The importance which the Romans attached to the family is well known, and it is natural enough that in early times the Roman boy received his only education at home. Plutarch to be sure would have us believe that Romulus and Remus went to school at Gabii, but his story is not to be taken seriously: it is simply an attempt to present these legendary characters as human beings, living the sort of life with which the reader himself was familiar. As we approach history we find several mentions of schools in Livy: the master of Falerii has won eternal infamy by delivering his pupils as hostages to the Roman general, an act with which many of his profession have sometimes felt a certain ambiguous sympathy. But it is idle to speculate on the truth of such tales: we may take the statement of Pliny (Ep. viii. 14) suus cuique parens pro magistro as substantially correct for the time before the First Punic War.

The importance which the Romans attached to the family is well known, and it is natural enough that in early times the Roman boy received his only education at home. Plutarch to be sure would have us believe that Romulus and Remus went to school at Gabii, but his story is not to be taken seriously: it is simply an attempt to present these legendary characters as human beings, living the sort of life with which the reader himself was familiar. As we approach history we find several mentions of schools in Livy: the master of Falerii has won eternal infamy by delivering his pupils as hostages to the Roman general, an act with which many of his profession have sometimes felt a certain ambiguous sympathy. But it is idle to speculate on the truth of such tales: we may take the statement of Pliny (Ep. viii. 14) suus cuique parens pro magistro as substantially correct for the time before the First Punic War.

Aristotle'sPoetics has centuries of tradition behind it as a substitute for first-hand appreciation in dramatic criticism, and this work has lent colour to the old view that the characters of Greek tragedy were all ‘idealized types’ in a performance in which the plot was the thing. This is because Aristotle explicitly puts plot above character in his list of the essentials of a tragedy, and when he comes to treat of character has little to say which appeals to us. But the pure tragic drama of human feeling depends entirely on its success in eliciting sympathy with its characters. Of this art Sophocles, like Shakespeare, is the acknowledged champion. Aeschylus is inspired to ‘justify the ways of God to man’, Euripides is concerned to question the ways of man to his neighbour. When Aeschylus added characterization to his loftier qualities, he produced in the Agamemnon the greatest play ever written, but we do not suspect his ‘Prometheus’ of character drawing any more than Shelley's. And in Euripides, as sometimes in Shaw, the characters are so under the thumb of the theories that we forget to take much personal interest in them. But in Sophocles we are not distracted by the prophet or the propagandist, and we can let his pathetic, human people stir in us their own hopes and sorrows.

The study of classical board games offers a most fertile field for conjecture, yet at the same time yields a distressing paucity of certain fact. Hasty conclusions of all kinds have been drawn from the sources available, both as to the nature of the games and as to methods of playing them; encouraged by the cheerful ambiguities of our authorities, investigators have not hesitated to equate Greek games with Roman, or both with those of Egypt and the Orient if occasion suited, and to lay down rules for the one deduced entirely from the other. Actually, the most sober caution is necessary. We are not justified in deriving the games of one country from those of another; but when a game obviously conforms to a definite type as played throughout the ages in various parts of the world, then we may justifiably make certain assumptions concerning it; for example, in the case of those Roman games which are of the backgammon type we may reasonably infer that they were played in a certain way. Beyond that we cannot go, and the utmost care is needed not to pervert the tradition of ancient authors, vague and obscure as it so often is. It is especially important to note that none of these games, either Greek or Roman, had any connexion with chess. There is no proof that the latter was derived either from the πέντε γραμμαί or from the ludus latrunculorum; any such claim is quite invalidated by the anachronisms and impossibilities involved. Thus ‘chess’, even as a loose translation of a term such as πεττεία, so commonly found, is inaccurate and misleading. If this paper is less inconclusive than many previous accounts, it is due to the help freely given me by Mr. H. J. R. Murray, who has put at my disposal his own notes and suggestions, backed by his expert practical understanding of board games and his unique knowledge of their comparative history.

Aristotle's Poetics has centuries of tradition behind it as a substitute for first-hand appreciation in dramatic criticism, and this work has lent colour to the old view that the characters of Greek tragedy were all ‘idealized types’ in a performance in which the plot was the thing. This is because Aristotle explicitly puts plot above character in his list of the essentials of a tragedy, and when he comes to treat of character has little to say which appeals to us. But the pure tragic drama of human feeling depends entirely on its success in eliciting sympathy with its characters. Of this art Sophocles, like Shakespeare, is the acknowledged champion. Aeschylus is inspired to ‘justify the ways of God to man’, Euripides is concerned to question the ways of man to his neighbour. When Aeschylus added characterization to his loftier qualities, he produced in the Agamemnon the greatest play ever written, but we do not suspect his ‘Prometheus’ of character drawing any more than Shelley's. And in Euripides, as sometimes in Shaw, the characters are so under the thumb of the theories that we forget to take much personal interest in them. But in Sophocles we are not distracted by the prophet or the propagandist, and we can let his pathetic, human people stir in us their own hopes and sorrows.

The study of classical board games offers a most fertile field for conjecture, yet at the same time yields a distressing paucity of certain fact. Hasty conclusions of all kinds have been drawn from the sources available, both as to the nature of the games and as to methods of playing them; encouraged by the cheerful ambiguities of our authorities, investigators have not hesitated to equate Greek games with Roman, or both with those of Egypt and the Orient if occasion suited, and to lay down rules for the one deduced entirely from the other. Actually, the most sober caution is necessary. We are not justified in deriving the games of one country from those of another; but when a game obviously conforms to a definite type as played throughout the ages in various parts of the world, then we may justifiably make certain assumptions concerning it; for example, in the case of those Roman games which are of the backgammon type we may reasonably infer that they were played in a certain way. Beyond that we cannot go, and the utmost care is needed not to pervert the tradition of ancient authors, vague and obscure as it so often is. It is especially important to note that none of these games, either Greek or Roman, had any connexion with chess. There is no proof that the latter was derived either from the π⋯ντε γραμμα⋯ or from the ludus latrunculorum; any such claim is quite invalidated by the anachronisms and impossibilities involved.

One of the most recent of the new approaches to the study of Latin is associated with the name of Mason Gray. Mason Gray was Director of Ancient Languages in the East High School and in Junior High Schools, Rochester, N.Y. His theory is expounded in The Teaching of Latin (D. Appleton & Company, New York, 1929, 8s. 6d.) and finds practical expression in Latin for To-day, Parts I and II (Ginn & Company, London, 1932, 1933, 3s. 6d. and 4s. 6d.).

Most of us are aware that Rome possessed a harbour town at the mouth of the Tiber and that the ruins of the town are well worth a visit; but how many of us know the story of Ostia, the extraordinary interest attaching to it, the information it supplies on the economic life of Rome, and the great difficulties the Roman engineers had to face in constructing a really serviceable harbour ? Ostia lies about 20 miles from Rome, and for us, thinking in terms of motor-cars and trains, it is far from easy to imagine and to realize how long and difficult this journey must have seemed in the earliest times when the Romans first sought to establish connexion with the coast—not to speak of the dangers to which a traveller in those days must have been exposed. On arrival, we see the far-stretching ruins of the city lying before us in deep silence, for not merely its inhabitants have left Ostia but the sea and the river as well. The tawny Tiber, carrying down sand from the mountains, is the chief cause of the coastline shifting yearly no less than nine yards farther away; the river too has changed its bed and, in doing so, deprived Ostia of the last vestiges of her former greatness.

There has recently been unearthed from the Governors' minute book of a public school in the north of England a list of books which formed the school library in the year 1707. It provides some interesting sidelights on the educational ideas of the time.

One of the most recent of the new approaches to the study of Latin is associated with the name of Mason Gray. Mason Gray was Director of Ancient Languages in the East High School and in Junior High Schools, Rochester, N.Y. His theory is expounded in The Teaching of Latin (D. Appleton & Company, New York, 1929, 8s. 6d.) and finds practical expression in Latin for To-day, Parts I and II (Ginn & Company, London, 1932, 1933, 3s. 6d. and 4s. 6d.).

Most of us are aware that Rome possessed a harbour town at the mouth of the Tiber and that the ruins of the town are well worth a visit; but how many of us know the story of Ostia, the extraordinary interest attaching to it, the information it supplies on the economic life of Rome, and the great difficulties the Roman engineers had to face in constructing a really serviceable harbour ? Ostia lies about 20 miles from Rome, and for us, thinking in terms of motor-cars and trains, it is far from easy to imagine and to realize how long and difficult this journey must have seemed in the earliest times when the Romans first sought to establish connexion with the coast—not to speak of the dangers to which a traveller in those days must have been exposed. On arrival, we see the far-stretching ruins of the city lying before us in deep silence, for not merely its inhabitants have left Ostia but the sea and the river as well. The tawny Tiber, carrying down sand from the mountains, is the chief cause of the coastline shifting yearly no less than nine yards farther away; the river too has changed its bed and, in doing so, deprived Ostia of the last vestiges of her former greatness.

There has recently been unearthed from the Governors' minute book of a public school in the north of England a list of books which formed the school library in the year 1707. It provides some interesting sidelights on the educational ideas of the time.