No consensus has been reached about the reconstruction of Euripides' fragmentary tragedy Bellerophon, but two suggestions have not received the serious attention they deserve. The first is that Stheneboea is a character in the play, and the second that Euripides does not depict Bellerophon as an atheist or an impious hero. In this paper, I shall reconsider both of these suggestions. In fact, the addition of Stheneboea to the dramatis personae allows us to correct the second problem, as I shall propose that Stheneboea, not Bellerophon, speaks the infamous atheistic fragment.

Since the beginning of modern investigations on ancient rhythmics, scholars have faced significant problems in interpreting the technical terminology employed by ancient rhythmicians, especially in relation to two of the most basic terms attested in the sources: ἄρσις and θέσις, which indicate the two fundamental components of a rhythmical foot.

Statius' Silvae owe their preservation to a copy made in Switzerland for Poggio in 1417 by a local scribe. This copy, brought to light by G. Loewe in 1879, was recognized for what it was by A.C. Clark and A. Klotz twenty years later, and since then its descendants have had at best historical interest. To extract much of that from them an editor must endeavour to survey all the extant material, and A. Marastoni in the recent Teubner edition (1961, 1970) claims to have done just that: ‘omnes manuscriptos libros veteresque editiones iterum contuli’ he says at the opening of his preface, and the reviewers echo his words.

The Spartan Rhetra quoted by Plutarch in Lyc. vi. 2 consists of some thirty-seven words in an archaic Dorian or near-Dorian dialect: Plutarch says it was an oracle, and that later an extra clause was added by the kings Polydoros and Theopompos; he quotes this ‘added clause’ in vi. 8. I believe this Rhetra was not an oracle but an act of the Spartan Ekklesia; and I suspect that the ‘added clause’ was not added, but is an integral part of the original act. But for our first objective this opinion matters less than Plutarch's opinion. Our first objective must be to recover Plutarch's text (for his manuscripts are certainly corrupted to some extent): and to do that, we must understand his interpretation.

Among the works of Aelius Aristides is preserved one entitled the Rhodian ('Pοδιακ⋯ς, sc. λ⋯γος, no. 25) It concerns an earthquake which has recently struck the city of Rhodes, and since Keil's edition of 1898 it has usually been considered spurious.

The work reproduces a true speech, not something like an open letter: the clearest sign is when the author uses the deictic pronoun τοετ⋯, ‘this here’, of the place in which he is speaking (53). One question is best discussed at the outset, since later it will prove vital to the question of authenticity: does the speaker claim to have been in Rhodes at the moment of the earthquake? Keil assumed without argument that he does. He had clearly visited the city before the disaster as well as after it (4, 32), but despite the vividness of his descriptions he nowhere says that he was present, and this reticence surely implies that he was not; and if he had been it is odd that he should talk of ‘the actual climax of the thing that befell you’ (τ⋯ν ⋯κμ⋯ν αὐτ⋯ν το comflex περιστ⋯ντος πρ⋯γματος, 19), using the second person plural. I infer that the speaker had not been present, but gave the speech several months after the event (εἰςμ⋯νας, 28); in the last part of this paper I will argue that he is Aristides, stopping at Rhodes on his wayback from Egypt to Smyrna in or about 142.

In a recent article1 the psychiatrist George Devereux reached the following conclusion about fr. 31: Sappho as a ‘masculine lesbian’ experiences ‘a perfect, “text-book case”, anxiety attack’, elicited by ‘a love-crisis’, viz. by the presence of a male rival for the attention of Sappho's favourite girl. He then sums up: ‘In fact, even if there existed no explicit tradition concerning Sappho's lesbianism, her reaction to her male rival would represent for the psychiatrist prima facie evidence of her perversion’ (p. 21).

The elements which every schoolboy learns on beginning Latin Verse Composition include a number of rules which seem arbitrarily designed to make the game harder. In hexameters, he is told, he must have a masculine caesura either in the third foot or in the second and fourth, and end normally with a disyllabic or a trisyllable; in pentameters he must end with a disyllabic; and in neither line may a single monosyllable stand at the end. Rarely, in my experience, is any reason given him by way of redress, and he will search for one in vain in most of the school text-books, in introductions like Postgate's to Tibullus and Propertius, and in histories of Latin literature like Wight Duff's and Mackail's. This reticence may be due to the dissensions of experts on this subject and on the subject of Latin accentuation in general, but the theory that predominates in England, among those who hold a theory at all, explains so many of the phenomena that it deserves to be more widely and precisely known. The most detailed exposition of it is by E. H. Sturtevant, who summed up his analyses in a pair of articles in the Transactions of the American Philological Association in 1923–4. While his careful work is invaluable as marshalling the statistics and evidence, it errs on the side of excessive minuteness, and leaves room not merely for some additions, but for a different kind of treatment concerned less with bare statistics and more with poetic principles and historical development. Since Latin Verse Composition plays such an important part in English higher classical education, it seems desirable that a less technical and more accessible account should be available for English readers. Such an account I attempt to give here, keeping separate as far as possible the exposition and the consideration of the criticisms and rival theories that have been advanced.

The second line of the poem in which Archilochus related his fable of the fox and the ape was a source of perplexity to Hellenistic scholars. According to Athenaeus Apollonius Rhodius explained it by reference to the Spartan practice of winding official dispatches round a staff or baton: ὅτι δ λευκῷ ἱμντι περιειλοντες τν σκυτλην οἱ Λκωνες ἔγρφον ἅ ἠβολοντο εἴρηκεν ἱκανς Ἀπολλώνιος Ῥδιος ν τῷ περ Ἀρχιλχου. This interpretation evidently failed to satisfy Aristophanes of Byzantium, who wrote a monograph (σγγραμμα) περ τς χνυμνης σκυτλη' view has held the field.

In 1928, Friedrich Solmsen argued that Aristotle's Posterior Analytics was largely composed before the Prior Analytics. Ross rejected Solmsen's position in 1939, and a rather lengthy series of rebuttals and counter-attacks between the two scholars followed. Quite recently, Jonathan Barnes has revived this issue with arguments in favour of something very close to Solmsen's thesis: that Aristotle first developed a theory of demonstration (‘apodeictic’) before he had worked out the syllogistic, and that the Posterior Analytics was originally conceived against this background. Subsequently, when Aristotle formulated a syllogistic, he is supposed by Barnes to have revised or added to the contents of the Posterior Analytics so as to make syllogistic the logic of Aristotelian science. Thus, Barnes says: ‘the syllogism is in fact an incidental adjunct to the theory of demonstration: the theory can be formulated without reference, explicit or implicit, to Syllogistic, and it could have been discovered by someone who knew nothing whatever about the Syllogism’ (pp. 33–4).

The little we know with certainty about Eupolis' Marikas can be summarised in a few lines. (1) The play was produced at the Lenaea of 421 b.c. (2) The demagogue Hyperbolus was satirised under the name of Marikas, and was represented as a man of little or no culture (Quint. 1.10.18 = Eup. fr. 193 K. Maricas, qui est Hyperbolus, nihil se ex musice scire nisi litteras confitetur). (3) Marikas/Hyperbolus was a slave. This has been denied in the past, but is now made clear by the commentary on the Marikas in P. Oxy. 2741 (no. 95, 145 f. Austin) πρ⋯ς[⋯ν] δεσπότην ⋯ Ὑπέρβολος. (4) Aristophanes complained in the Clouds we possess (i.e. in the revised edition of this play) that Eupolis had availed himself of the Knights for his Marikas (Nub. 553 ff.), and it is in fact possible that the idea of Marikas as a slave was borrowed from the Knights, because some of his traits seem to correspond to those of the Aristophanic Sausage-seller. (5) The play apparently had two semi-choruses, one of rich and one of poor people.

The point of the name Marikas has long been debated. Ancient sources are at least agreed that it is ‘barbarian’. Herodianus 1.50,12 Lentz does not go beyond stating that Marikas is an ⋯νομα βάρβαρον παρ⋯ τῷ κωμικῷ (he refers to Ar. Nub. 553). Hesych. μ 283 Latte has more to offer: Μαρικ⋯ν· κίναιδον. οἱ δ⋯ ὑποκόρισμα παιδίου ἄρρενος βαρβαρικόν (so Meineke for βαρβαρικα⋯, rightly).

Aristotle thinks that in order to remember, (1) one must be cognizant of aphantasmaused as a copy of that of which it is a phantasma,and (2) one must be cognizant of the time at which the original (i.e. now remembered) experience occurred (449b22–3, 450b25–451a8). In De Memoria1, he uses the first half, (1), of this schematic account in order to explain certain kinds of mis-rememberings. For instance, he says that mad people sometimes conjure up fantastic images and take them to be memories of past experience; such episodes are mis-remembering, because these people use that which is not a copy as if it were a copy (451a8-l 1). In De Memoria2, Aristotle returns to the topic of mis-remembering (although it may now be more accurate to call it mis-recollecting1) and here he uses the second half, (2), of his schematic account, together with the first, in order to explain additional sorts of mistakes. He claims that we sometimes recall the image of an event and properly use it as a copy, but we get the time wrong (thinking, for example, that an event occurred a week ago, when actually it occurred yesterday), and thus we fail to remember; further, he claims that we sometimes get the time right, but fail to use an image as a copy of the events which occurred during that time. In each case we fail to remember; for in order to remember we must both use an appropriate copy as a copy and (more or less) accurately cognize the time (452b27–9).

My chief object in these notes is to provide evidence for tracing the ancestry of certain themes, situations, and characters which appear in New Comedy; I hope, however, that they may also be useful for the study of Middle Comedy itself. I am therefore chiefly concerned with the period from 400 b.c. to 320 b.c., when Menander had begun to write; I have, however, given some dates after 320 which were necessary to complete my story, but I have left out many plays by poets of New Comedy which can be dated in the decade 320–310 b.c. I have also omitted the originals of Plautus Amphitruo, Persa, and Menaechmi, although I am convinced that they all belong to Middle Comedy and hope to consider the problem more fully elsewhere; the tactics of the battle in the Amphitruo (242 f.) are possible for Epameinondas and Philip as well as for Alexander, but the clash of two kings seems to limit the reference to Alexander and Dareios as depicted in the famous mosaic, and the limits are 330–320 (there is very little evidence of mythological comedy after 320); the original of the Persa must have been written before Alexander's conquests and the limits seem to be 345–338; Hueffher's late dating of the original of the Menaechmi has been successfully countered by Fraenkel and the whole feel of the play suggests Middle rather than New Comedy. The following list is arranged in decades, except where it has proved necessary to use a longer period. I have tabulated first the plays or victories dated by inscriptional or other firm evidence; among these I have included the plays dated by Geissler, without comment except where I disagree with him.

This paper presents evidence, in the form of two passages from the Electra, that the editor of Euripides will do well not to resign himself too easily to pointless illogicality or violations of the formal regularities of tragedy or to comfort himself with the idea that illogic and meandering are ‘human’ touches, while formal incongruities are Euripides' incipient verismo.

The de primo frigido has long been recognized as an important text for our understanding of Plutarch′s epistemological position. It is the aim of this paper to show, however, that the sophistication of the work, and with it of Plutarch′s epistemology, is not generally given the credit due to it.