In proffering this attempt at providing a new principle for the interpretation of the Eastern Pediment of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia, founded upon the recognition of the general principles of pedimental compositions as they manifest themselves after a careful study of the extant monuments of this class, and, more especially, upon a comparison between this Olympian pediment and the western pediment of the Parthenon, the writer fears that he may meet with prejudice on the part of those who have already fixed in their minds an essentially different mode of approaching the subject. He fears this the more as it is entirely beyond his power on this occasion to give a full account of these general principles, or rather of the traditional forms of rendering mythological scenes in compositions of this class, as they have manifested themselves to him in studying a considerable number of ancient representations of mythological scenes for the purpose of elucidating the composition of the pediments of the Parthenon.

In this note it is assumed that the bibliographical remarks in the Works and Days are true or anyhow true enough.

Hesiod's father started at Cyme in Aeolis. For a time he tried the sea—for trade, to judge by 631–4, where trade is regarded as the only object of seafaring. After that, to flee from poverty, he migrated to Ascra in Boeotia, where he came into possession of a farm, prosperous enough when divided between his sons to allow each of them a reasonable livelihood (37 for division; 298–307 for implication that Perses' share too was in land).

Hesiod does not say how his father obtained his farm at Ascra. The most popular explanation is that he reclaimed waste land, but there are objections. First, Hesiod does not mention reclamation as a way in which a landless man could become landed or a landed man enlarge his property, though he approved enlargement, but by purchase (341).

The purpose of this note is to bring to light a piece of evidence on the ‘Lelantine War’ which has hitherto been neglected, and briefly to review the Thucydidean and some of the other evidence in the light of it.

The head reproduced upon Pl. XI. has recently been acquired by Philip Nelson, Esq., M.B., and we are indebted to him both for his courteous permission to publish the head and for the photographs, taken by himself, from which our illustration is derived. The head is of Parian marble, and is clearly of Greek workmanship; it is also evidently derived from an original of the very highest artistic merit. It is in excellent preservation, except that the end of the nose and a part of the lips on the right side have been restored.

Dr. Nelson has kindly supplied me with the following information as to the history of the head and as to its dimensions and present condition. It was acquired by him in Bath at the sale of the collection of the late Captain Maignac, who inherited it from his father-in-law, an artist named Walton, a contemporary of the painter Barker of Bath, 1769–1847. This Walton in all probability brought the head from Italy, where he is known to have travelled and collected pictures, &c.; but there seems to be no more exact record as to its origin. The head seems to have remained practically unknown to archaeologists until its acquisition by Dr. Nelson, who, appreciating its importance, sent photographs to the British Museum in July, 1897.

In a review (JHS lxxxvi [1966] 205 f.) of P. A. Stadter's Plutarch's historical methods: an analysis of the Mulierum virtutes (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1965), Mr T. F. Carney, who was at that time Fulbright Visiting Scholar in the Department of Political Science of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, claimed that the book ‘analyses somewhat dated problems with only partially up-dated tools’ and that the ‘actual findings of the book replicate what is already known’. Although Mr Carney takes it for granted that his readers know what the ‘up-dated tools’ are, at the end of his review he drops the key words ‘content analysis’, in which, according to him, Stadter had engaged unwittingly, but obviously without success.

Inasmuch as the book in question grew out of a dissertation suggested and directed by this writer, it may perhaps be allowed to reply to the rather serious charges raised in this review, charges which are unprecedented in the history of this Journal and which, if they were justified, could have far-reaching implications. This writer must confess that he was first baffled both by the degree of hostility displayed and by the criticisms, which, though specific, are often murky; but he was baffled even more by the general accusation of ‘only partially up-dated tools’ and inappropriate use of ‘content analysis’, a term he had never previously encountered. But this writer soon found out that content analysis is ‘a research tool in mass communication’ (R. W. Butt and R. K. Thorp, An Introduction to Content Analysis [A Publication of the University of Iowa School of Journalism, Iowa City, Iowa, 1963] 1), ‘a research technique for the objective, systematic, and quantitative description of the manifest content of communication’ (Bernard Berelson, Content Analysis in Communication Research [The Free Press, Glencoe, Illinois, 1952] 18 [still the chief book in the field]); and it became clear that Mr Carney wore the social scientist's hat when he wrote his review.

These notes are offered to E. R. Dodds in gratitude for much kindness and for much instruction on Greek drama and religion.

I. Heros

The main lines of the story are clear from the summary, the list of characters, the two papyrus passages and the fragments. But the second papyrus passage can, I think, be made a little clearer and something can be said about the Heros. For understanding these the beginning and the end of the summary are useful: ‘An unmarried girl (Myrrhine) bore twins (Plangon and Gorgias) and gave them to a guardian (Tibeios) to bring up. Then later she married her raper (Laches)…. When things became clear, the Old man (Laches) discovered his children (Plangon and Gorgias), and the violator (Pheidias) took the girl (Plangon) willingly.’

The second of the two papyrus pages begins with the last two lines of an Act; then the new Act (the fourth because it has the main recognition scene) starts with a short agitated soliloquy of Laches (55–63). He has returned home and found that the girl Plangon whom he had promised to his slave Daos has borne a child to an unknown father (I assume that Daos' claim has been rejected): this, I think, is what he comments on in his fragmentary soliloquy. Then Myrrhine comes out.

While piecing together information on some of the copies of the Athena Parthenos for the recent congress in Basle, I looked again with slightly wiser and perhaps sadder eyes at a small terracotta from the collections of the Manchester Museum that I had published in this journal some eleven years ago (plate XIIb). I found her interesting because apart from such features as the triple-crested helmet, the snake lurking within her shield, and the Nike poised upon her right hand, which identified her beyond doubt as a copy of the Parthenos, she rested her right hand on a plain column with torus mouldings. There is another figurine from the same mould in the museum in Geneva, and a third from a parallel mould in Exeter, and I concluded that they were Romano-Gallic ‘souvenirs’ of the second century ad. I was convinced of the authenticity of the type, not least because of the pedigree of the Geneva figurine. However, several scholars have had their reservations, right back to the first appearance of the Geneva example, and so at the initiative of Dr R. A. Higgins the Manchester figure was tested for thermoluminescence at the Research Laboratory of the British Museum.

We have all been accustomed to associate the familiar form of the trident with a marine deity, whether the Greek Poseidon or the Roman Neptune, but it may not have occurred to many to enquire what is the particular appropriateness of such an emblem to the ruler of the sea, or in what way it was adopted as his emblem. It is my purpose to offer some suggestions which may throw light on the subject, and may further tend to show that, in artistic representations at least, the trident is merely an evolution of a somewhat different form, that it is in fact the development of an originally purely decorative ornament.

Such developments of simple decorative motives into definite mythological representations are by no means uncommon in Greek art. In a former number of this Journal Miss Harrison has traced the ‘Odysseus and Sirens’ type to a purely decorative origin. The same writer, in her Mythology and Monuments of Ancient Athens, pp. cxiv., cxxv., suggests that the tortoise of the robber Skiron slain by Theseus, and the clue which guided that hero through the labyrinth of the Minotaur, found their way into mythology from vase-paintings in which they were merely decorative. These may be only suggestions, but I am of opinion that difficult points in many myths may be cleared up in this way.

Olbia, I. ed. S. A. ZHEBELËV, 4to, 304 pp., L. Plans and Plates, 108 figs., French résumés throughout, Acad. of Sc. of Ukrainian SSR., Kiev, 1940.