An inscription found in the theatre of Hierapolis(Pamm UKkale)in Phrygia and recently published is of interest both in itself and because it may help to elucidate a passage of Arrian′sDiscourses of Epictetos.

The reply which Socrates makes to Zeno in the Parmenides and that which he makes to the φιλοθɛ⋯μονɛς in the Republic are perhaps connected chiefly by the fact that a false interpretation of either might prejudice the other, but it seems convenient to take them together for that reason even if they have not much actual connection in themselves. Both are controversial, and in the case of Socrates' reply to Zeno, no re-statement of it could be secure which did not take account of Parmenides' reply to Socrates. For if Parmenides, as is maintained by some, is not attacking the doctrine of forms as such, but only Socratic theories of their relation with particulars, it would be natural to think that these theories about ‘participation’ had been the substance of Socrates' answer to Zeno. So it is impossible to avoid some discussion of the later passage, however cursory, as a preliminary.

Most commentators apply the phrase ‘vitans onus…iugi’ not only to the heifer but to Attis himself. When they ask what iugum Attis is avoiding, the immediate context provides no obvious answer. They are therefore compelled to interpret the iugum either in the light of a much earlier passage or in the light of a much later one. Neither procedure is satisfactory.

On the other hand, at least one editor has proposed that the phrase ‘vitans onus…iugi’ does not apply to Attis himself but to the heifer alone. The comparison between Attis and the heifer then lies only in their frenzied speed; the yoke-avoiding action is external to the comparison and merely heightens the picture of the charging heifer. The obvious difficulty with this view is that the concept of a yoke, and more generally of avoiding servitude, plays an important role relevant to Attis later on in the poem. From line 50 onwards Attis sees himself as an erifuga anxious to escape from slavery to Cybele. And the account of Cybele's lion, sent to round him up, twice refers to the notion of freeing from a yoke (76 and 84).

Both these traditional approaches concentrate on the literal meaning of the phrase vitans onus…iugi: they assume that the yoke itself is important and that it either does or does not make sense when applied to Attis. But if we focus instead upon the action which the whole phrase vitans onus…iugi suggests, then the description of the heifer has an apt application to Attis within its own immediate context.

Philo's attitude to the mythologizing activities of the Greeks is well known. In many passages he contrasts the practices of Greek writers unfavourably with that of Moses. In one passage (Conf. 2 ff.), for example, he condemns those who see the Tower of Babel story asa reflection of that of Otus and Ephialtes' assault on Olympus; the truth, he asserts, is quite the contrary — the Greeks have borrowed the story from Moses.

On the other hand, Philo is himself prepared on occasion to allegorize figures of Greek mythology, though never explicitly on a subject of central doctrinal importance. For instance, he appears to be acquainted with the allegorization of various parts of the Odyssey. In his treatise On Mating with the Preliminary Studies (Congr.), he makes use of the allegorization of the Suitors' mating with the handmaidens because they cannot gain Penelope, first employed, it seems, by the Cynic Bion of Borysthenes, but no doubt of wide currency by Philo's time, as a figure of those who cannot attain to Philosophy consoling themselves with ta enkyklia (e.g. Congr. 14–19). Again, the use here and there in his writings of compounds of the verb νήχω, ‘swim’, particularly ⋯νανήχομαι in connection with descriptions of our struggle through the storms and shipwreck of material existence, suggests his acquaintance with the allegorizing of Odysseus' shipwreck off Phaeacia in Odyssey V, where Homer employs this verb repeatedly. Other, more specificallegories include Scylla as ⋯ɸροσύνη a ‘deathless evil’ (Od. 12. 118), at Det. 178; Odysseus' escape from Charybdis (ibid. 219) at Somn. 2. 70, to symbolize our escape from the cares of mortal existence; and Castor and Pollux (Od. 11. 303) at Somn. 1.150, as an image of the life of the askêtês or prokoptôn.

‘Of course laniabor is not a name.’ Thus very recently Cristiano Castelletti in a discussion of this notorious acrostic, which he associates with Aratean ἄρρητον (Phaen. 2) and Virgilian MA VE PV (G. 1.429-33). If, however, laniabor is itself ‘not a name’, the aim of the present annotatiuncula is to argue that it is an etymological play on a ‘name’. Laniabor spans the description of Amycus’ cave, which is adorned with the dismembered limbs of his victims: Amycus himself will shortly suffer the same fate at Pollux’ hands. The name ‘Amycus’ was etymologized from ἀμύσσω (‘tear’; LSJ s.v. I), which exactly matches lanio (‘tear’; OLD s.v. 1a). Hence by a cutely etymological jeu onomastique ‘Tearer’ says ‘I'll be torn’.

On his way to convey Jupiter's rebuke to Aeneas, Mercury passes by his maternal grandfather Atlas, a mountain vividly personified as an old man with snowy beard/frozen rivers running down his chin (4.249–51). Here he pauses, then flings himself into the waves (4.253–4):

Little progress has been made in classifying the manuscript tradition of Livy's First Decade since Frigell published his Livianorum Librorum Primae Decadis Emendandae Ratio (1875). This laid the foundations of a serious analysis of the manuscripts, but was hampered by the fact that full evidence was not available at that date. The deficiency was made good by the Oxford editors, who, however, failed to make use of their evidence to explore in detail the inter relation of the manuscripts. Walters indeed disclaims its importance (C.Q. ii [1908], p. 213): ‘Further in stemmata-making I decline to go, for “stemmata quid faciunt?” except much stereotyped mischief.’

The death of Socrates gave birth to an industry of biographical literature which often took the form of a defence (apologia) or prosecution (katēgoria), sometimes purporting to be the actual defence or prosecution conducted at his trial. Plato and Xenophon wrote works in his defence. Among his critics, one Polycrates had a certain notoriety. Lysias, Theodectes and Demetrius of Phalerum, orators and rhetoricians like Polycrates, were credited with further works of apology. There were doubtless many others. The aim of this paper is to show that Xenophon wrote his Defence in the light of the rhetorical theory that required that a speaker utter words and thoughts appropriate πρεποντα to his character.

A General treatment of Greek compounds seems much to be desired. It would have to be undertaken by one who had an up-to-date philological equipment, to which I cannot lay claim. But rather with the hope of eliciting discussion on the subject and learning from others I offer the following observations, and in further study of the subject should be grateful to anyone who would advise as to the exact statistics that may be desirable over and above what I give below. I was led to the subject by a feeling that the treatment of many individual compounds by editors was far from satisfactory, and that possibly a collection of the material might help to bring out the exact meaning of some of the well-known difficulties in the Tragedians. One is dealing here with a highly developed and somewhat arbitrary poetic idiom, and it may perhaps be impossible, as one must admit from the outset, always to make precise the poet's meaning, but it is worth while to make the attempt.

Heraclitus B 126 D.-K. (=42 Marcovich) occurs in a scholion on Tzetzes' commentary on the Iliad. According to the first edition by G. Hermann (Draconis, Stratonicensis liber de metris poeticis, loannis Tzetzae Exegesis in Homeri Iliadem, Leipzig, 1812) on which all editors of Heraclitus have based their text, it reads as follows: τ ψυχρ θρεται, θερμν ψχεται, 〈γρν〉 αὐανεται, καρϕαλον νοτζετ〈αι〉 (p. 126, 17–19).

Greek tragedy is full of rituals perverted by intra-familial conflict. To mention some examples from the house of Atreus: the funeral bath and the funeral covering, normally administered to a man's corpse by his wife as an expression of ɸιλία, have in Aeschylus' Oresteia become instruments in the killing of Agamemnon; the pouring of libations at the tomb, normally a θελκτήριον for the dead, becomes in the Choephoroi an occasion for his arousal; Euripides has Klytaimnestra ‘sacrificed’ while performing the sacrifice for her (fictitious) newly born grandchild. On the important question of why it is that tragedians pervert ritual I hope to shed some light in future publications. The purpose of this paper is to examine the radical form taken by the perversion of mourning in Sophokles' Elektra.

In the first decade of this century the comparative anthropologists Hertz and van Gennep discovered as a widespread feature of the period of mourning its character as participation in the transitional state of the recently dead, to be ended by the incorporation of the dead person into his or her proper destination and the reincorporation of the mourners into the flow of everyday social life. The mourning relatives in a sense share the condition of the dead.

By the time his Teubner De Officiis had reached its fourth edition, C. Atzert was running out of hope. So great was the number of the still-accumulating manuscripts ‘ut paene desperaverim in seligendis et ordinandis eis’. In fact, there were hundreds more of which he knew nothing. My own list approaches seven hundred in all, and there will be others lurking still. The present paper aims to impose some order on this vast army.2 It sketches in new detail the interrelationships of the old witnesses to the ξ tradition, and the transition to a twelfth-century Vulgate (Ψ); it throws light on the early story of the ξ family; and it makes a start on the task of showing how the f stream, from the twelfth century onwards, fitfully mingled with the Vulgate (for the stemma, see Fig. 1). It could never have been written without the help of Marina Luttrell and of countless friends and colleagues who provided information about manuscripts I could not see for myself

I Should have known better than to revive Carcopino's heresy on the Lex Bembina Repetundarum. My attempt to rob C. Gracchus of this important measure and restore it to Glaucia met with universal disbelief. Soon a powerful counter-attack followed in learned publications. There may seem little left to say. Certainly it would be pointless to go over the old arguments yet again. My only excuse for perseverance is that I have new material. For my readers' convenience I group it under five main heads.

The character of Hippolytus, as it is drawn by Euripides, usually receives but half-hearted praise. His coldness, inherited, no doubt, from his Amazon mother, and his consciousness of virtue, inevitably allied to priggishness in the eyes of a society which tolerates any extreme of self-depreciation, are not attractive. It is, perhaps, more surprising that no surprise seems to be provoked by the dramatic portrayal of a disposition unique in Greek literature. The association of holiness with a life of celibacy is so familiar from the history both of Christianity and of other faiths that it seems natural to us that one who aspires to the highest purity, like Hippolytus, should allow no place in his life for sex. Hippolytus is pure, we are apt to imagine, for the same reason that a monk is pure, because such purity is pleasing to the god whom he serves and favourable to the life of the spirit.