Every living science, especially in its early stages, is compelled to devise fresh terms, either by coining new words or by giving new meanings to old ones. Unless and until these fresh terms become absorbed in the vocabulary of everyday speech, their unfamiliarity makes them a target for the shafts of the humourist. There can be no doubt that in the late fifth century B.C. literary criticism (using the expression in its widest sense, to include all methodical investigation of literary technique) was still a new science. We can trace its beginnings in the treatises of the Sophists, many titles of which have been handed down to us. Strepsiades' lesson in metric, though of itself amusing enough, would certainly gain in topical appropriateness if enacted at a time when such investigations were not only much in the air, but were still novel. And the whole ‘Agon’ of the Frogs, the character of which is forecasted in lines 796–802, depicts in the strongest colours the contrasted views of technician and inspirationist. We should therefore naturally expect a play of such a kind, written at such a time, to be full of technical jargon, barely understood by the ‘man in the street,’ and forming the object of his half-contemptuous amusement. That is, I believe, exactly what we do find, to an extent insufficiently recognized. Professor Radermacher, in his recent edition of the Frogs, has rendered valuable service by pointing out the frequent occurrence in that play of technical terms which meet us later in Dionysius of Halicarnassus and other critics. But I believe that technical language lurks unsuspected in many other passages, though the precise meaning may often be beyond recovery.

Thatmox means, or can mean, ‘soon,’ is an assertion which is made often and positively, in works of all sorts, from the ordinary dictionaries, such as Facciolati-Forcellini and Lewis and Short, and valuable writings on lexicography such as Merguet's lexicon to Cicero and Krebs-Schmalz' Antibarbarus, down to the latest little school book at which I have looked. As I had never been able to find a passage in which it clearly and unambiguously had that meaning, in any classical author, I have thought it worth while to examine all the instances in a few good writers, with a view to finding out how they really do use it.

In a paper on the application of thought to textual criticism which I read before the Classical Association at Cambridge in 1921 (Proceedings vol. XVIII pp. 67–84)I made some remarks which I abbreviate as follows: ‘One of the forms assumed by thoughtlessness in textual criticism is the endeavour, now frequent especially among Continental scholars, to break down accepted rules of grammar or metre by the mere enumeration of exceptions found in MSS. That can never break down a rule: number is nothing; what matters is weight, and weight can onlybe ascertained by scrutiny. If I had noted every example I have met, I should now have a large collection of passages where orbis, which our grammars and dictionaries declare tobe masculine, has a feminine adjective attached to it. But I do not therefore propose to revisethat rule of syntax; for scrutiny would show that these examples, though numerous, have no force. In most of them the context proves that orbem, orbis, orbes, etc., are merely corruptions of the corresponding case and number of urbs; and in the rest it is natural to suppose that the scribe has been influenced and confused by the likeness of the one word to the other.’

Among the conundrums relating to Roman ritual which Plutarch set himself to solve was this: ‘Why do they part the hair of brides with the point of a javelin?’ To this question Plutarch offers a number of answers, all based on the assumption that the spear was symbolical. Professor Rose in his discussion of the passage makes short work of these fumbling guesses, and points out that the original purpose of the spear was magical.

A summary view of the main evidence at our disposal may be soon obtained. Three traditions appear at the outset. The first depends on a MS. once at Mainz, and now no longer extant, but of which part, at any rate, still existed in the sixteenth century; the second on an eleventh century MS. at Bamberg; and the third on a number of later MSS. in Rome, Florence, Paris, the British Museum, Oxford, Holkham, and other places. The fact that (at any rate for preliminary investigation) these three traditions must be regarded as separate may be seen first from the parts of the decade which they each omit.

FOR hundreds or even thousands of years posterity saw in Aristotle only the impersonal intellectual majesty of the philosophical system. When awakening humanism began everywhere to seek in the works of the classic writers the impress of their personality, this new interest met in Aristotle with the most stubborn resistance. His was a very different case from that of Plato or Demosthenes. The few notices preserved of his life and person remained in merely external relation to the body of his works. In recent times we have begun, however, to discern the intellectual history of the man Aristotle, and in this regard his relations to Plato naturally acquire special significance. In the various phases of his life these relations took various forms; but in view of late gossip about the pupil's ingratitude to the master, it is as well to say that never was Aristotle^s attitude to Plato other than one of the deepest possible veneration. It has a special psychological fascination to see how this veneration expressed itself at the time when Aristotle found himself committed to philosophical opposition to his master; and it is significant that the only documentary proofs of Aristotle's attitude that we possess belong to these years. Evidently his veneration found this compensating expression when he was forced to publish his philosophical critisma.

The meaning of ὑποτύπτω to plunge or dip into a liquid, is so different from that of τύπτω, as to suggest that the word does not really contain τύπτω but arises from ὑπο-δύπτω (δύπτω = dive, plunge), in the same way as ποταπός from ποδαπός (Schweizer, Gramm. der Pergamenischen Inschriften, p. 107, note 1), κωλακρἐται from κωλαγρέται, Πεταγείτνιος from Πεδαγείτνιος (Solmsen, Beitr. zur gr. Wortforschung, p. 234), δεκάταρχος from δεκάδαρχος (cf. Thackeray, Gramm. of Old Testament in Greek, p. 103), in all of which a voiced stop situated between two unvoiced stops becomes unvoiced.

In beginning to speak of Euripides in this University of Manchester, one's thoughts naturally turn to the work of Professor Norwood in this direction, and it is with an especially keen sense of pleasure that I find myself not only following in his footsteps—a long way after!—but helping in a small way to contribute some further confirmation to the views on Euripides established by him and Professor Verrall.

There is no little division of opinion regarding the provenance of the Bacchanalian rites which were suppressed with much cruelty by the Senate in 186 B.C. Since the Dionysiac orgies were native to Phrygia, and since Livy tells the story in question immediately after describing the immoral practices that were brought back from Asia by the returning army of Manlius Vulso in 187, it has frequently been assumed that Anatolia was the source of these rites. Reitzenstein and Cichorius, in discussing a recently-found decree of Ptolemy IV. regarding an inquisition into Dionysiac rites in Egypt, both assume that the Roman cult had come from the Orient. Carcopino, in a recent discussion of the ‘Underground Basilica’ at Rome, suggests that the objectionable element of the cult was the Pythagorean club, which might become a political menace. Other scholars, remembering Livy's statement that one of the priests of the cult had operated in Etruria before coming to Rome, have tried to find traces of Dionysiac rites on Etruscan monuments.

τοὐτων σὲ οὓτωσ ἐχóντων χρὴ σοκεῖν ἐνεῖναι πολλά τε καì παντοῖα ἐν πᾶσι τοῖσ συγκρινομἐνοισ καὶ σπέρματα π;άντων χρημ;άτων καὶ ἰσέασ ἕχοντα καὶ χροιὰσ καὶ ἡσονάσ. καὶ ἀνθρώπονσ τε συμπαγῆναι καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ξᾦα ὄσα Ψυχὴ;ν ἔχει. καὶ τοἶσ γε ἀνθρώποισιν ευναι καὶ πόλεισ συνῳκημένασ καὶ τὰ ἂλλα σᾦα óσα κατεσκνασμενα, ωσπερ παρ' ημíν, και την γην αυτοισι πυειν πολλὰ τε και παντοιων εκεινοι τα ονηιστα συνενεγκὰμενοι εíσ την οικησιν χρωνται. ταυτα μεν ουν μοι λέλεκται περι τἦσ ἀποκρισιοσ, xsὄτι οửκ ὄν παρ' ἡμíν μóνον ἀποκπιθεíη, ἀλλὰ καì ἄλλη.

Charisivs, in his chapter on Adverbs, cites for Hispane (p. 260 of the new edition by Barwick; p. 200 of the old edition by Keil) a line of Ennius' Annals (the number of the book is not stated; see Barwick's note):

Hispane, non Romane memoretis loqui me.

Professor Norden (Ennius und Vergil, p. 114), the apostle of Combinations-forschung, combines this fact with another fact mentioned by Livy (XXI. 19, 6), the celebre per Hispaniam responsum of a Spanish town to a Roman embassy. But why does he ignore a third fact which must be brought into any combination that can be convincing—the quotation of this line of Ennius by Festus in a paragraph (of the R-chapter) which apparently deals with Graeco-Roman affinities (362, 10) ?

The motive of Clodius in attacking the validity of Caesar's laws in the latter part of 58 B.C. has been the subject of many conjectures on the part of modern historians. In a recent article1 Pocock has propounded a new theory as to the position and policy of the turbulent tribune, which is highly suggestive and deserving of a careful consideration. In the first place Pocock, in opposition to all previous historians, flatly denies that Clodius made any such attack at all, and offers a new explanation of the passage in Cicero's speech for his house where this is asserted. In the oration in question Cicero declares that Clodius called Bibulus before the people and by the testimony of the former consul showed that all Caesar's laws had been passed in disregard of the auspices, drawing from this the conclusion that they should all be annulled by the senate. If the conscript fathers would do this, Clodius offered to bring Cicero back on his own shoulders as the saviour of his country.2 Pocock believes that Cicero has flagrantly misrepresented Clodius and wilfully distorted his meaning. Some of Cicero's friends had denied the legality of Clodius' tribuneship and hence of the great orator's exile, and what Clodius did was to demonstrate that this denial logically involved the repudiation of all the Julian legislation. His offer to bring back Cicero was an ironical difiance, and amounted to telling the nobles that they had better not raise such a question unless they had the courage to cancel all Caesar's laws, something which he knew that they would not dare to do.

There is still something to be said about these figures for the Athenian hoplite force, the more so as the most reasonable discussion of them, Meyer's, is spoilt by some unsound inferences and has in consequence not found support. Their difficulty is apparent: a muster πανσημει in 338 meant calling up all classes up to the age of 50 (Lycurg. c. Leocr. 39), and since Socrates fought at Delion and Amphipolis when he was in his late forties, and not at Mantineia when he was over 50, we may assume that it meant the same in the fifth century; we also assume (though this is by no means proved) that ‘the youngest’ are those in their nineteenth and twentieth years, as in the fourth century, certainly after the reform of the Ephebeia, perhaps earlier (Aeschin. II. 167); military service ceased at 60. But how could the number of men in these twelve classes, 19-20 and 51-60, stand in the proportion of 13: 17 (16,000 less 3,000 metics, 13,000 plus 1,000 cavalry and 3,000 metics) to the men between 21 and 50 ? They could not be more than a third, and might be less. (Beloch, 1923, tries to make the problem more difficult by the arbitrary assumption that the 13,000 citizen hoplites are all the men of 21-60, instead of 21-50. Meyer, who accepts Thucydides’ figures, forgets that there must have been ‘oldest and youngest’ metics, besides the 3,000 who marched into Megara. Busolt and Meyer also argue that the classes 51-60 will have suffered specially heavy losses in the battles of 459-445, while the eight youngest classes would have seen no fighting;

From time to time the figure of Tenes or Tennes, the eponymous hero of Tenedos, intrudes itself into discussions of larger matters connected with Greek religion, usually in order to lend support to some imaginative theory. As one of the latest examples might be instanced Dr. A. B. Cook's Zeus II., pp. 654 sqq. It is as well, however, to be certain as to the precise evidential value which attaches to the stories about Tenes before employing them to buttress further hypotheses. A little intensive study of these traditions will therefore not be unprofitable, even if the result should be almost wholly negative. For in that event wemay be spared the trouble of placing much reliance upon edifices erected upon sand.

In his article in a recent issue of the Classical Quarterly Mr. G. M. A.Grube attempts to vindicate the authenticity of the Hippias Maior, concentrating his attention upon an article by me as ‘embodying most of the objections of earlier scholars’ against the genuineness of the dialogue. I believe that I am still ‘the latest exponent,’ in any detail, of this view; but I may claim at least some good company in the heresy, and to the names already cited by Mr. Grube or myself may be added in particular that of Wilamowitz, who also believes the Hippias Maior to have been written in the Academy within Plato's lifetime. I was not aware when writing my previous article of this noteworthy support in a work just then appearing.

MS. 124 in the library of St. John Baptist College, Oxford, is a quarto of 154 pages, written in two or more hands of the fifteenth century. Its provenance is unknown, and, as it has been carefully and ruthlessly rebound at some time in the nineteenth century, it is impossible to derive any information from the binding. After an unusually elabbrate alphabetical index it bears on folio 11 an inscription in a seventeenth-century hand as follows: ‘Libellus Thomae de Walsingham De generacione naturaque deorum simul cum interpretatione Ouidii Metamorphoseon Simoni Priori Sancti Albani dedicatus.’

MissSteuart, in her recent edition of the Annals of Ennius, prints the notorious line, ‘O Tite, tute, Tati, tibi tanta tyranne tulisti,’ among the fragmenta spuria, and shows that the attribution of it to Ennius is late and uncertain. That it is old is shown by the fact that it is quoted in the Ad Herennium. Miss Steuart classes it among the ‘freak’ lines by which Hardie (without good reason) thought Lucilius (1100 Mx.) illustrated his hundred kinds of Solecism (Res Metrica, p. 4, note).

So far as I am aware no editor and no critic has ever questioned the integrity of the four opening words of 313 as they stand above. So written they are seriously misleading. Let them be arranged as three,

αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα ἕκαστα,

and we have the sentence as the author of the Hymn surely wrote it (Mosc.), whatever support may be found elsewhere for the article before ἕκαστα.

It is sometimes assumed too rigorously that what distinguishes the language of Terence from that of Plautus is its modernity; that antiquated forms and expressions, common enough in the older dramatist (died 184), were all but completely absent in the younger (died 159). On this assumption a faulty Terence line is due simply to mistranscription, and the method of emendation is the same as would be employed on any MS. incorrectly copied in Carolingian times from an archetype now lost.

The manuscripts of Pausanias present at III. 16, 4 the following: 'Iòντι δἐ ώσ ἐπì τἀσ πνλἀσ ἀπò τοȗ Xιτῶνοσ Xείλωνόσ ὲστιν ἡρῷον τοȗ σοΦοȗ νομιζομένον καì Aθηναίων ρω τῶν όμοȗ Δωριεȋ τῷ 'Aναξανδρίδον σταλέντων ὲσ Σικλίαν. By a change euphemistically called an emendation Madvig has replaced 'Aθηναίων ρω by 'Aθηνοδώρον, a person unknown to history, whose further acquaintance we will not pursue.