Many are the misrepresentations that luxuriate on the subject of later Greek comedy. It is still possible to read in standard works, for instance, that the main theme of middle comedy was food, and that Alexis of Thurii was Menander's paternal uncle (so the Suda first, and far too many others since). Yet among such inaccurate fancies there are just a few whose charm counterbalances their unauthenticity. My own favourite is an anecdote about Alexis that remains little known (Edmonds omits it from his collection of testimonia); it appears to derive from the χρεῖαι attributed falsely to Aristotle (Stob. Flor. 50. 83 Hense; Gnom. Vat. 46 Sternbach= Gnom. Vind. 36), and runs as follows: ‘One day, when the comic poet Alexis was a very old man, he was observed walking along with great difficulty.

These two chapters (642 b 5–644 a 11) form a continuous argument in which Aristotle offers three reasons for rejecting ‘dichotomy’—a misnomer, as it turns out. It is the only passage where he mentions dichotomy, and the three reasons against it do not appear in his discussions of Division elsewhere. They are:

1. 1. The final differentia of a dichotomy is inadequate to mark out the species;

2. 2. Dichotomy cannot avoid splitting up natural kinds, like Birds;

3. 3. Dichotomy cannot make use of privative differentiae (στερήσεις).

The rest of his argument is in support of these three reasons, as I will try to show. It falls into separate sections in which he adduces various rules and practices of Division to show that if Dichotomy is properly conducted according to these rules it cannot work. The rules that he gives here are all found elsewhere, with one minor exception at 643 a 35 which is applicable only to zoology. Neither here nor elsewhere does he suggest that division in general is unsound or useless. (He denies that it can prove, but allows that it helps towards finding a definition, An. Pr. 1. 31; An. Post. 11. 5 and 13.) True, dichotomy is a particular kind of division. But having shown that it is useless in zoology, he replaces it with another kind of division.

The structure of Catullus' sixty-fourth poem tends to be discussed in terms of two antitheses. The happy Peleus–Thetis theme is contrasted with the tragic Theseus–Ariadne inset, and, through the pessimism of 397–408, the decadent present is contrasted with the glorious past. With regard to the latter opposition, an objection immediately presents itself: the glorious past contained the faithlessness, desertion, and misery inherent in the story of Theseus and Ariadne. When Catullus intervenes in his narrative at 22ff.

Herwerden altered μεγαλό- to μελανόσπλαγχνος. Dr Diggle (P.C.Ph.S. n.s. XV (1969), 38–9) commends this alteration, alleging that Medea suffers from melancholy and adducing a number of passages of Greek verse which refer to blackness of viscera or soul.

These passages are a mixed lot. The Homeric φρένες ἀμφὶ μέλαιναι2 is formulaic and seems to be used in descriptions of almost every imaginable emotional state. At Aeschylus, Choeph. 413–14 σπλάγχνα δέ μοι (Schütz: μου Μ) κελαινοῦται πρὸς ἔπος κλυούσᾳ Pers. 115–16 ταῦτά μοι μελαγχίτων φρὴν ἀμύσσεται φόβῳ, Suppl. 785 κελαινόχρως δὲ πάλλεται μου καρδία, the emotion is fear.

Nec Tityon uolucres ineunt Acherunte iacentem
nec quod sub magno scrutentur pectore quicquam
perpetuam aetatem possunt reperire profecto.
quamlibet immani proiectu corporis exstet,
qui non sola nouem dispessis iugera membris
obtineat, sed qui terrai totius orbem,
non tamen aeternum poterit perferre dolorem
nec praebere cibum proprio de corpore semper.
sed Tityos nobis hic est, in amore iacentem
quem uolucres lacerant atque exest anxius angor
aut alia quauis scindunt cuppedine curae.
Lucretius, De Rerum Natura, III, 984–94

Adam Parry's article ‘Have We Homer's Iliad?’ (Yale Classical Studies xx (1966), 177–216) is one of the most readable of recent discussions of Homer. As it happens, I disagree with much of it—but that is not surprising, since much of it is taken up with disagreeing with me. In the pages that follow I shall be primarily concerned to question the validity of some of the author's detailed arguments and to probe some of his underlying assumptions.

First we should note the general position that Adam Parry, by the end of his study, occupies. It is the apparently old-fashioned one that Homer wrote down, or had someone else write down, virtually every word of the Iliad (and presumably also the Odyssey) as we have it. Yet it differs from extreme Unitarianism, and takes account of Milman Parry, by accepting that Homer belonged to an oral tradition and composed his poetry, at least at the detailed level, by traditional means. He did not construct his verses like a fully literate poet, but used the new technique of alphabetic writing for the development of traditional, unlettered poetry into the extended form and complex texture of an Iliad.

In this article, I shall refer to the standard commentaries on Propertius by the name of the editor alone. I include under this heading Shackleton Bailey's Propertiana (CUP, 1954), whose comments on 1. 3 are on pp. 11–14. Another work I mention now, honoris causa, which will be referred to by name of author alone, is M. W. Edwards, ‘Intensification of Meaning in Propertius and Others’ (T.A.P.A. XCII (1961), 128–44). Edwards well illustrates and develops the growing awareness of the extent to which Propertius exploits the possibilities of ambiguity, shifting nuance, and linguistic innovation in the creation of his poetry.

At dead of night, Propertius comes to Cynthia's bedside, apparently after leaving a fairly drunken party. He is first tempted by her beauty to take advantage of her there and then, but decides against such a hasty act, and contents himself with presenting her in her sleep with gifts which he has brought back from the party. The straying beams of the moon interrupt this tender scene and, filtering through the window, they wake Cynthia up. She then delivers an harangue to him, among other things accusing him of unfaithfulness. And so the poem closes. This is one of Propertius' best known poems, but one which, in my opinion, still lacks adequate exposition both in the details of its art and in its general purpose and effect.

In a recent discussion of the fortunes of the neoplatonist Academy at Athens after A.D. 529, Mr A. Cameron has interpreted lines 125–7 of Paul the Silentiary's Description of St Sophia as an allusion to Simplicius:

'Tis no bean-eating Athenian who judges these lines, but men of piety and like disposition, men in whom both God and Emperor take pleasure. The clear implication of this abrupt and pointed allusion is that there were in Athens impious men of ‘unlike disposition’ in whom neither God nor Emperor took pleasure… The obvious candidate for Paul's barb would seem to be Simplicius…

The passage on which I wish to comment comes near the beginning of the Parabasis and was written between spring 420 and winter 417 as part of the second version of the play. Aristophanes expresses his disappointment in the sophoi for whom he took the trouble to write the play. He had tried it out on them thinking them an intelligent audience, but had been undeservedly defeated. ‘Nevertheless’, he says, ‘in spite of that defeat I will not betray the intelligent. For ever since, in this theatre, an audience whom it is a pleasure to mention gave the best of receptions to “the Good Boy and the Impudent Boy” …from that moment I have with you sure guarantees of your goodwill.

And then Aristophanes proceeds to list the merits of his comedies in general.

P. Oxy. 2637 comes from a commentary on lyrical poems. There is some talk of Sappho and Ibycus; Pindar is referred to; and a number of learned men are named (Akesander, Timaeus, Theodorus, and perhaps Philostephanus). There are numerous lemmata, three of them much more substantial than the rest. The present notes may help towards the interpretation of these.

I wish to argue that the year 490 saw two battles of Marathon. In the first instance, the Persians marched against the Greeks shortly after the latter had taken up a strong defensive position at the Marathonian Herakleion, but were counter-attacked by the Greeks, this fight being Delbrück's Defensiv-Offensiv-Schlacht. After this unsuccessful attempt to take Athens, the Persians resolved to set sail and try again from the opposite coast. After some days, when most of the forces had gone on board the ships, the Greeks launched a night attack upon the remaining troops; this was the battle of Curtius. The Persians were then prevented from landing at Phaleron by the Athenian fleet; this is a variant of the Maas–Raubitschek battle.

In a remarkably interesting paper on the Black Hunter and the Athenian ephebeia, Vidal-Naquet has given one or two examples of the use of black or darkness in connection with the ephebes. Whereas I think the main points of his argument sound, in these details there may be some misunderstanding about which I should like to make a brief comment.

We are told by Xenophon: ‘οἱ οὖν περὶ τὸν Θηεραμένη παρεσκεύασαν ἀνθρώπους μέλανα ἱμάτια ἔχοντας καὶ ἐν χρῷ κεκαρμένους πολλοὺς ἐν ταύτῇ τῇ ἑορτῇ, ἴνα πρὸς τὴν ἐκκλησίαν ἤκοιεν, ὡς δὴ συγγενεῖς ὄντες τῶν ἀπολωλότων.’ The appearance of these men in black at a festival where the processionists at least, according to Istros, wore their finest clothes, is certainly odd at first glance, but I do not think we are entitled to draw Vidal-Naquet's conclusion that they had the appearance of ephebes.