refuge from the unpleasant sound under the chairs or tables.

Eastcot relates that a hare left her retreat to listen to some choristers who were singing on the banks of the Mersey, retiring whenever they ceased singing, and reappearing as they recommenced their strains. Bossuet asserts, that an officer confined in the Bastille drew forth mice and spiders to beguile his solitude with his flute; and a mountebank in Paris had taught rats to dance on the rope in perfect time. Chateaubriand states as a positive fact, that he has seen the rattlesnakes in Upper Canada appeased by a musician; and the concert given in Paris to two elephants in the Jardin des Plantes leaves no doubt in regard to the effect of harmony on the brute creation. Every instrument seemed to operate distinctly as the several modes of pieces were slow or lively, until the excitement of these intelligent creatures had been carried to such an extent that further experiments were deemed dangerous.

The associations produced by national airs, and illustrated by the effect of the Rans des Vaches upon the Swiss, are too well known to be related; and the mal de pays, or nostalgia, is an affection aggravated by the fond airs of infancy and youth during the sad hours of emigration, when the aching heart lingers after home and early ties of friendship and of love. It is somewhat singular, but this disease is frequent among soldiers in countries where they are forcibly made to march: but is seldom, if ever, observed in the fair sex, who most probably seek for admiration in every clime, and are reconciled by flattery to any region.

The whims of musical composers have often been most singular; Gluck composed in a garden, quaffing champaign; Sarti, in a dark room; Paesiello, in his bed; Sacchini, with a favourite cat perched upon each shoulder. The extraordinary fancies of Kutswara, composer of the “Battle of Prague,” are too well known, and led to his melancholy, but unpitied end.

Great as the repute of the most popular musical performers, whether vocal or instrumental, in the present day may be, and enormous as their remuneration may seem, the ancients were more profuse in their generosity to musicians and the factors of musical instruments. Plutarch, in his life of Isocrates, tells us that he was the son of Theodorus, a flute-maker, who had realized so large a fortune by his business, that he was able to vie with the richest Athenian citizens in keeping up the chorus for his tribe at festivals and religious ceremonies. Ismenias, the celebrated musician of Thebes, gave three talents, or 581l. 5s. for a flute. The extravagance of this performer was so great, that Pliny informs us he was indignant at one of his agents for having purchased a valuable emerald for him at Cyprus at too low a price, adding, that by his penurious conduct he had disgraced the gem. The vanity of artists in those days appears to have been similar to the present impudent pretensions of many public favourites. Plutarch relates of this same Ismenias, that being sent for to play at a sacrifice, and having performed for some time without the appearance of any favourable omen in the victim, his employer snatched the instrument out of his hand, and began to play himself most execrably. However, the happy omen appeared, when the delighted bungler exclaimed that the gods preferred his execution and taste. Ismenias cast upon him a smile of contempt, and replied, “While I played, the gods were so enchanted that they deferred the omen to hear me the longer; but they were glad to get rid of you upon any terms.” This was nearly as absurd as the boast of Vestris, the Parisian dancer, who, on being complimented on his powers of remaining long in the air, replied, “that he could figure in the air for half an hour, did he not fear to create jealousy among his comrades.”

Amœbæus the harper, according to Athenæus, used to receive an Attic talent of 193l. 15s. for each performance. The beautiful Lamia, the most celebrated female flute-player, had a temple dedicated to her under the name of Venus Lamia. The Tibicinæ, or female flute-players, who formed collegiate bodies, were as celebrated for their talent and their charms, as for their licentiousness and extravagance. Their performances were forbidden by the Theodosian code, but with little success; since Procopius informs us that, in the time of Justinian the sister of the Empress Theodora, who was a renowned amateur tibicina, appeared on the stage without any other dress than a slight and transparent scarf.

In the early ages of Christianity, the power of music in adding to religious solemnity was fully appreciated, and many of the fathers and most distinguished prelates cultivated the auxiliary science. St. Gregory expressly sent over Augustine the monk, with some singers, who entered the city of Canterbury singing a litany in the Gregorian chant, which extended the number of the four tones of St. Ambrose to eight. A school for church music was established at Canterbury; and it was also taught in the diocese of Durham and Weremouth. St. Dunstan was a celebrated musician, and was accused of having invented a most wonderful magic harp; it was, perhaps, to prove that the accusation was false, that he took the devil by the nose with a pair of tongs. This ingenious saint is said to be the inventor of organs, one of which he bestowed on the abbey of Malmesbury. It appears, however, that instruments resembling the organ were known as early as 364, and were described in a Greek epigram attributed to Julian the Apostate, in which he says, “I beheld reeds of a new species, the growth of each other, and a brazen soil; such as are not agitated by winds, but by a blast that rushes from a leathern cavern beneath their roots; while a robust mortal, running with swift fingers over the concordant keys, makes them, as they smoothly dance, emit melodious sounds.”

The influence of music on the fair sex has long been acknowledged, and this advantage has proved fatal to some artists who had recourse to its fascinating powers; Mark Smeaton was involved in the misfortunes of Anne Boleyn; Thomas Abel, who taught harmony to Catherine, met with a similar fate, and David Rizzio was not more fortunate. They were, perhaps, too much impressed with the ideas of Cloten: “I am advis’d to give her music o’ mornings; they say it will penetrate.”

It is worthy of remark, that no woman was ever known to excel in musical composition, however brilliant her instrumental execution might have been. The same observation has been made in regard to logical disquisitions. To what are we to attribute this exception?—are we to consider these delightful tormentors as essentially unharmonious and illogical? We leave this important question to phrenologists.

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Hippolytus' Subordinationist Trinity By Alvan Lamson 1865

This Kindle book, The Dark History of the Trinity, is now available on Amazon by clicking here...and it is only 99 cents

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Hippolytus' Subordinationist Trinity By Alvan Lamson 1865

Hippolytus, a Roman presbyter, and Bishop of Portus, the harbor of Rome, near Ostia...lived and wrote about the year 220. (Christian Charles Josias von) Bunsen makes him Origen's senior by twenty-five years, and pronounces him "one of the leading men of ancient Christianity," —"one of those Christian teachers, governors, and thinkers, who made Christianity what it became as a social system, and as one of thought and ethics." He places him "among the series of leading men of the first seven generations of Christians." The title of the work is, "A Refutation of all Heresies." The tenth book contains what Bunsen calls "the confession of faith of Hippolytus"; which he pronounces "the real gem of his writings," — "his sacred legacy to posterity."

The history of Hippolytus has been involved in great obscurity; and all is not yet perfectly clear. Photius makes him a scholar of Irenaeus. He wrote numerous works, the titles of which are preserved hy the old writers. He is styled bishop, and both Eusebius and Jerome more than once mention him; but neither of them knew where he had his abode or see. Some have assigned him a residence at Portus Romanus in Arabia, that is, Adan or Aden; others at the port of Rome, where Bunsen places him. It is not improbable that he might have resided at both places at different periods of his life. He wrote in Greek. His death by martyrdom is referred to the early part of the third century. In 1551, a statue in marble was dug up in the vicinity of Rome, representing a venerable man seated in a chair, and having the title of several of Hippolytus's works engraved upon it; and there can be little doubt that it is his. Few of his writings have been supposed to remain.

The fragments we before possessed, however, showed the opinions he entertained on the subject of the Trinity. He was no believer in a co-equal Three. His Trinity, says (August) Neander, was "strictly subordinational." He asserted that "God caused the Logos to proceed from him when he would and as he would." In regard to the words, "I and my Father are one," he observes, that Christ "used the same expression respecting his own relation to the disciples." [Hist. Christ. Dogm., p. 168]

But he comes to us now, since the discovery of this work, as a new witness against the antiquity of the modern doctrine of the Trinity. The confession just referred to, as given by Bunsen, clearly exhibits the superiority of the Father, and the dependent and derived nature of the Son. The Father, according to the confession, is "the one God, the first and the only One, the Maker and Lord of all," who "had nothing coeval with him, no infinite chaos, no measureless water or solid earth, no thick air or hot fire or subtile spirit; not the blue vault of the great heaven. But he was One, alone by himself; who, willing it, called into being what had no being before, except that when he willed to call it into being, he had full knowledge of what was to be." Here is the One Infinite Father, who is above all, without co-equal, the Originator of all things. But, like the other ante-Nicene Fathers, Hippolytus believed, that, in creating the world, God made use of a subordinate being, or instrument, which was the Logos, or Son. "This sole and universal God," Hippolytus says, "first by his cogitation begets the Word (Logos), . . . the indwelling Reason of the universe." "When he (the Logos) came forth from Him who begat him, being his first-begotten speech, he had in himself the ideas conceived by the Father. When, therefore, the Father commanded that the world should be, the Logos accomplished it in detail, pleasing God." Again: this or that effect took place, "so far as the commanding God willed that the Logos should accomplish it." Here is subordination as unequivocally expressed as language can declare it. God is the Original: he commands, and the Son, or Logos, performs. "These things he (God) made by the Logos," the "only-begotten child of the Father, the light-bringing voice, anterior to the morning star." In common with the other Fathers, Hippolytus applies to the Son the title "God," because begotten of the substance of God, and not created out of nothing, as other things were; but he clearly distinguishes him from the Supreme, Infinite One. We discover in the confession, as Bunsen gives it, no mention of the Spirit as a distinct manifestation. Bunsen quotes G. A. Meier as asserting "the fact, that Hippolytus decidedly ascribes no personality to the Holy Spirit." [See Meier's Lehre von der Trinitat, i. 88; Bunsen's Christianity and Mankind, i. 464. — Ed.]

The creed of this old bishop, who, as we are told, "received the traditions and doctrine of the Apostolic age from an unsuspected source," is certainly not Athanasian. Well might Bunsen pronounce the "doctrinal system of the ante-Nicene Church," among the teachers of which he assigns to Hippolytus so elevated a place, "irreconcilable with the letter and authority of the formularies of the Constantinian, and, in general, of the Byzantine councils, and with the mediaeval systems built upon them." He subjoins, "I say that it is irreconcilable with that letter and that authority, as much as these are with the Bible and common sense; and I add, it would be fully as irreconcilable with the Byzantine and Roman churches if Arianism had prevailed."

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Alchemy & the Philosopher's Stone by Francis Lieber 1849

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The History of Alchemy & the Philosopher's Stone by Francis Lieber 1849

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Alchemy: the art of changing, by means of a secret chemical process, base metals into precious. Probably the ancient nations, in their first attempts to melt metals, observing that the composition of different metals produced masses of a color unlike either,—for instance, that a mixture like gold resulted from the melting together of copper and zinc,—arrived at the conclusion, that one metal could be changed into another. At an early period, the desire of gold and silver grew strong, as luxury increased, and men indulged the hope of obtaining these rarer metals from the more common. At the same time, the love of life led to the idea of finding a remedy against all diseases, a means of lessening the infirmities of age, of renewing youth, and repelling death. The hope of realizing these ideas prompted the efforts of several men, who taught their doctrines through mystical images and symbols. To transmute metals, they thought it necessary to find a substance which, containing the original principle of all matter, should possess the power of dissolving all into its elements. This general solvent, or menstruum universale, which, at the same time, was to possess the power of removing all the seeds of disease out of the human body, and renewing life, was called the philosopher's stone, lapis philosophorum, and its pretended possessors adepts. The more obscure the ideas which the alchemists themselves had of the appearances occurring in their experiments, the more they endeavored to express themselves in symbolical language. Afterwards, they retained this phraseology, to conceal their secrets from the uninitiated. In Egypt, in the earliest times, Hermes, the son of Anubis, was ranked among the heroes, and many books of chemical, magical and alchemical learning are said to have been left by him. These, however, are of a later date. For this reason, chemistry and alchemy received the name of the Hermetic art. It is certain that the ancient Egyptians possessed particular chemical and metallurgical knowledge, although the origin of alchemy cannot, with certainty, be attributed to them. Several Grecians became acquainted with the writings of the Egyptians, and initiated in their chemical knowledge.

The fondness for magic, and for alchemy more particularly, spread afterwards among the Romans also. When true science was persecuted under the Roman tyrants, superstition and false philosophy flourished the more. The prodigality of the Romans excited the desire for gold, and led them to pursue the art which promised it instantaneously and abundantly. Caligula made experiments with a view of obtaining gold from orpiment. On the other hand, Diocletian ordered all books to be burned that taught to manufacture gold and silver by alchemy. At that time, many books on alchemy were written, and falsely inscribed with the names of renowned men of antiquity. Thus a number of writings were ascribed to Democritus, and more to Hermes, which were written by Egyptian monks and hermits, and which, as the Fabula Smaragdina, taught, in allegories, with mystical and symbolical figures, the way to discover the philosopher's stone. At a later period, chemistry and alchemy were cultivated among the Arabians. In the 8th century, the first chemist, commonly called Geber, flourished among them, in whose works rules are given for preparing quicksilver and other metals. In the middle ages, the monks devoted themselves to alchemy, although they were afterwards prohibited from studying it by the popes. But there was one, even among these, John XXII, who was fond of alchemy. Raymond Lully, or Lullius, was one of the most famous alchemists in the 13th and 14th centuries. A story is told of him, that, during his stay in London, he changed for king Edward I a mass of 50,000 pounds of quicksilver into gold, of which the first rose-nobles were coined. The study of alchemy was prohibited at Venice in 1488. Paracelsus, who was highly celebrated about 1525, belongs to the renowned alchemists, as do Roger Bacon, Basilius, Valentinus and many others. When, however, more rational principles of chemistry and philosophy began to be diffused, and to shed light on chemical phenomena, the rage for alchemy gradually decreased, though many persons, including some nobles, still remained devoted to it. Alchemy has, however, afforded some service to chemistry, and even medicine. Chemistry was first carefully studied by the alchemists, to whose labor and patience we are indebted for several useful discoveries; e. g. various preparations of quicksilver, mineral kermes, of porcelain, &c.—Nothing can be asserted with certainty about the transmutation of metals. Modern chemistry, indeed, places metals in the class of elements, and denies the possibility of changing an inferior metal into gold. Most of the accounts of such transmutation rest on fraud or delusion, although some of them are accompanied with circumstances and testimony which render them probable. By means of the galvanic battery, even the alkalies have been discovered to have a metallic base. The possibility of obtaining metal from other substances which contain the ingredients composing it, and of changing one metal into another, or rather of refining it, must, therefore, be left undecided. Nor are all alchemists to be considered impostors. Many have labored, under the conviction of the possibility of obtaining their object, with indefatigable patience and purity of heart (which is earnestly recommended by sound alchemists as the principal requisite for the success of their labors). Designing men have often used alchemy as a mask for their covetousness, and as a means of defrauding silly people of their money. Many persons, even in out days, destitute of sound chemical knowledge, have been led by old books on alchemy, which they did not understand, into long, expensive and fruitless labors. Hitherto chemistry has not succeeded in unfolding the principles by which metals are formed, the laws of their production, their growth and refinement, and in aiding or imitating this process of nature; consequently the labor of the alchemists, in search of the philosopher's stone, is but a groping in the dark.

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The Ghostly Cough - A Consumptive Haunting by Elliot O'Donnell 1919

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The Ghostly Cough - A Consumptive Haunting in Regency Square, Brighton by Elliot O'Donnell 1919

I know a man called Harrison. So, in all probability, do you; so, in all probability, do most people. But it is not everyone, I imagine, that knows a Harrison who delights in the Christian name of Pelamon, and it is not everyone that knows a Pelamon Harrison who indulges in psychical research. Now some people think that no one unless he be a member of the Psychical Research Society can know anything of ghosts. That is a fallacy. I have met many people who, although they have had considerable experience in haunted houses, have never set a foot in Hanover Square; and, vice versa, I have met many people who, although they have been members of the Psychical Research Society, have assured me they have never seen a ghost. Pelamon Harrison belongs to the former category. He is by vocation a gentleman undertaker, and he lives in Sussex. Some years ago, after the publication of my novel For Satan’s Sake, which was very severely criticised in certain of the religious denominational papers, Pelamon Harrison, championing my cause, wrote me rather an interesting letter. I went to see him, and ever since then he has not only supplied me with detailed information of all the hauntings he has come across, but he has at times sent me accounts of his own experiences. This is one of them.

Pelamon was seated in his office one day reading Poe, when the telephone at his elbow started ringing.

“Hullo!” said Pelamon. “Who’s there?”

“Only me—Phoebe Hunt,” was the reply. (Phoebe Hunt was Pelamon Harrison’s housekeeper.)

“Anything the matter?” Pelamon asked anxiously. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Mrs. Hunt replied, “only a rather queer-looking gentleman has just called and seemed most anxious to see you. He says he has been told about you by Mr. Elliot O’Donnell, and he wants you to go at once to a house in Regency Square, Brighton, No. —. He says it is very badly haunted.”

“What’s his name?” Pelamon demanded.

“Nimkin,” Mrs. Hunt answered, and she very carefully spelt the name—“N I M K I N.”

“I’ll think it over,” Pelamon said, “and if I’m not home by seven o’clock, don’t expect me till the morning.” He then rang off, and thinking it was time he did some work, he took up his account book.

Try as he would, however, he could not keep his mind from wandering. Something kept whispering in his ear “Nimkin,” and something kept telling him that his presence was urgently needed in Regency Square.

At last, unable to stand it any longer, he threw down his pen and, picking up his hat and coat, hurried off to the railway station.

At seven o’clock that evening he stood on the pavement immediately in front of No. — Regency Square. All the blinds were down, and this circumstance, combined with an atmosphere of silence and desolation, told him that the house was no longer inhabited. Somewhat perplexed, he asked the servant next door if she could tell him where Mr. Nimkin lived.

“Not in Heaven,” the girl replied tartly. “He did live in No. — till his wife died, but after that he went to live on the other side of the town. He died himself a few days ago, and I believe his funeral took place this afternoon.”

“And No. — where his wife died is now empty,” Pelamon observed.

“Yes, it’s been empty ever since,” she replied, and, sinking her voice to a whisper, “folks say it’s haunted. I can’t altogether bring myself to believe in ghosts—but I’ve heard noises,” and she laughed uneasily.

“Had he any children?” Pelamon asked.

“No,” the girl answered, “and he has left the money he hoarded—he was the meanest of old sticks—to the hospital for consumptives.”

“A worthy cause,” Pelamon commented.

The girl nodded. “His wife was a consumptive,” she went on. “I remember her well—a pretty, fair-haired creature with a lovely skin, and”—here she shuddered—“a shocking cough.” Then, thrusting her head close to Pelamon, and fixing him with a frightened glance, she whispered, “It was the cough that killed her!”

Pelamon stared at her in astonishment. “Why, of course,” he said. “It’s the cough that kills all consumptives. I’ve buried scores of them.”

The girl shook her head. “You don’t understand,” she said, “but I daren’t tell you any more; and, after all, it’s only what we thought. Anyhow, he’s dead now, and a good job too. Did you want to see him?”

“Oh, it was nothing very particular,” Pelamon replied. “Who has the keys of the house?”

The girl’s jaws dropped and her eyes grew as big as turtle’s eggs.

“The keys!” she exclaimed. “Mercy on us, you don’t intend going there?”

“That’s my business,” Pelamon replied haughtily; and then, not wishing to offend her, he added: “I heard the place was to be let, and as I want a house in this particular locality, I thought I would call and look at it, that’s all! I am not a burglar!”

The girl giggled. “A burglar!” she said. “Oh no, you’re not sharp enough for that. Besides, the house is empty.”

“What!” Pelamon exclaimed. “Has all the furniture been taken away?”

“All but the blinds,” the girl nodded. “There was a sale here the day after Mrs. Nimkin was buried, and at it crowds of people; some of the furniture fetched an enormous price. I did hear that the house was sold too, but I’ll ask the missus to make sure.”

She ran upstairs, and returned in a few minutes.

“Yes,” she said, “the house is sold, and the new people are coming in soon.”

“Then that settles the matter,” Pelamon said, and, thanking her in his usual terse and precise way, he withdrew.

He took a brief turn on the sea front, thinking all the time of Regency Square and the mysterious individual who had interviewed Mrs. Hunt, and who must be, he thought, related to the Nimkin who had been buried that afternoon. At nine o’clock he was once again in the square. Entering the garden of No. —, he crept round to the back of the house and, finding the catch of one of the windows undone, he raised the sash and climbed in.

He had an electric torch with him, and consequently he was able to find his way about. Pelamon is very susceptible to the influence of the superphysical, and is probably far more of a psychic than the majority of those who earn their living as professional mediums. He told me afterwards that he knew No. — was haunted the moment he set his foot inside it. He could detect the presence of the superphysical both in the atmosphere and also in the shadows. Frequently in the death chambers which he had attended he had seen a certain type of shadow on the floor by the bed; and it was this same queer kind of shadow, he said, that now crept out from the wall to meet him. But it was not the only phenomenon. From just where the shadow lay, there came a cough, a nervous, worrying cough, a regular hack, hack, hack, and when Pelamon moved, the cough and the shadow moved too. He went all over the house, into every room; and the cough and the shadow followed him. Hack, hack, hack, he could not get rid of it. At first it merely irritated him; but after a while he grew angry, infuriated, maddened.

“Damn you!” he yelled. “Stop it! Stop that vile, infernal hacking. Damn you! Curse you! Stop it!”

But the coughing went on, and in a hideous fit of rage, Pelamon flew at the shadow, jumped on it, stamped on it, and drawing out his clasp knife, knelt down and deliberately stabbed it. Still it went on, untiringly, ceaselessly, significantly, hack, hack, hack. Pelamon was still on the floor cutting, stabbing, blaspheming, when a taxi suddenly drew up outside the house, and the next moment the front-door bell gave a loud birr. Pelamon waited till it had rung twice; then he answered it. A chauffeur stood on the doorstep.

“You’ve come to the wrong house,” Pelamon said to him. “No taxi is wanted here.”

“This is No. —, ain’t it?” the man ejaculated.

“Yes,” Pelamon replied. “It is No. —, but that doesn’t simplify matters. Who sent for you?”

“A gentleman as lives on t’other side of the town,” the chauffeur replied. “He called out to me as I was passing his house. ‘Do you want a job?’ he says. ‘Will you drive to No. — Regency Square and fetch a lady and gentleman? You’ll find them there waiting for you. The gent’s name is Harrison’ (Pellijohn Harrison, I think he said, but I couldn’t quite catch it). ‘Never mind the lady’s. Bring ’em both here.’”

“That’s very extraordinary,” Pelamon exclaimed, “for that’s my name, without a doubt. But I don’t know who the gentleman could have been, and there’s no lady here.”

“Maybe there ain’t no lady in the house now,” the chauffeur said dryly, “because she’s just got in the taxi. But she was there a second or two ago. You do like your bit of fun, don’t yer?”

Pelamon, in a great state of bewilderment, was about to say something, when from the direction of the taxi came the cough, hack, hack, hack. He knew it too well.

“There you are,” the chauffeur said, with a leer. “You must admit she’s in there right enough, and waiting till you’re ready to join her.”

Possessed with the feeling that he must see the thing through, Pelamon hesitated no longer. He got into the taxi. The coughing went on, but he could see no lady.

They drove right through the town, and at last stopped outside a small villa facing a church or chapel. Concluding this must be their destination, Pelamon got out and, bidding the chauffeur wait, rang the front-door bell. There was no response. He looked at the windows; there was not a vestige of light anywhere and the blinds were all tightly drawn. He rang again, and rapped as well, and was about to do so a third time, when a window in the next house was raised and a voice called out: “There’s no one there. There’s been a funeral to-day and the house is empty.”

“Whose funeral was it?” Pelamon asked eagerly.

“Mr. Nimkin’s,” was the reply; “he died last Tuesday.”

“Why, what are you a-talking about?” the chauffeur called out, descending from his perch and joining Pelamon on the doorstep. “Nimkin! Why, that was the name of the bloke as was here less than an hour ago and told me to fetch this gentleman. No one in the house indeed, why, he’s in it, and the lady that came along with this gentleman here, she’s in it too. Listen to her coughing,” and, as he spoke, from the other side of the closed door came the familiar sounds, hack, hack, hack.

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Real Detectives vs Fictional Detectives by Carolyn Wells 1913

The Real Detective vs the Fictional Detective by Carolyn Wells 1913

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The all-important character of the Detective Story is, of course, the Detective. He is not only the Star Performer, but the reason for the Detective Story itself. What Mr. Hawthorne calls the Transcendent Detective is the detective of fiction. Such a one is made, not born.

As Mr. Vance Thompson puts it:

"Readers who pant breathlessly after Sherlock Holmes and his like should give thanks to Edgar Allan Poe; when he invented Dupin in the 'Murders in the Rue Morgue,' he created once for all the type of the detective in fiction. In all the years it has not changed very much. Sherlock Holmes still sits in his dark, super-heated chamber; he is drugged with tobacco and opium; he maintains the 'profound silence' that distinguished Poe's cold analyst; indeed, one may be sure that the type will live for another eighty years."

But we have already agreed that this fiction detective has little or nothing to do with the real detective. When M. Goron, one of the greatest of French detectives, was asked concerning this, he replied:

"I dare say I have read nearly all the detective stories, those of Poe and Gaboriau, and 'Sir Doyle's' clever tales. Like every one else I love to follow the twists and turns that lead to the end of these apparently inexplicable problems. It is a good intellectual sport—like playing chess. But do not imagine for a moment," and M. Goron was emphatic, "that it has anything at all to do with practical police work. Nothing at all. It is not by such subtle, opium-bred guesswork and fine-drawn deduction that criminals are detected."

M. Goron's theory is that in thief-taking, as in everything else, system is of prime importance; and after that the most effective auxiliary of the detective is Chance. Almost always it is by a lucky hazard that the shrewd criminal is brought down. For instance, the taking of Magne; it was tragically absurd—for the farce ended in the basket of wet sawdust under the guillotine.

In fact, detectives of real life invariably scorn the transcendent detective of fiction, and, in his turn, the story-book detective scoffs at the methods of the Central Office men.

Mr. Arthur C. Train, in "Courts Criminal and The Camorra," thus mildly satirizes our detective of fiction and sets him quite apart from the genuine article:

"The sanctified tradition that a detective was an agile person with a variety of side whiskers no longer obtains even in light literature, and the most imaginative of us is frankly aware of the fact that a detective is just a common man earning (or pretending to earn) a common living by common and obvious means. Yet in spite of ourselves we are accustomed to attribute superhuman acuteness and a lightning-like rapidity of intellect to this vague and romantic class of fellow-citizens. The ordinary work of a detective, however, requires neither of these qualities. Honesty and obedience are his chief requirements, and if he have intelligence as well, so much the better, provided it be of the variety known as horse sense. A genuine candidate for the job of Sherlock Holmes would find little competition. In the first place, the usual work of a detective does not demand any extraordinary powers of deduction at all.

"There are a very large number of persons who go into the detective business for the same reason that others enter the ministry—they can't make a living at anything else. Provided he has squint eyes and a dark complexion, almost anybody feels that he is qualified to unravel the tangled threads of crime.

"The real detective is the one who, taking up the solution of a crime or other mystery, brings to bear upon it unusual powers of observation and deduction and an exceptional resourcefulness in acting upon his conclusions. Frankly, I have known very few such, although for some ten years I have made use of a large number of so-called detectives in both public and private matters. As I recall the long line of cases where these men have rendered service of great value, almost every one resolves itself into a successful piece of mere spying or trailing. Little ingenuity or powers of reason were required. Of course, there are a thousand tricks that an experienced man acquires as a matter of course, but which at first sight seem almost like inspiration.

"There is no more reason to look for superiority of intelligence or mental alertness among detectives of the ordinary class than there is to expect it from clerks, stationary engineers, plumbers, or firemen. While comparisons are invidious, I should be inclined to say that the ordinary chauffeur was probably a brighter man than the average detective.

This is not to be taken in derogation of the latter, but as a compliment to the former. There is more reason why he should be.

"The telephone is the modern detective's chief ally, and he relies upon rapidity more than upon deduction. Under present conditions it is easier to overtake a crook than to reason out what he will probably do. In fact, the old-fashioned 'deductive detective' is largely a man of the past. The most useless operator in the world is the one who is 'wedded to his own theory' of the case—the man who asks no questions and relies only on himself. Interject a new element into a case and such a man is all at sea. In the meantime the criminal has made his 'get away.'

"In the story-books your detective scans with eagle eye the surface of the floor for microscopic evidences of crime. His mind leaps from a cigar ash to a piece of banana peel and thence to what the family had for dinner. His brain is working all the time. His gray matter dwarfs almost to insignificance that of Daniel Webster or the Hon. Benjamin F. Butler. It is, of course, all quite wonderful and most excellent reading, and the old-style sleuth really thought he could do it! Nowadays, while the fake detective is snooping around the back piazza with a telescope, the real one is getting the 'dope' from the village blacksmith or barber (if there is any except on Saturday nights) or the girl that slings the pie at the station. These folk have something to go on. They may not be highly intelligent, but they know the country, and, what is more important, they know the people. All the brains in the world cannot make up for the lack of an elementary knowledge of the place and the characters themselves. It stands to reason that no strange detective could form as good an opinion as to which of the members of your household would be most likely to steal a piece of jewelry as you could yourself. Yet the old-fashioned Sherlock knew and knows it all.

"There is no mystery about such work, except what the detective himself sees fit to enshroud it with. Most of us do detective work all the time without being conscious of it. Simply because the matter concerns the theft of a pearl, or the betraying of a business or professional secret, or the disappearance of a friend, the opinion of a stranger becomes no more valuable. And the chances are equal that the stranger will make a bungle of it.

"The national detective agency with its thousands of employees who have, most of them, grown up and received their training in its service, is a powerful organization, highly centralized, and having an immense sinking fund of special knowledge and past experience.

"This is the product of decades of patient labor and minute record. The agency which offers you the services of a Sherlock Holmes is a fraud, but you can accept as genuine a proposition to run down any man whose picture you may be able to identify in the gallery. The day of the impersonator is over. The detective of this generation is a hard-headed business man with a stout pair of legs."

Thus, the reader will observe that there are just a few more real detectives still left in the business—if you can find them. Incidentally, they one and all take off their hats to Scotland Yard. They will tell you that the Englishman may be slow (fancy an American Inspector of Police wearing gray suede gloves and brewing himself a dish of tea in his office at four o'clock!), but that once he goes after a crook he is bound to get him—it is merely a question of time. I may add that in the opinion of the heads of the big agencies the percentage of ability in the New York Detective Bureau is high—one of them going so far as to claim that fifty percent of the men have real detective ability—that is to say "brains." That is rather a higher average than one finds among clergymen and lawyers, yet it may be so.

Mr. John Wilson Murray, one of the noted detectives, says simply in his "Memoirs of a Great Detective":

"There is no magic about the detective business. A detective walking along the street does not suddenly hear a mysterious voice whisper 'Banker John Jones has just been robbed of $1,000,000.' He does not turn the corner and come upon a perfect stranger, and then, because the stranger has a twisted cigar in his mouth, suddenly pounce upon him and exclaim: 'Aha, villain that you are! give back to Banker Jones the $1,000,000 you stole ten minutes ago!' The detective business is of no such foolish and impossible character. Detectives are not clairvoyants, or infallible prophets, or supernatural seers. They possess no uncanny powers and no mantle of mysterious wonder-working. I remember a few years ago I was subpoenaed before a grand jury in the City of New York to testify on a matter pertaining to a prisoner, whose record I knew here in Canada. The foreman of that jury was a man prominent in New York's business life. When I was called he looked at me and suddenly said:

"'Inspector Murray, what crimes have been committed within the past hour in New York, and who committed them?' "'I have not the slightest idea,' I replied.

"'Oh, ho! So you cannot go out and put your hands on every man who has committed a crime? You are a detective, yet cannot do that?' he said.

"'I am not that kind of detective,' I replied. 'When I get a guilty man it usually is by hard work or good luck, and often by both.'

"'Thank the Lord we've found a detective who is not greater than God,' he said.

"As a matter of fact the detective business is a plain ordinary business, just like a lawyer's business, a doctor's business, a railway manager's business. It has its own peculiarities because it deals with crime, with the distorted, imperfect, diseased members of the social body, just as a surgeon's business deals with the distorted, imperfect, diseased members of the physical body. But it is not an abnormal or phenomenal or incomprehensible business. There is nothing done in it, nothing accomplished by any detective, that is not the result of conscientious work, the exercise of human intelligence, an efficient system of organization and intercommunication, and good luck. A good detective must be quick to think, keen to analyse, persistent, resourceful, courageous. But the best detective in the world is a human being, neither half-devil nor half-god, but just a man with the attributes or associates that make him successful in his occupation.

"The best detective, therefore, is a man who instinctively detects the truth, lost though it may be in a maze of lies. By instinct he is a detective. He is born to it; his business is his natural bent. It would be a platitude to say the best detectives are born, not made. They are both born and made for the business. The man who, by temperament and make-up, is an ideal detective, must go through the hard years of steady work, must apply himself, and study and toil in making himself what he is born to be. Sandow was born to be a strong man, but, if he had not developed himself by hard work, he would not have become the strongest man of his time. As a detective advances in his business he will find that the more he studies and works, the stronger his powers of intuition, of divination, of analysis become. A very simple broad illustration will prove this. If a detective is chasing a criminal from country to country, and has learned, by study of the extradition treaties, that a certain country offers a better haven than another, he may save himself many a weary mile by going to the country where his common sense tells him his man is more likely to be. A mechanical knowledge of the use of tools, a knowledge of the effects of poisons, a knowledge of the ways of banking, of the habits of life of the various classes, in various callings, a knowledge of crooks, and, above all, a knowledge of human nature, in whatsoever way manifest, are invaluable elements of the equipment of a good detective."

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