We know roughly, says Prof. Murray, how a rhapsode set to work. He would be tempted to introduce bright patches. … He would abhor the subordination of parts to the whole.

This tendency, he suggests, explains the occurrence both in Θ (555 ff.) and in II (297 ff.) of the well-known description of a cloudless sky: ‘Such lovely lines, once heard, were a temptation to any rhapsode, and likely to recur whereever a good chance offered. The same explanation applies to the multiplied similes of B 455 ff. They are not meant to be taken all together; they are alternatives for the reciter to choose from.’

I quote this pronouncement, not because I want to quarrel with the most generous of scholars, but because it hits on particularly instructive passages. The constellation of similes at B 455 ff. marks, I suggest, a provisional climax in the movement of the poem, and the images here chosen are poetically relevant, not only to the immediate context but to the whole design. Similarly, the image of Θ 555 ff. is not isolated, but provides a climax and a consummation to the whole series of images which decorates the movement Γ–Θ. The kindred, though more impressive, image of Π 297 ff, marks the beginning of yet another series.

In this article, I re-examine a little-studied stele from Thebes on Mount Mykale in Asia Minor for the light which it sheds on the position this minor community occupied as a territorial possession of Miletus. Two texts were inscribed on this stele in the early fourth century BC, on its front and back. Both are exceptional: IPriene 363 in delineating the territorial boundaries of Thebes for an internal audience; IPriene 362 in setting out an onerous schedule of sacrificial offerings which those who pastured sheep or goats were obliged to observe. After identifying another inscription, IPriene 361, as an additional fragment of the same stele, and presenting photographs, texts, translations and commentaries, I argue that the stele functioned as a coherent monument regulating the activities of pastoral producers and that it was probably erected by the Thebans themselves in order to reinforce their territorial integrity. As such it represents a unique case study for exploring issues of territoriality and communal dependence in the Greek world.

J'espérais bien n'en plus parler; j'en ai parlé, jadis, assez longuement. Mais un important article, publié en 1915 dans l'Hermes par E. von Stern et dont je n'ai eu connaissance qu'en ces temps derniers, m'oblige à en dire encore quelques mots.

Il s'agit, une fois de plus, de ce Πτολεμαῖος ὁ Λυσιμάχου appelé aussi Πτολεμαῖος Έπίγονος dont fait mention un décret voté, en 240 avant notre ère, par les citoyens de Telmessos en Lycie; qui, par la faveur de Ptolémée III Évergètes, était devenu peu avant cette date prince souverain de Telmessos; et qui reçut des Telmessiens, en récompense de ses bienfaits, les plus rares honneurs.

The twenty-fifth chapter of the Aristotelian Constitution of Athens contains a circumstantial account of the overthrow of the Areopagus, which differs from the accepted version of the same affair in ascribing an important, though not the foremost, part in the attack to Themistocles. The newly discovered version does not, it is true, stand entirely by itself. But it is found elsewhere only in an argument to the Areopagiticus of Isocrates, written probably by a sixth-century Christian. As between the argument and the papyrus, it is the latter that alone can give any serious historical value to the former. But what is the historical value of the account in the Constitution? If it is true, then, as was recognised at once by Kenyon in his editio princeps, it revolutionises the history of the later part of Themistocles' career.

I propound a question which I cannot answer. The period at which the Greek minuscule hand came into the world withdraws itself from direct evidence, and can only be approached by induction from dates apparently considerably distant. I have, however, facts to detail which do not seem to have been combined elsewhere, and which admit of a conclusion which I believe has not been drawn. And though the conclusion may not be right, the subject is of enough importance to justify a guess. With all the discoveries of papyrus and the survivals of uncial, the minuscule hand of the ninth to the sixteenth centuries is that in which we read nearly all our Greek classics, and imitated by the first printers has given us our present-day Greek type and modern Greek writing.

No tradition remained in Greece of the place, manner, or date of the origin of this hand. Of late a mistranscription of a sentence in the fourteenth century MS. Canonici graec. 23 by Cramer (An. Ox. iv. 400. 5) has given rise to some singular speculations (Gardthausen, Gr. Pal., p. 205).

The objects described in this article have for the most part been acquired by the Trustees of the British Museum in the course of the last four years through Sir Cecil Smith, late Keeper of the Department of Greek and Roman Antiquities. Sir Cecil Smith has kindly given his assent to their publication, and Mr. Arthur Smith, the present Keeper, has added his permission.

I return to this subject, on which I wrote in 1921, because there is a good deal to be said which is new and which should, I think, be pretty conclusive. I have recently been compelled to write once again on Alexander's universalism, and the two matters are interconnected; also Professor Wilcken has put forward a new view of the principal plan, that for the conquest of the Mediterranean basin, which I think is untenable. The importance of the question of this plan for our ideas of Alexander needs no emphasising.

The document which contains the plans is given in Diodorus xviii, 4, 2–5, and Wilcken, like every German scholar to-day, believes that that document comes from Hieronymus and is therefore true. I have traced this belief back as far as I can, and cannot find that anyone has ever attempted to prove it; it arises from the unquestioned fact that (Agathocles apart) the basis and much of the detail of Diodorus' books xviii–xx are from Hieronymus. But the question of xviii, 4, 2–5 stands thus, xviii, 5 is certainly from Hieronymus.

The notes which follow are intended to be a supplement to Professor W. M. Calder's Corpus Inscriptionum Neo-Phrygiarum in the Journal of Hellenic Studies, XXXI and XXXIII (1911–13), and above, p. 22. The Corpus is so complete and the interpretation of the inscriptions so ingenious and thorough that little room is left for addition and correction. My supplementary notes, therefore, will not be numerous.

(1) In No. LXIX it is clear that ξως κε πεις κε must mean ‘both living and dead,’ and that consequently πεις signifies ‘dead.’ Hence in No. XII we must read ζειρακεοι πειες κε, and translate ‘living and dead (let them go accursed to Attys).’ The verb has the plural suffix -νου, corresponding with -du in Boghaz Keui Hittite. This settles the reading of No. VII, which must be [ζειρ]ακεοι ειροι Ατι ετι ττ[ετικμενοι ειττ]νου. Ειροι perhaps means ‘untimely’; cp. ἦρι.

Of the children Echidna bore to Typhon the Chimaera was certainly the most illogical. She might even be considered as the very strangest among all the fantastical beings orientalising art in Greece liked to represent. For though she was called the goat, yet she stands before us as a lion, and the only thing there is of a goat about her is a head, that grows like a parasite out of the lion's back, and, in most cases, looks piteous rather than terrific. Even the later addition of a pair of forefeet cannot contribute to making her look formidable. We are told that she has a mighty weapon: the fiery flames she can eject from her mouth. Yet perched as she is, it is not easy for her to make use of this weapon; she will have to manœuvre very skilfully in order not to harm the lion, whose head will always come between her and the enemy they are confronting.

Few Greek statues are so famous as the draped marble figure, somewhat larger than life, known under the name of ‘Sophocles,’ which has been for many years the chief attraction of the Lateran Museum (Figs. 1, 2). Indeed it was on account of this statue, and on the occasion of its discovery, that Pope Gregory XVI ordered a part of the Lateran Palace to be converted into a Museum, wishing to provide the gem with a worthy shrine of its own.

Nor is such fame undeserved.

The calm and dignified attitude, the high-spirited head, the clever and harmonious arrangement of the drapery, the careful, broad and supple workmanship—everything combines to make our statue not only a masterpiece of Greek art, but the classical type of an Athenian gentleman shown in the bloom of full manhood, as he may have been met with sauntering about the theatre or agora in the fifth century B.C.

Though all do not agree that we have here, as has been often said, the finest lifesize portrait which has come down to us from Hellenic sculpture, at any rate, since the first day of its appearance, artists and archaeologists have been unanimous in its praise.

Two extreme views obtain as to the numbers of this fleet. Many modern writers have unaffectedly accepted, sometimes with conviction, the 1,207 (or 1,327) triremes of Herodotus. In sharpest contrast, we have Prof. Hans Delbrück's estimate of not over 300 triremes for Xerxes' fleet at the outset, or anyhow at Artemisium. Delbrück discards all Herodotus' numbers as equally worthless, and sets out to deduce the true figure from criticism of the naval battles and of probabilities; it leads to the result that at Salamis the Persians were actually outnumbered, which is the point that really matters. Several intermediate views have also been put forward; Dr. H. Welzhofer and Prof. J. Beloch have taken the figure as 1,207 ships, not warships, Welzhofer putting the warships at something over 400; Prof. J. B. Bury and Dr. J. A. R. Munro have suggested 800 triremes at the outset; while Dr. E. Meyer gives 600–800 to start with, not all triremes, and 400–500 at Salamis, the fleet being brought up by transports, etc. to the popular figure of 1,000. Naturally, most of these figures are guesses from the probabilities of the case; but Dr. Munro has recognised the crucial fact of the four divisions of the fleet.