For the life of the poet Ion we have more certain dates than for most of the Other writers of the fifth century. He produced his first tragedy in the 82nd Olympiad, 452–448 B.C., another in the year of the archon Epameinon 429/428 B.C. —after the death of Perikles and when the revolt of Lesbos was imminent—and his death is fixed for us by a passage in the Peace of Aristophanes, which we may well call an obituary, in summer 422 or even in winter 422/421 B.C. The approximate date of his birth we learn from his own words in a story preserved by Plutarch, and deriving no doubt from the book to which later librarians gave the title 'Επι7dgr;ημίαι or 'Υπομνήμαтα: 5 συδειπν⋯σαι δè т⋯ι Κίμωνί ϕησιν ⋯ Ἴων πανάπασιν μειράκιον ἢκων εἰς 'Aθήνας Χίου παρà Ααομέδονтι. Hence he was about fifteen years of age when he first came to Athens, apparently in order to get his higher education there—a fact which seems significant of the position which Athens had won for herself by the foundation of the Delian League. At the same time this fact clearly indicates that his father Orthomenes, whom they called Xuthos, had whole-heartedly espoused the cause of Athens. He bequeathed his loyalty to his son Ion, who adhered to Athens through all vicissitudes of fortune, and he in his turn bequeathed it to his son Tydeus, who paid for it with his life.

The introduction of the trireme into Greek navies was an event of great political importance, which may fairly be compared to the introduction of the ‘all-big-gun’ battleship into the British Navy in 1907. Heavier, more powerful, and capable of carrying more ⋯πιβ⋯ται, but making greater demands on timber supplies and manpower, the trireme not only rendered obsolete all existing Greek line-of-battle ships but gave a decisive advantage to those States whose resources in materials and men enabled them to create and maintain adequate fleets of the new type of warship.1 It is a mark of the insufficiency of our sources for early Greek history that we nowhere find an explicit statement of the date at which this revolution occurred, or of the identity of the person responsible.

The chapters in which Thucydides describes the revolt of Potidaea and the subsequent operations there (I. 56–65) have often been criticized for their lack of clarity and precision. Their unevenness suggests an inadequate mastery of technique, and it seems very probable that they were written in the earliest years of the Peloponnesian war and never revised. Although opportunities to interrogate Peloponnesian prisoners must occasionally have come his way (cf. 1. 22. 3), his accounts of military operations which took place long before his banishment are founded very largely upon evidence derived from Athenian sources; but the chapters on Potidaea do not suffer from this disadvantage, and their faults are in no way attributable to a dearth of information from Peloponnesian sources, which seem, strangely enough, to have provided him with much of his material. His narrative is written as much from a Peloponnesian as from an Athenian point of view, and indeed it achieves warmth and colour only where its subject is the Corinthian Aristeus, whose plans and even motives are described in some detail, though they did not substantially influence the course of events. His treatment of Aristeus is sufficiently remarkable to merit examination with the object of seeking an explanation of its peculiarities.

Aristotle, in chapter 22 of the Poetics (145818–145916), has some remarks on poetic diction. He lays it down that, while poetry should be clear in meaning, it should avoid meanness of expression, σεμν⋯ δ⋯ κα⋯ ⋯ξαλλ⋯ττουσα τò ἰδιωτικòν ⋯ τοῖς ξενικοῖς κεχρημ⋯νη—it becomes dignified and elevated above the commonplace when it employs unusual words; ξενικòν δ⋯ λ⋯γω γλ⋯τταν κα⋯ μεταφορ⋯ν κα⋯ ⋯π⋯κτασιν κα⋯ π⋯ν τò παρ⋯ τò κ⋯ριον—and examples of unusual words are rare words, metaphors, lengthened forms, and everything that differs from normal speech. He then gives specimens of poetry, to show how the poetic effect can be spoilt by the substitution of τ⋯ κ⋯ρια for τ⋯ ξενικ⋯, and of these the two that follow are taken from the Odyssey. The first is Od. 9. 515,

Fabvla misere mutila: this notice in the Oxford edition, reinforced in the critical apparatus, warns the reader against the transmitted text of the Heradidae. It tends to perpetuate the view which Wilamowitz, following up the hints of G. Hermann and A. Kirchhoff, propounded in 1882. The sweeping assurance of his famous article gave it a publicity which makes a detailed rehearsal superfluous. Wilamowitz throughout his life stuck to the opinion that ‘wir lesen die Herakliden in der Bearbeitung eines Regisseurs’. Dissentient voices have been raised from time to time. M. Pohlenz in 1930 even proposed an interpretation of the Heradidae which quietly discarded the thesis of Wilamowitz. Nevertheless the latter appears still to hold the field at least in the English-speaking countries. If it is correct, the Heradidae of Euripides is beyond our reach. This conclusion has indeed, quite recently, been drawn by H. D. F. Kitto.

‘Now that all parts and members of the mortal creature had been fashioned into one, seeing that it must be the creature's lot for reasons of necessity to spend its life in the domain of fire and air and that it was like to waste away being continually melted and emptied by their onslaught, the gods contrived reinforcement for it. Blending a being kindred to man's being but with different shapes and senses, they brought it into life, a second kind of living creature. Trees, plants, and seeds are these, and those among them which are cultivated types to-day have arrived at their mild benevolence to man only because they have been civilized by his husbandry; formerly only the wild kinds existed, for these are older than the cultivated. Now everything that is alive, whatever it be, may perfectly correctly and of right be termed ‘a living creature’. The creature now in question has at any rate the third kind of soul which our discourse told us is situated between the midriff and the navel. This kind of soul has nothing of opining or of reasoning mind, but it has sensation of pleasant and painful with attendant desires. For continually it is subject to every impression. Its manner of birth has not granted it the power to revolve by itself in itself upon itself rejecting outside motion and asserting its own and thus by beholding all things by native endowment of soull to reason out aught of its own concerns. So it has life and is not some second being other than a living creature, but it stays fixed, rooted, motionless, for it has never been granted movement of its own initiation.’