When the great tunnel under the Quirinal was being constructed many fragments of statues and inscriptions came to light, most of which are at present stored in the Magazzino Archeologico. Among the finest is the statue of a boy (Pl. I. a) in the Fourth Room, found during the excavations of 1899–1900, and published in the Bullettino Comunale for 1901, Pl. X., where it is described as probably a Pasitelean imitation of the early Peloponnesian School of the fifth century B.C., unlike any known type, but suggestive on the one hand, from the myrtle wreath on the support, of an Eros or Thanatos, on the other, from its grave and serious aspect, of a camillus. M. Reinach in a note in vol. iii. of his Recueil des Statues Antiques p. 177) also regards it as archaistic; Dr. Amelung as a copy of a bronze original produced somewhat later than the Hestia Giustiniani.

Anceps is not so free that either a long or a short syllable may be used on equal terms. In fact, some strong tendencies are observed in lyric iambics in tragedy. Long syllable is avoided especially at the final anceps in dimeter/trimeter, for instance. Frequencies are statistically calculated each in turn in various combinations of iambic metra, and irregular occurrences are examined in contexts. In contrast to iambics, anceps tends to be long in D/e. Sophocles employs long anceps more frequently than the other two tragedians because his iambics sometimes verge on D/e. In general, long anceps is used in different ways from short. The effect it brought about would not have been felt unless long anceps was delivered differently from short, that is, at the same length as a true long.

Scrutiny of Herodotus’ ethnographic accounts of northern Syria and the region he calls ‘Palestinian Syria’ reveals oddities and inconsistencies. Here it is argued that such problems may be resolved if a fundamental fact is recognized: the enormous early literary prestige of the Phoenicians has obscured the historical roles of these other peoples in the Histories. The character and extent of this process, specifically as it bears on Syria-Palestine during Iron Age II, is analysed here. It is hoped that a new appreciation of the Syrians as an ethnicity may be gained as a result. It is suggested as well that for important historical problems researchers should ascertain whether Herodotus is not actually talking about Syrians when he discusses Phoenicians.

Modern studies have emphasized the contradictory nature of the ancient traditions concerning the aftermath of the Battle of Sepeia (494 BC), in which the Argive army was destroyed by the Spartans. This article tackles the most significant point of agreement in these traditions: the theme of Argive ‘oligandry’, the demographic crisis caused by the battle. An analysis conducted on the basis of Ansley J. Coale and Paul Demeny’s Model Life Tables shows that the real impact of the demographic crisis was felt in the age structure of Argos’ population rather than in the sheer size of its citizen body. Consequently, this article argues that the political ramifications of the battle originated not from the demographic crisis alleged by the tradition, but from the state of powerlessness and regional isolation into which Argos was plunged by the defeat of 494. This argument, which supports a reappraisal of Plutarch’s (De mul. vir. 4) version of Argos’ response to Sepeia, also helps explain why Argos embraced a markedly aggressive foreign policy towards the towns of the plain in the following decades.

Scholars remain far from reaching agreement about the structure of Middle Platonist commentaries on Plato's dialogues: some take them to have been running line-by-line commentaries, while others believe that Middle Platonist commentaries were mainly specialist works. In this paper I propose a fresh and comprehensive analysis of extant sources in order to show that both views, while shedding light on important features of this literary genre in Middle Platonism, should be supplemented in order to draw a more complex picture. Extant sources suggest that the Middle Platonist commentaries were characterized by a set of features which shaped a specific conception of the literary genre: they were lemmatic and followed the development of a dialogue in its progression, yet at the same time they applied a thematic focus and hence admitted a substantial degree of selectivity.

These notes on the beginnings of Greek sculpture contain little that has not been said before, but aim at applying a severer logic to the evidence and the conclusions drawn from it. The problems may be defined as what models were used by early Greek sculptors, why they chose those models, where the choice was made, and what the impulse was that induced them to take up this new art.

The earliest surviving Greek sculpture worth the name is of the Daedalic style, which Jenkins has analysed neatly in his Dedalica. This style began in the second quarter of the seventh century and continued into the last quarter. So much is fairly generally accepted.

The artistic influence of Egypt on Greece has been propounded since the eighteenth century, and there are still many students who see its effects in sculpture. Usually their arguments are very general, asserting similarity of types and technical methods rather than of style. Of the Archaic Greek types the kouros is most apparently comparable to Egyptian—an upright, four-square figure with arms held to its sides and one foot in front of the other. Except for the stance this is the most obvious pose for a standing figure, and there are essential specific differences, well defined by Schrader. The stock Egyptian male has a support behind the forward leg, tilts backwards, and wears a kilt; the Greek kouros stands free, has a more mobile poise and is naked (except in the Daedalic style for a belt). As for resemblances in detail, Richter and Carpenter single out the roll of stone clenched in the hand of some Greek kouroi; this does not seem a regular or very early feature, and it may be a technical coincidence to avoid hollowing the inside of the closed fist. The ‘layer wig’ of course, though of Egyptian origin, is not so common in Egyptian sculpture and was already naturalised in Phoenician and Syrian art.

The vase which is the subject of the present paper is no new find. It has been for many years in the British Museum (Cat. No. 810), and was mentioned by Overbeck in his Heroische Bildwerke in 1851. It has not however hitherto been figured, and it may be well to take advantage of its publication in these pages to make a few observations on the general subject of vase-paintings which are connected with the myths of the Iliad.

The present vase is an amphora from Vulci, height nineteen inches. The form and decoration are given in the woodcut. On one side is a warrior standing to the left, clad in a chlamys, and armed with helmet, spear, and shield adorned with serpent. On the other side is a lady to the left, clad in Ionian chiton and overdress, her head enveloped in a kerchief; she raises her right hand; in her left hand is a baby boy, who turns and stretches his hands to the right. The main outlines of the figures are traced in black, but the folds of the Ionian chiton with light red; there are three incised circles on the warrior's shield. Under each figure runs a line of maeander pattern; an anthemion adorns the bottoms of both handles.

This article offers the first comprehensive presentation of a monumental funerary lion found approximately 60 years ago in Thebes. Remarkably, the stone lion’s breast is inscribed with the name of the deceased, Ϝαστίας. On numismatic, epigraphic and historical grounds, I identify this Wastias as the homonymous magistrate appearing on staters of the Boiotian koinon in ca. 400 BC, but also as Astias, one of the leading Laconizing Theban politicians on the eve of the Corinthian War (Hellenica Oxyrhynchia 20.1–2). Wastias’ death can be very plausibly placed in 395 BC, the year of the battle of Haliartos. The proposed association is supported by a stylistic analysis of the monument, which thus becomes one of the best-dated sculpted lions of the Classical period. My contextual analysis of the monument reaffirms the notoriously oligarchic orientation of Theban politics. It also prompts a re-examination of other funerary lions, most notably its regional successor in the lion of Chaironeia. It concludes with a reflection on the nature of individual versus collective commemorative practices.

This article is a commentary on a recently discovered testimony to Onesicritus, in which the writer speaks about his role as participant in the expedition of Alexander. It will be argued that the ideological backdrop of the testimony was Alexander’s claim to universalism, which was intended to be a response to the ancient Near Eastern discourse on empire. Alexander adopted ideological concepts of successful rulership used by the Achaemenids in order to stabilize control in Asia. For this purpose, he claimed to have carried his conquest to the Ocean, which implied universalism. That claim was the main theme in Onesicritus’ account and established the literary atmosphere in which the writer determined his role during the navigation of the Indian Ocean.

There is probably no sculptor as to whose work our notions have been more completely revolutionised in recent times than Myron. This change is due partly to new discoveries, but more to the identification of statues already known and exhibited. It is above all Myron's treatment of the head that has been hitherto inadequately realised, and for this the Massimi head, widely known through casts and photographs, is to a great degree responsible. The somewhat dull and heavy expression of this head does indeed remind us of Pliny's words, ‘ipse tarnen corporum tamen studiosus animi sensus non expressisse (videtur).” And the copyist who made this statue may very probably have been influenced by some such commonplace of artistic criticism. But the recent identification of two more extant works of Myron, the Perseus of the Antiquarium at Rome (Plate V) and the Athena in Frankfort, together with the replicas of the head of this last statue in Dresden and in the Vatican cellars, have completely changed our impressions as to his style, and are likely to have far-reaching results. Another statue that has recently come to be attributed generally to Myron is the well-known Cassel Apollo and its numerous replicas in various museums—notably a head in Vienna (Fig. 1) and another in the National Museum at Athens. All of these show the simplicity and severity of the art of the earlier part of the fifth century, together with a certain dignity and richness of effect which lead up to the work of Phidias. Above all, there is a fullness of intellectual and even spiritual life about them which contrasts strangely with the Massimi head. Correct inferences as to the style of Myron had already been drawn by Furtwängler and others. And it is particularly interesting to note in this connexion how Furtwängler traced the influence of Myron upon Cresilas. The expression which that sculptor gave to statues like the Diomed and the Amazon was especially admired by ancient critics in his wounded figures.

Sir,—The article in your Journal by Mr. Roberts ‘On the Oracle Inscriptions discovered at Dodona’ (recently published at Paris in the magnificent work of Constantin Carapanos, entitled Dodone et ses ruines), has been read by me with great gratification, and has awakened in my mind some delightful reminiscences. May I be permitted to communicate them?

Fifty years ago, when at Naples, and preparing for a journey to Greece, I had the pleasure of friendly intercourse with Sir William Gell, who at that time had done more than any one in Europe for the elucidation of the geography and topography of Greece, except perhaps Mr. Dodwell and Colonel Leake. In one of our conversations at that time Sir William Gell said to me, ‘One of the most interesting and difficult questions in Greek geography is, “Where was Dodona?” When you go to Greece, mind and try to find it out.’

When the Chairman of Council asked me to read a paper at the Jubilee Meeting of the Classical Association, I felt highly honoured by this kind invitation. Twice before I have enjoyed the privilege of reading papers at General Meetings of the Association during the last war, when I had been most hospitably received in this country and had found a new home at Oxford. I confess I still feel quite at home here, and it gives me enormous pleasure to come over from Munich and to speak to you once more; so I am deeply grateful to you for giving me this opportunity.

But I think I owe you at least one word of explanation for the strange title of this lecture. The Chairman of Council said in his letter ‘that although one lecture should be given on the history of the Classical Association, the other papers should look forward rather than backward’. Now, I had been doing some work on a Hellenistic poet myself, especially during the years at Oxford; as far as I am concerned, I have finished with studies in that province of learning.

It is not generally realized that to speak of Antiochus III—the Antiochus who makes a figure in Roman History—as Antiochus the Great is strictly speaking incorrect, although, as a popular form of speech, it goes back to the time of Polybius, and is even found on some monuments. Other monuments give us the form which is obviously the more correct, the official, form. The Seleucid kings had, it is well known, official surnames. We find them on their coins or in inscriptions along with their title Βασιλεύς The three elements of their designation have their regular order—title, personal name, surname, e.g.Βασιλεύς Σέλευκος Φιλοπάτωρ But in the case of Antiochus III the inscriptions of most authority, which give his designation in full, have notΒασιλεὺς ᾿Αντίοχς Μέγας That is to say, Μέγας is not really a surname at all: but Antiochus III is distinguished by a modification of his title: he is not simply ‘King’ but ‘Great-King.’ The popular form is especially misleading to us who have the way of calling kings the Great to imply vaguely some sort of personal preeminence, as when we speak of Alfred the Great, Frederick the Great, &c. The title ‘Great-King’ has quite a definite significance.