The most recent commentator on this line, D. R. Shackleton Bailey (Propertiana, p. 124), states that ‘spiritus is breath rather than odour’ and he has the support of some commentators, Marcilius, for example, who amends notus to motus, and Hertzberg, who takes it as sweet breath, citing Mart. 3. 65. 1. So also most translators (e.g. Phillimore—‘Look, there is no such heavy breathing at all in me anywhere as is usual when guilty paramours have met’): an exception is D. Paganelli who translates ‘aucun souffle, aucune odeur d'adultère’. However, the parallels cited by Shackleton Bailey are irrelevant to this situation: Afranius 243 (Ribbeck), Ach. Tat. 2. 37. 9, and Claud. Carm. Min. 29. 33 all refer to the period just before, during, or immediately after the sexual act (cf. Ov. A. A. 3. 803 Quod iuvet, et voces et anhelitus arguat oris). It is most unlikely that this is the case in Propertius' poem. Propertius has come to see if Cynthia has spent the night alone; it is not a question of catching her inflagrante delicto, but of finding some rival there or the evidence of his stay not yet removed (v. the opening line—Mane erat, 1. 23). Cynthia is indignant at her lover's suspicions and lest he should think that his rival had left earlier, she coarsely specifies the evidence that Propertius might expect to find, including spiritus admisso notus adulterio.

Since these notes were written, news has come of the finding at Troizen of an inscription purporting to bear a decree proposed by Themistokles in 480, which is relevant to Part II above, pp. 33–35 (see M. H. Jameson, ‘A Decree of Themistokles from Troizen’, Hesperia xxix [1960], 198 ff.). If this new evience is valid, it would appear to confirm the view expressed there to some extent.

This important and extensive fragment of the Catalogues is preserved on a papyrus of the third century A.D., no. 10560 in the Berlin collection. First published in 1907 by Schubart and Wilamowitz, Berliner Klassikertexte, v. 1. 31 ff. (with photograph of col. i, 1–25), it was also collated by Crönert, who published his readings (often differing from Schubart-Wilamowitz) in Hermes xlii (1907), 610 ff. The most recent edition is that of Merkelbach, Die Hesiod-fragmente auf Papyrus (1957), pp. 24 ff. The photograph mentioned above is the only one published. It covers only a small portion of the text; most of the rest is too faint to be suitable for photography.

The long-standing enigma of I.G. i. 115 (= Tod, G.H.I. 87) has been brought into the lime-light once more by two recent articles, ‘The Law Codes of Athens’ by Sterling Dow in Proc. Massachusetts Hist. Soc., vol. lxxi (1953–7, pub. 1959) and by E. Ruschenbusch in Historia, ix, Heft 2 (i960).

This enigma has many facets, but I only wish to deal here with one. It concerns the precise nature and purpose of the inscription and, in particular, the significance of the words l. 10. The preamble to the decree is quite specific.

The list of Italian forces1 with which Virgil concluded Aeneid 7 was a piece of the ‘machinery’ of epic, that is to say an expected part of the content of an epic poem, established by Homer (Il. 2. 484 f., the catalogue of Greek ships followed by the list of Trojan forces) and expected of his successors; cf. Apollonius 1. 20–228, Silius 3. 222 f., Statius, Th. 4. 32 f., Milton, P.L. 1. 376 f. The straightforward enumeration of Homer (divina ilia simplicitas, Macrob. Sat. 5. 15. 16) was naturally appropriate in the Iliad both because oral technique sought this kind of directness and because of the immediate relationship of the subject-matter to a heroic community. But Virgil was well aware (as his predecessor Apollonius had not been) that the Homeric manner would not fit satisfactorily into the sophisticated and elaborate structure of literary and contemplative epic. Two essential requirements had to be met in the transplanting of such ‘machinery’ into a new milieu. The first was one of function: the piece should blend with the whole intricate pattern of theme and tone which a poem like the Aeneid possesses. The second was one of structure: it must possess within itself artistic symmetries and designs of a carefully organized kind.

When I read, rather belatedly, Professor Davison's article on Theognis 257–66 in C.R. ix (1959), 1–5, I found myself remembering somewhat uncomfortably that I have an article awaiting publication in Mnemosyne in which I present a new interpretation of Theognis 1209–16 as a griphos. Against Carriere, Davison remarks that it would be easier to accept 261–6 as a griphos ‘if there were any serious evidence for the prevalence of in the Theognidean corpus’ (p. 2); this is an eminently sane attitude and leaves the question open for later consideration. But lower on the same page E. Harrison's dictum that ‘sweeping emendations’ are ‘the last infirmity of exegesis’ (Studies in Theognis, p. 167) has given birth to a pronouncement that ‘recourse to riddles’ is one of two ‘penultimate infirmities of academic minds’. This is really too much. I have not yet acquired a fixation on this subject, but I am sufficiently impenitent to maintain that the griphos appears at least twice in the corpus, at 1209–16 and 261–6. I have no opinion on 257–60, which seems at any rate to be in its proper place.

This is the reading of M. presumably arose from a dittography ( for ). (Turnebus) has been generally accepted. The adverbial use of an adjective qualifying the subject of an imperative appears to be at least unusual; no examples are quoted (though this may be fortuitous) by Kühner–Gerth, i. 274–6. Robortello, followed by Tucker, preferred : but the earliest certain appearance of the adverb seems to be in Aristotle. I would propose : cf. Supp. 1015, Th. 34. This is no less satisfactory palaeographically, and the participle is demonstrably idiomatic Greek.

The series of decrees concerning Methone throws welcome light on Athenian foreign policy and the imperialism of Pericles' successors. Here is historical evidence of the highest quality. Are we using it as fully and accurately as we should? This paper is written in the belief that we are being hampered by unsound presuppositions. Chronologically the second decree is our main fixed point. It was passed in the first prytany of 426/5 B.C. The third and fourth decrees followed in the next two archon-years. They can be ignored in this discussion, since one is hopelessly mutilated and the other is missing from the stone as it stands now. The real problem rises over the first decree. What is its date? It used commonly to be put in 428/7 B.C. until West argued powerfully for January/February 429/8 B.C. His view won considerable support, but the editors of The Athenian Tribute Lists have since succeeded in establishing the summer of 430 B.C. as the orthodox dating. Now those who accept this should recognize that it creates an awkwardly long gap between the first and second decrees. By the first decree Methone was permitted to pay the quota alone, instead of its full tribute, and was promised separate, favourable treatment of its arrears in return for continued loyalty.

It will be seen that has twofold prosodic value: in passage (I) it equals but in the others

It is usual to connect the word with Alc, Pind. i.e. Lejeune, Traité de phon. grecque, p. 155note), thus following a lead given by Hesychius This is indeed the only suggestion advanced in the respective etymological dictionaries of Boisacq, Hofmann, and Frisk, and by Seiler (Lex.frühgriech. Epos); though all but Seiler express more or less of doubt, particularly on the ground of meaning.

At some time during the years 398–395 B.C. the people of Rhodes revolted against Sparta, freed themselves from the oppression of the Spartan empire and admitted to their city the Persian fleet commanded by Conon, the Athenian. This fact was overlooked by Xenophon, but reported by Diodorus (14. 79. 6) and Pausanias (6. 7. 6) who quotes Androtion. It seemed, before the discovery of the Hellenica Oxyrhynchia, that the revolt of Rhodes from Sparta was in some way associated with internal party strife, for Xenophon relates that exiled Rhodian oligarchs appealed to Sparta for help in 391 B.C. Such an interrelation between internal politics and foreign policy had, of course, been a feature of Greek political life since the early years of the Peloponnesian War, as Thucydides was not slow to recognize. The discovery of the Hellenica Oxyrhynchia, which devotes a chapter to a democratic revolution at Rhodes in 395 B.C, provided a good deal of new information on the political situation in that city, notably that, contrary to what we might have expected, the revolt from Sparta and the democratic revolution were not contemporaneous. Let us review briefly the details of these two events as far as our information permits.

The second play of the trilogy begins with the appearance before Agamemnon's tomb of the long-absent Orestes, who prays to Hermes for aid in his revenge and then dedicates upon the tomb a lock of hair cut from his own head. He is interrupted by the entrance of Electra together with the captive women who form the Chorus; in consequence of an evil dream, Clytemnestra has sent them to pour a libation to the spirit of her murdered husband. After discussion with the Chorus, Electra resolves to accompany that libation not with words of appeasement, but with a prayer for her father's help in taking revenge upon his murderers. Going to the tomb to pour the libation, she notices upon it the lock put there by Orestes (168). She notices that the hair is like her own, and at once suspects that it may be her brother's. ‘How can he have dared to come here?’ the Chorus ask her (179); and she replies that he must have sent the lock from his place of exile. The thought that Orestes' return is impossible plunges both the Chorus and Electra into deep sorrow, and in tears Electra broods over the lock (183 f.). It can belong only to Orestes; she wishes it could speak, so that either she could know it not to be his, or else it could at least take part with her in mourning. At this point, if we cantrusttheone manuscript, Electra breaks off her reflections with a prayer (201–4). ‘But we call upon the gods,’ she says, ‘well do they know by what storms, like sailors, we are buffeted; but if we are fated to find safety, from a small seed may grow a mighty trunk.’ Next, if we are to trust what is transmitted, Electra catches sight of a new indication of her brother's presence. ‘Yes, and here are tracks,’ she says (205 f.), ‘a second indication, the tracks of feet matching each other and resembling mine. Yes, for here are two outlines of feet, his own and those of some companion. The heels and the outlines of the tendons agree in their proportions with my prints. I am in torment, and my wits are confounded.’

The Octavia is, on the face of it, one of the most bizarre documents which have reached us from antiquity. If the news of its discovery had broken yesterday, there would certainly have been a sensation at the bare idea, whatever the literary merits of the work. A few years ago the publication of a 15-line fragment of a Greek play about Gyges caused discussion enough; but here we have a complete Roman historical play, unlike any other ancient play in structure, featuring Nero, Octavia, Poppaea, Seneca. …

Few critics can ever have shown more light-hearted thoughtlessness towards an anxious posterity than Servius in his casual preservation of the ‘Helen-episode’, lacking in our ancient manuscripts of Virgil and primarily extant only in this precarious form. A pity that Servius spoke at all, if he could not tell us more; and to make matters worse, he ignored the lines in his commentary. Aelius Donatus says nothing of them. Tiberius Claudius Donatus passes peacefully in his interpretatio from 2. 566 to 2. 589; his prosy conscientiousness nowhere else allows him to skip so much. The passage so rashly preserved forms an exasperating Tummelplatz for students of Virgil: ‘quadereviridoctiiampridem inter se certarunt semperque, ni fallor, certabunt.’ The purpose of this paper is to suggest that Servius told the truth about the lines, and was not planting a forgery on a credulous world.

It is obvious that A.P. attached importance to chronology and considered it his business to supply his sketch of Athienian constitutional development, at every stage, with such chronological indications as were available. Thus his account of Peisistratos (14 ff.) largely follows Herodotus (1. 59 ff.), but with the addition of a more detailed chronology of the tyrant's comings and goings (and some other matter derived from the Atthidographers). From the archonship of Solon to that of Xenainetos he has constructed what is evidently intended to be a continuous chronological chain, by marking the intervals between events.

Seizure before trial is forbidden in an impending dispute about a free man or slave. But if a claimant anticipates judgement he is to be fined ten staters for seizing a free man, five for a slave, and he is ordered to release the seized person within three days (1. 1–7).

If this order for release is not obeyed, the offending party incurs another fine of a stater for a free man, a drachma for a slave, for each day until the order is obeyed, the judge deciding on oath about the time involved. If this offence is denied, the judge is to decide on oath, where there is no witness (ib 7–14).

This paper owes its inspiration to a remark made by Professor M. Rostovtzeff; in a note in his Social and Economic History of the Roman Empire on the widespread social unrest of the first two centuries A.D., having cited other literary authorities such as Dio Chrysostom, Aelius Aristides, etc., he writes: ‘The social problem as such, the cleavage between the poor and the rich, occupies a prominent place in the dialogues of Lucian; he was fully aware of the importance of the problem.’ No one, as far as I know, has attempted to collect and discuss the main passages in Lucian on this topic, and the latest writer on this aspect of Lucian reaches a conclusion quite opposed to Rostovtzeff and one which I believe to be wholly misleading. The aim of this paper is to collect and discuss the main references in Lucian to the social problem interpreting them in the light of Lucian's life and background, and the social and economic conditions of his age. In particular I shall stress the importance of the Cynic tradition as it bears on Lucian's attitude, but shall endeavour to show that this tradition is firmly rooted in practical politics and actual participation in social revolutionary movements and goes far beyond the repetition of mere ethical cliches generally ascribed to it.

I. (a) By Ictus we mean in this paper the sounds emphasized in the pattern of an utterance in the given language under discussion. So in languages like Chinese which depend on variation of tone we mean that the high notes (or rising tones) in the intonation tune of a sentence or the rhythmic scheme of a verse carry an ictus; while in a language based, like English, on speech stress, we mean that the syllables uttered most loudly and clearly bear the ictus. Again, some languages, such as Italian, emphasize a syllable by a combination of stress and raised pitch, so in these languages we say that the syllables so emphasized receive the ictus. Lastly, in a language like ancient Greek or Vedic Sanskrit where quantity is decisive in utterance, the syllables which receive emphasis are the long ones, and thus it is these which have an ictus.

Dr. Jameson's editio princeps of his major discovery at Troizen (Hesperia, xxix [1960], 198–223) will long remain essential for the study of this document. The following jottings are largely footnotes to the rich material which he has collected. Their main preoccupation is linguistic, and I abstain from any attempt to fit the decree into its historical setting. The gap between 480 B.C. and our copy is so long that it is hardly to be expected that the authenticity of the decree will go unchallenged, and this exploration of some points in the language may help towards a decision.

The description Ausonius has given us of his family and of the teachers and professors of Bordeaux in the mid-fourth century is exceptional among our sources because of its detail and completeness. There is no reason to suppose that the picture he gives is untypical of life in the provinces and it makes a welcome change from the histories of aristocratic politics at Rome or Constantinople. It provides an excellent opportunity for a pilot study in which we may see how the conflicting elements of social status were in practice reconciled and applied. In the traditional, and still prevalent view, the society of the Later Roman Empire was ‘crushed … in the iron clamp of castes separated from one another by barriers which could not be passed’. The evidence of Ausonius suggests that this judgement should be qualified. The society of the fourth century may have been stable. It was not static.

The so-called fourth book of Aristotle's Meteorologica is not about meteorological phenomena at all. It describes the formation out of the four elements of ‘homoeomerous’ substances, by which are meant minerals such as stones and metals, and organic substances like flesh, skin, and hair, and the changes they can undergo under the influence of heat, cold, and moisture. Most commentators, ancient and modern, have seen that it has very little to do with the first three books of the Meteorologica to which it is attached, and Alexander suggested (p. 179. 3) that it should be placed after the second book de Generation et Corruptione.