During the excavations at Aphrodisias in Caria several ancient sundials have come to light Most are only fragmentary, but one, standing as a pedestal in a paved area of the city (the post-scaenam piazza) is substantially in one piece and of considerable interest.

The dial (PLATE II) is in the form of a cylindrical pillar of marble, the upper surface of which is horizontal and stands approximately one metre above ground level. The top is slightly larger than the main body of the column because of a lip and was originally an oval of diameters 88·5 cm (east–west) and 78 cm (north–south) though the south side is broken away for perhaps one fifth of its original width. The base of the dial, 40–50 cm below pavement level, also has a similar lip, which betrays its earlier use, which was as an altar. The religious symbols have been erased—unless the crescent within a circle on its north side is one (but see below).

As part of his recent study of ‘Narration and allusion in Archaic Greek Art’, Professor A. M. Snodgrass has cause to treat of the famous Attic black-figure vase which depicts Circe handing a cup containing her sinister brew to one of Odysseus’ sailors. She is stirring it with her wand the while, and yet this sailor, and three companions besides, have already been transformed into various animals (or at least his head, and their heads and arms have been). Professor Snodgrass has no difficulty in explaining the apparent simultaneity of separate events here and elsewhere on this vase-painting as relating to what he calls the ‘synoptic’ technique of early Greek Art, that familiar device whereby several successive episodes in a narrative are presented together within the same picture. And he is inclined towards a similar line of explanation as regards the partial transformation of Odysseus’ ἑταῖροι: the artist ‘wished to express the passage of time by indicating a half-way stage in the transformation’.

All I hope to do in this note is to reinforce Lesky's protest against ‘the attitude of mind shown by many modern scholars, who refuse to admit that there is a Prometheus problem at all, and pass over in silence so many arguments which deserve the most careful attention’. One reason why the majority of scholars are so sanguine about the peculiarities of Prometheus Desmotes is that they take it for granted that the surviving play was the first of a trilogy, and that the remainder of the trilogy would somehow or other have resolved some or most or all of the problems of the surviving part. It is assumed that the second play was, as the titles apparently proclaim, Prometheus Luomenos: the chief exception to this view is W. Schmid, the much reviled but scarcely refuted champion of the bastardy of Prom. Desm., who argued that the surviving play was written in the third quarter of the fifth century by an imitator of Aeschylus. Next it is usually supposed that Prometheus Purphoros (a title in the catalogue in M, twice cited elsewhere) was the third play—though there have been more respectable exceptions to that step. The fourth Prometheus title (twice cited by Pollux), Prometheus Purkaeus, is very plausibly taken to be the satyr play of 472 B.C., called simply Προυηθεύς in the hypothesis to Pers. Despite this, no-one seems to have questioned the easy assumption that the other three Prometheus titles are evidence for the connected trilogy. I shall offer here a neglected reason for thinking that, on the contrary, the titles are evidence that the Prometheus plays were not produced together. The argument is pedantic, even irritating, but it is nonetheless coherent and hard to contradict.

The year 1949 has seen a great improvement in conditions in Greece. The Peloponnese and Central Greece have been completely cleared, and archaeological sites in the north can now be visited; excavation has been resumed by the Archaeological Society and the foreign schools. The Italian School has returned to activity with Dr. Doro Levi in charge. Funds have not yet radiated to the provinces, but the metropolitan museums are being restored and a fourth gallery has been opened in the National Museum; the Eleusis Museum is being put in order.

There is no news from the Acropolis apart from Prof. Orlandos' recent discovery that the cover tiles in every third row on the roof of the Parthenon were bigger than those in the intermediate ones. Orlandos has secured and underpinned the wall and rock at weak points on the south side of the Acropolis, and has made considerable progress with the restoration of the orchestra pavement and cavea of the Odeum of Herodes. J. Travlos has cleared part of an establishment with handsome mosaic floors which preceded the Early Christian basilica by the Arch of Hadrian.

Plataea was an ancient city of ‘Boiotoi’ (Iliad ii 494 and 504; cf. Thuc. iii 61.2). Throughout its chequered history the citizens were always described as ‘Boiotoi’ (e.g. Thuc. iii 54.3; Isoc. Panath. 93; [D.] lix 95; Arr. An. i 8.8; Paus. i 15.3). The citizens were ‘the Plataeans’, whether they were in possession of their city or not. They figured as Πλαταιες on the serpent column of 479/8 (M-L 27, 7), as Πλαταιῆς in the list of Athens' allies in 431 (Thuc. ii 9.4), and as Πλαταιῆς ψιλοί fighting alongside Athenians in 424 BC when their city was in enemy hands (Thuc. iv 67.2 and 5). Although the majority of the Plataeans lived as refugees in Attica between 428 and 382, and again from 373 to 338, they continued to be ‘Plataeans’ and were never described in our sources as Athenians. The ability of the Plataeans to survive as a refugee community was paralleled, for example, by the ability of the Aeginetan refugees between 431 and 405 and the Samian refugees between 366 and 322 (Diod. xviii 18.9) to survive and ultimately to reoccupy their homeland. It was as such a community that ‘the Plataeans’ were brought back ‘from Athens’ to their ruined city in 382 (Paus. ix 1.4.).

A relatively very small but by absolute reckoning considerable number of painted Greek pots have signatures on them. These signatures are almost always painted and indicate either the maker (έποίησϵν) or the painter (ἔγραψϵν). The relevant statistics are these. Most of the signatures are on Attic products of the century from 570 to 470. Makers' signatures are about twice as common as painters'. Sometimes both kinds of signature occur on the same pot, but (so far as I know) only three times are the maker and the painter the same man. In two instances the signature gives the names of two makers.

Since the publication of ‘The Greek Kitchen’ in JHS lxxxii (1962) 121–137, fresh material for the Appendix (pp. 132–137) has come to light, mainly in the shape of terracottas which were unknown to me at the time, and I take this opportunity of correcting and adding to the original list. A number of pieces listed below were brought to my notice by Dietrich von Bothmer, of the Metropolitan Museum, New York (nos. 14, 15A, 30A, 33A, 33B), with whom I had two valuable discussions; for knowledge of no. 53B, I am indebted to Mademoiselle V. Verhoogen, of the Musées d'Art et Histoire, Brussels. Others to whom I am indebted for information and help with photographs, are: Madame Lilly Ginouvès, of the Louvre; Miss Elaine Loeffler, of the Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of Design, Providence; Signorina Paola Pelagatti, of the National Museum, Syracuse; Jean Balty, of the Brussels Museum; Bernard von Bothmer, of the Brooklyn Museum; P. Devambez, of the Louvre; R. Noll, of the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna; A. Oliver, of the Metropolitan Museum, New York; N. Raumschüssel, of the Staatliche Kunstsammlungen, Dresden. Miss Alison Frantz took the photographs of nos. 45 and 74, here plate XXIX.2, for which many thanks are given, Mrs A. D. Ure was assiduous in lending rare books, and Miss Lucy Talcott made valuable suggestions on the subject of the Vienna lekythos.

The capture of Salamis from Megara in the sixth century B.C. can safely be said to mark a turning-point in Athenian development. Considerations both of economics and defence would lead one to expect the island to be a natural bone of contention between the two mainland cities, and hence for it to be controlled by the one which was temporarily stronger. The surprising thing is that in the early part of the sixth century the stronger should have been Athens.

We have, it is true, one piece of evidence which suggests that Athenian naval power and interests were already considerable in this period. This is the account, in Herodotus, Diogenes, and Strabo, of the struggle against Mytilene for Sigeion, a struggle terminated by the arbitration of Periander in favour of the Athenians. The causes and aims of the Athenian venture are a matter for speculation, but whether they went as traders, pirates, or settlers, or as all three, their going underlines the fact that there were in the Athenian community at the time a number of men who had invested their capital and were prepared to risk their lives in a distant naval venture: their successful opposition to the forces of Mytilene in its turn suggests that the naval strength at the disposal of the Athenians was correspondingly formidable. It is possible that the expedition began as a private venture, financed, directed, and executed by a band of interested Athenians without any official backing. In view of the position of Sigeion it seems most probable that the venture was connected with the flow of trade to and from the Pontus: Sigeion was perhaps the base at which friendly ships bound for Attica could find rest and refuge, and from which other ships coming from the straits could be raided with the object of diverting corn cargoes to the home market.

This article re-evaluates the 22 so-called Tabulae Iliacae. Where most scholars (especially in the English-speaking world) have tended to dismiss these objects as ‘trivial' and ‘confused’, or as ‘rubbish’ intended for the Roman ‘nouveaux riches’, this article relates them to the literary poetics of the Hellenistic world, especially Greek ecphrastic epigram. Concentrating on the tablets' verbal inscriptions, the article draws attention to three epigraphic features in particular. First, it explores the various literary allusivenesses of the two epigrammatic invocations inscribed on tablets 1A and 2NY; second, it examines the Alexandrian diagrammatic word-games on the reverse of seven Tabulae (2NY, 3C, 4N, 5O, 7Ti, 15Ber, 20Par), relating these to the pictorial-poetic games of the Greek technopaegnia; third, it discusses the possible hermeneutic significance of associating six tablets with ‘Theodorean techne’ (1A, 2NY, 3C, 4N, 5O, 20Par), comparing a newly discovered epigram by Posidippus (67 A-B). All of these allusions point to a much more erudite purpose and clientele: the tablets toyed with Hellenistic visual-verbal relations at large.

This article reviews a range of important recent work on Greek religion. It looks first at the critique (common to a number of the books under review) of the polis-religion model associated with Christiane Sourvinou-Inwood and then attempts to draw out a number of emerging themes: a comparative approach, a focus on the gods or on individual worshippers and a cognitive perspective. It then examines in more detail the application of the terms ‘belief’ or ‘theology’ to the field of Greek religion and the extent to which any picture of Greek religious experience may be said to be logically coherent, before looking forward to possible future directions of study.

A consensus has formed over the last 30 years that Diagoras was not really an atheist and that the famous Apopurgizontes Logoi were falsely attributed to him at a later stage. This note argues that the evidence is consistent with the view that Diagoras was indeed an atheist and did indeed compose the Apopurgizontes. Further hints in other sources allow us to reconstruct, albeit speculatively, aspects of Diagoras’ thought and self-presentation.

This paper points out some of the weaknesses of the traditional account of the Homeric phrase ἀνδροτῆτα καὶ ἥβην and suggests instead that the entire phrase is a relatively recent creation of the tradition on the model of an *ἀμ(β)ροτῆτα καὶ ἥβην. This phrase in turn has a clear Avestan cognate hauruuatātā amərətātā.

An Attic cup of Siana shape, said to come from excavations in Rhodes, was presented to the British Museum in 1906 by Sir Henry Howorth (Pl. II). The lip is decorated with a wreath—interrupted above the handles—of alternate purple and black ivy-leaves set in two rows, one point-upwards, the other point-downwards, on a central horizontal stem. The reserved band on which the figures and handles are set comes immediately below the lip, save for a narrow black stripe; the rest of the bowl is black, but divided by a horizontal band of tongue-pattern; the tongues, pointing upwards, are alternately black and purple, except in two places where two blacks accidentally come together. Black underlies the purple and the white everywhere, except under the purple tongues, but the white, used only for women's flesh, has almost entirely disappeared. The interior is plain black. The date will be before 560 B.C.

Let us look at the two scenes which appear one on each side of the cup: they are roughly drawn, but vigorous and interesting: begin with that which, as I hope to show, comes first in time (Pl IIIa). On the left, a woman is seated to right on a stool: she is dressed in purple; her hair is loose and she holds her left hand to her head in an attitude of grief, with which the gesture of the open right hand well consorts. On the right of the scene, another woman stands to left beside a naming altar (Pl IIIe). Her dress is a black peplos. She wears a broad belt, the upper band of which consists of a repeating Ѕ pattern; her hair is gathered into a small knot on the nape of the neck, and in her hands she holds out by its handles a liknoh, from the front end of which three corn-stalks project. Within are shown other objects; the scale is so small and the drawing so poor that it is not possible to identify them all: some are probably fruits, the central one almost certainly a phallus.

The subject of this paper is the relationship between the Demotic Egyptian Inaros-Petubastis Cycle and the Greek novel. I will not argue that the Greek novel as a whole arose from Egyptian literature; that theory has been rightly laid to rest by scholars working in the area, most recently by Susan Stephens and the late Jack Winkler in their edition of the fragments of the novel. What I want to do, rather, is to draw attention to a single motif that might have made its way from Egyptian narrative fiction to the Greek novel; to explore the background of this motif in Egyptian literature; and to discuss the mode through which this motif was appropriated by the Greek novelists. This motif concerns the boukoloi, outlaw shepherds who inhabit the Egyptian Delta and oppose central Egyptian authority.

It has occurred to me more than once that there was yet some work to be done on this topic, even after the meritorious and very accurate labours of Steele, the notes and indices of a series of editors, notably Ernesti, Orelli, and Tyrrell and Purser, and the dissertations of Bolzenthal, Font, and Laurand. Of these, the editors are concerned chiefly with establishing a correct text, and explaining the meanings of the words, which last task has for the most part been satisfactorily performed (see Tyrrell and Purser, passim, also Boot's excellent edition of the Letters to Atticus). Laurand mentions the matter only incidentally, and gives a list, not very reliable, of the words used in the rhetorical works; Font's chief interest is not lexicographical, but rather an attempt to answer the question why Cicero should ever use a Greek word at all when a Latin one was available. Bolzenthal I have not been able to consult, but gather from Font's synopsis of his work, pp. 3, 28 sqq., that it is largely superseded by Steele. Steele sets out to study the whole vocabulary of the letters, including quotations, but omitting the Greek words in the other works; and his chief interest, apart from tracing the quotations to their sources, is in a grammatical analysis of the words used by Cicero and his correspondents, with a list of those words which occur only or for the first time in the letters.

Editors and translators have long recognised the dramatic element in Plato's work. It might seem superfluous to take up this subject in detail; but the detail in some aspects does not, in fact, appear to have been closely studied or recorded.

The desire to honour the personality and to perpetuate the method of Socrates is an obvious motive for Plato's choice of the dialogue form as medium for his own published expositions of philosophic thought. Such thought takes naturally, for him, the form of Socratic inquiry and response. But much more than this, in interest, inspiration, and technique, goes to the making of the Platonic dialogue. It is this background and this execution that are now to be considered.

We have the familiar tradition, recorded by Diogenes Laertius (III. 6) as received from Dicaearchus, that Plato wrote dithyrambs, lyrics, and tragedies, and was about to compete with a tragedy in the theatre of Dionysus when, still at an early age, he ‘heard’ Socrates, burnt his poems, and took up philosophy.

While the great discoveries at Mycenae and Pylos have focused attention on the Peloponnse and the Mycenaean era, the record of excavations in all provinces of Greece and stages of antiquity in this past year is an unprecedented one; there have been some forty different excavations, and the activity of the Archaeological Society in the field has reached a peak. The clearing of the Athenian Agora has been greatly advanced, excavation has been resumed at Dodona and Olympia; the Temple of Poseidon at the Isthmia has at last been discovered, and the oldest known metal-working establishment in Europe has been uncovered on the east coast of Attica. Prof. Orlandos and his assistants have continued the restoration of Byzantine churches as far afield as Khanià, Siátista and the lake-island of Préspa. The advance in the reconstitution of the metropolitan collections this year is not immediately perceptible, but there has been welcome progress in the museums of Olympia, Delphi, and Herakleion.

For the writers of the imperial period, music theory presented a sharp dichotomy. One might be an Aristoxenus, or one might be a follower of the mathematikoi or Pythagoreans. The methods and doctrines of the two schools were thought of as radically incompatible with one another; and it is true that from the fourth century B.C., when their respective doctrines were first formally articulated, members of each tradition held views which their opposite numbers denied. But their disagreements are easily misunderstood. I have argued elsewhere that Aristoxenus' attitude to the Pythagoreans has sometimes been distorted. Here, in discussing the Sectio, which appears to be the earliest continuous treatise surviving from the other side of the fence, I shall try to show some of the ways in which its objectives differ from Aristoxenus', and thus the sense in which certain major disagreements between them reflect an oblique rather than a direct confrontation. I hope also to show that further study of this rather arid looking work for its own sake would repay both musicologists and philosophers.

It has been said that ‘the history of Pindaric criticism is the history of the cardinal problem, unity’; but this history has yet to be fully explored. Young's pioneering study passes dismissively over the centuries preceding the publication, in 1821, of Boeckh's commentary—a landmark, indeed, but Boeckh's approach to the poet did not spring into being from nothing; it was the product of a long tradition of careful study, in which Pindar had been widely admired and diversely understood. This paper attempts to document that claim; its primary purpose is therefore historical. But the study of the history of scholarship is of most value when it helps us to understand our own place in that history, disclosing and encouraging us to think critically about our tacit or ill-considered assumptions. I shall therefore conclude by pointing briefly to a possible implication of this history for some more recent work on the poet.

Through the kindness of D. M. Lewis I was recently able to study a photocopy of R. Loepcr, ‘The Thirty Tyrants ’, Zhurnal Ministerstva Narodnago Prosveshcheniya (May 1896) 90–101―an examination, principally, of the list of the Thirty in Xen. Hell, ii 3.2.1 It seems worthwhile to publicise the outcome of this scrutiny, for four reasons: (a) Since its first appearance 80 years ago Loeper's main thesis―albeit in simplified form: see (c), and below―has exerted enormous influence upon students of prosopography, of the political organisation of post-Kleisthenic Attika, and of the regime of the Thirty.