Details of poetical expression have received only incidental mention in my earlier articles on Valerius Flaccus. The purpose now is to fill this gap by outlining what has struck me most forcibly about Valerius' use of language and metre. This is offered not as a final assessment, were such a thing ever possible, but rather as a supplement or epilogue to what has already been published, with the emphasis on aspects unnoticed or not elaborated by others.

In the poem which sets the seal on his three books of odes, Horace declares that his monument to himself will be more durable than bronze and higher than the pyramids. As T. E. Page noted in his commentary, aere can suggest not only bronze tablets, but also commemorative statuary, although tablets seems more to the fore here, given the reference to monumentum As for the pyramids, they are a fine example of grandiloquent architecture, but of a kind which is nevertheless subject to the destructive natural forces from which Horace exempts his own commemoration.

The origins and nature of the judicial role of the senate in cases which under the republic were the business of the permanent quaestiones have been the subject of long debate, and a satisfactory explanation has yet to be found for the change that had undoubtedly taken place by the reign of Tiberius. The discovery and publication of the senatorial decree which concluded the investigation into the charge brought in A.D. 20 against Cn. Piso following the murder of Germanicus,2 in addition to the wealth of new material it provides for the political history of the period and the understanding of the methods of the historian Tacitus, allows an insight into the relation of the senate to the quaestio maiestatis which may prove useful in unravelling some of the puzzles which have troubled scholars hitherto.

The interpretation of both the sulphur offered by the ambulator in line 3 and the glass he collects in exchange has long been a problem. Post′s opinion, offered in 1908, that broken glass could be, and was, mended with a sulphur glue has been subsequently eclipsed by scholars such as Leon and Smyth. They correctly discerned that Pliny, in HN 29.11.51 and 36.67.199, adduced by Post, does not refer to a sulphur-based adhesive, nor does Pliny suggest sulphur has any such property. Basic problems persist, however, which have not been properly resolved by recent commentators on Martial, regarding the form and function of sulphur as well as technical and cultural changes which would have bestowed some value on broken glass. New evidence and rarely cited evidence can be brought to bear on the earlier suppositions, which Citroni and Howell repeat, in order to solve the riddle of Martial 1.41 and add to our knowledge of ancient society.

After reading carefully the essay which, in his recently-published Varia Socratica, Part I., Prof. A. E. Taylor has written on the use of the words and in the Greek literature of the Socratic and Platonic periods, I find myself on the one hand in agreement with him as to the importance of such linguistic investigations for the understanding of Plato, and on the other in frequent disagreement with him as to the meaning of the words in the passages he cites, and the inferences he draws from them. Thinking that Prof. Taylor's analysis of the use of the terms in Hippocrates is very far from final, I offer in this paper a further contribution to their interpretation, confining myself as far as possible to the question, What do and mean in the Hippocratean writings?

Lexicographers have always considered ‘advantage’, ‘profit’ as a possible meaning of kairos. And yet none of the ten passages cited in LSJ under this meaning (s.v. iv) is convincing. No less than four of these instances exemplify kairos as ‘due measure’ (s.v. i). Three other instances exemplify spatial kairos (a sense ignored by LSJ but recognized in W. Pape's Griechisch-Deutsches Handwörterbuch s.v.). The remaining instances exemplify the meaning ‘opportunity’ that develops from temporal kairos (‘the right time’). In none of the examples are we encouraged to take the further step from ‘what is morally, spatially or temporally appropriate’ to the ‘profit’, if any, deriving therefrom. Before considering whether kairos can ever bear this meaning, I will start from the citations in LSJ.

Eventually and inevitably the study of a Roman comedy leads to the question of its relationship to the Greek model and to the nature of the original play. In recent years Terence's Adelphoe has stimulated numerous publications on the Menandrian comedy and on the changes which were made by the Latin dramatist. Greatest attention has been paid to the ending of the Greek play. This article, however, will examine the first two ‘acts’ of the Terentian comedy and will offer a reconstruction of its primary model that differs from those that have been proposed in the major studies on this problem.

‘There are important differences between Aristotle's account of homonymy and synonymy on the one hand, and Speusippus' on the other; in particular, Aristotle treated homonymy and synonymy as properties of things, whereas Speusippus treated them as properties of words. Despite this difference, in certain significant passages Aristotle fell under the influence of Speusippus and used die words “homonymous” and “synonymous” in their Speusippan senses.’

While Alexander is at Memphis an army arrives from Antipater including (Arr. 3.5. 1). It is a little surprising that Droysen's suggestion to read MevlSas for tevolras should have been accepted so readily by editors. We do at least hear fa Menoetas later (Diodorus 19. 47) as Berve remarks. He further points out lat Menidas does not elsewhere, so far as we know, command infantry.

The story of Epaminondas' trial has come down to us in two divergent traditions, which differ as to the occasion, the ground, and the result of the action. One group of authors, of whom Plutarch may be taken as the chief representative, gives the following data:

(1) The trial took place after Epaminondas' first campaign in Peloponnesus— i.e. in spring 369 b.c.

(2) The charge preferred against Epaminondas was that he had outstayed his term of office as boeotarch.

(3) The trial resulted in his acquittal.

Euphorion SH 417 (fr. 36 Van Groningen) deserves to be better known. A curiosity in itself—an apparent poetic reference to number theory—it is also, potentially, one of our earliest references to Euclidean material. On the authority of a late commentator on Aristotle, Euphorion, a mid-third-century b.c. Euboean poet who was also active in Athens and Antioch, is said to have mentioned perfect numbers—i.e. numbers which equal the total of all their factors, including 1 (but obviously excluding the number itself). It is a pity that the context in Euphorion does not survive, and that the line is only preserved, and indeed interpreted, by so late a source. But the wording of the fragment—if Westerink's restoration of its various corruptions (again, a pity) is plausible—would strongly suggest a reference to the notion of perfect number. The fragment has been known since Westerink published it in 1960, and was included both in Van Groningen's edition of Euphorion in 1977 and in Supplementum Hellenisticum (1983). But its implications have still not been discussed, and when David Fowler came to gather the evidence for references to Euclidean material in and after the third century b.c. in The Mathematics of Plato's Academy, his attention, unsurprisingly, was not drawn to it. Euphorion has had a bad press, as a poet of rebarbatively obscure myth and intractable vocabulary; yet he holds some interest, and we may be missing more insights into the intellectual life of the Hellenistic period which the perverse intelligence and baneful wit of the fragments display.

What is the reality behind the famous phrase, in Demosthenes 2. 6? It is commonly spoken of as a secret treaty, pact, agreement, bargain, or understanding, or as a secret clause or article (all these terms have been used in recent times), between Athens and Philip II of Macedon, at some time between 359 and 357, whereby the Athenians promised to hand over their ally, Pydna, to Philip, in return for his promise to hand over Amphipolis to them.

Such is John Stuart Mill's succinct exposition of the core of utilitarian theory. A contemporary philosopher has aptly described utilitarianism as ‘the combination of two principles: (1) the consequentialist principle that the rightness, or wrongness, of an action is determined by the goodness, or badness, of the results that flow from it and (2) the hedonist principle that the only thing that is good in itself is pleasure and the only thing bad in itself is pain. Although the consequentialistprinciple has attracted the most attention in modern discussions of utilitarianism, it is the second principle which invites immediate comparison with the views of Plato. I propose therefore to start by comparing the Platonic and the utilitarian conceptions of the good in the hope that this will enable us to see too in what sense Plato's position is consequentialist, and whether his ethical and political theories in general can properly be described as utilitarian.

Homeric studies today are flourishing, but admirers of Homer as poetry are a rather baffled lot. Homerists may devote themselves to Linear B, Mycenaean warfare and weaponry, formulary modifications, linguistic features, Yugoslav parallels, and other such topics; but anyone who prefers to concentrate on Homer himself and offers an interpretation of some part of the Iliad or Odyssey is liable to meet with the rejoinder that literary standards must not be applied to an oral poet.

In the creation myth of the Timaeus Plato describes God as wishing that all things should be good so far as is possible. Wherefore, finding the whole visible sphere of the world not at rest, but moving in an irregular fashion, out of disorder He brought order, thinking that this was in every way an improvement. To achieve His end He placed intelligence in soul and soul in body, reflecting that nothing unintelligent could ever be better than something intelligent (30 a—b). From this account of creation it would seem that God confronted a chaotic world whose disorderly motions existed in full independence of the principle of soul. Yet, in his doctrinal pronouncements in the Laws (892 a) and the Pbaedrus (245 e) on the origin of motion, Plato declares soul to be elder born than bodies and the prime source of all their changes and transformations.

Hoc tempore velut per universum orbem Romanum, bellicum canentibus bucinis, excitae gentes saevissimae, limites sibi proximos persultabant. Gallias Raetiasque simul Alamanni poputabantur; Sarmatae Pannonias et Quadi; Picti Saxonesque et Scotci, et Attacotti Brittanos aerumnis vexavere continuis; Austoriani Mauricaeque aliae gentes, Africam solito acrius incursabant; Thracias et diripiebant praedatorii globi Gothorum. Persarum rex manus Armeniis iniectabat, eos in suam dicionem ex integro vocare vi nimia properans, sed iniuste, causando, quod post Ioviani excessum, cum quo foedera firmarat et pacem, nihil obstare debebit, quo minus ea recuperaret, quae antea ad maiores suos pertinuisse monstrabat.

A well-known epigram by Callimachus on the philosopher Diodorus Cronus (fr. 393 Pfeiffer) reads as follows:

The question of the third line, while perhaps recondite from a contemporary perspective, was clear in antiquity. The crows are asking ‘What follows (from what)?’, in allusion to the Hellenistic disputes concerning the truth conditions of conditional propositions (συνημμ⋯να), disputes in which the views of Diodorus figured prominently.

I agree with Sedley that the question of the last line is ‘much more problematic’. The common interpretation has been to read the αὖθι as a form of αὖθις and to interpret it temporally. The result, in Pfeiffer's estimation, is ‘quomodo posthac erimus?’.

This interpretation derives from Sextus Empiricus' discussion at M. 1.309–12 of the last two lines of the epigram. After crediting the grammarian with the ability to understand the allusion in the crows' first question (M. 1.310: κα⋯ μ⋯χρι τούτου συνήσει τ⋯ κα⋯ παιδίοις γνώριμον), he proceeds to argue that the philosopher has a better chance than the grammarian of understanding the second question. But, to quote Sedley, Sextus ‘makes a ghastly mess of it’ when he attempts his own elucidation. According to an argument of Diodorus, a living thing does not die in the time in which it lives nor in a time in which it does not live. Hence, Sextus concludes, it must be the case that it never dies and, ‘if this is the case, we are always living and, according to him, we shall come to be hereafter (αὖθις γενησόμεθα)’ (M. 1.312).

The interplay of Greek and Roman motifs in the Marcellus eulogy at the end of the Sixth Book of the Aeneid presents a complicated study in literary history. The association of roses with the dead is more Roman than Greek, but perhaps not so much so as one might imagine. Roses are not entirely absent from the Greek milieu, and in fact Vergil apparently drew on Greek rose motifs for the eulogy. Archaeology reveals that roses were an important symbol on tomb stelai, along with the epigraphical references to roses. In general the rose in Greek inscriptions was reserved for girls, but at least one is for a boy, and another for a youth of twenty-two. Moreover, Vergil may well have been alluding to Bion's (?) Lament for Adonis, where the rose motif has striking importance.

In the course of his dispute with Conington on the comparative merits of Catullus and Horace, Munro taxed the Augustans with having made the lyric of the heart impossible in Latin by their virtual exclusion of diminutives from the language of poetry; and, whether that is the result or no, the general fact that diminutives are rare in the serious poetry of the Augustan age is well known. The details, however, are less easy to come by. Stolz (Hist. Gr. d. lat. Spr., p. 574) and Stolz-Schmalz (hat. Gr., p. 834) devote a few unilluminating lines to the Stilistik of diminutives: otherwise the grammars and the treatises on diminutives known to me concern themselves only with forms and meanings. Except for a note by Professor Housman which, at 4. 927, sets out Manilius's diminutives, I know of no collections for any Augustan poet, and it is perhaps worth while therefore to state the facts. I have not indeed read through Augustan poetry for the purpose, but for some time past I have been in the habit of noting such diminutives as I have come across in the course of reading, and these lists I have now checked and amplified from the indexes to the authors concerned. My lists are probably not complete, but I hope they are sufficiently near it to present a true picture of the position.

The theory of the comparative method has been discussed in a previous article. I pass on to the results obtained—the actual history of prose-rhythm in the practice of particular authors. I give below the figures of normal frequency on which my statements are based. For Greek prose, as I have already said, Thucydides may be considered a practically unmetrical author, since nearly all his clausulae occur with about the same frequency as might be expected from the natural proportion of long and short syllables in the Greek language, and since there is little difference between his sentence-metre and his clausula-metre. (A slight difference between the two is natural, because there are some words, such as the article, which can scarcely be used to close a sentence.) Thus the theoretical frequency of — ∪ — is 14·19 per cent.; its frequency in Thucydides' clausula-metre is 14·2, in his sentence-metre 14·4. But there are two cases where the difference in these proportions seems too great to be due altogether to chance. Compared with the theoretical calculation and with the sentence-metre, —∪∪—— occurs in the clausula considerably more frequently (6·1 per cent, as against 2·6 per cent.) and —∪—∪ considerably less (3·7 per cent, as against 5·1 per cent.). The first form seems to be sought by Thucydides; the second seems to be avoided (doubtless as suggesting an iambic trimeter ending). For these two forms, therefore, I have considered as normal the average percentages of 2,000 cases in the sentence-metre of Thucydides and Xenophon (1,000 each), for the rest the percentages of 2,000 cases in the clausula-metre of Thucydides. For normal frequency in Latin metrical prose I have used de Groot's figures, based on 2,000 cases from nineteenth-century Latin translations of Gregory and Athanasius.