Students of archaeology are now familiar with the splendid work in which Constantin Carapanos two years ago gave to the world the results of his discoveries at Dodona. The vexed question of the site of the ancient temple was finally set at rest, it will be remembered, by the discovery of a large number of inscriptions recording dedications to Zeus Naïos and Dione. The immense quantity of relics and works of art brought to light in the course of the excavations has been exhaustively catalogued in the work, Dodone et ses Ruines, and they have been illustrated and described by various scholars and reviewers. The inscriptions, too, have, at least on the Continent, come in for some share of notice and criticism. A detailed account of these inscriptions—their contributions to the lexicon, to dialectology, to local and general history, and to topography—is still a desideratum. For, as was only to be expected, the interpretations and criticisms of Carapanos himself are rather general than critical. His text, moreover, is frequently open to objection.

In a classification of these inscriptions our attention is at once drawn to an obviously new category; and it is with this alone that we propose to concern ourselves in the present article. The category comprises a quantity of more or less legible inscriptions engraved upon one or both sides of leaden plates often not exceeding a millimetre in thickness. These plates form a unique series of documents belonging to the archives of the famous oracle at Dodona, and contain the questions addressed, or prayers offered, to the deity by his votaries, who might be either communities or individuals.

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.

Cho. 581–2

τὰ δ᾿ ἄλλα τσύτῳ δεῦρ᾿ ἐποπτεῦσαι λέγω ξιφηφρους ἀγῶνας όρθώσοντί μοι

In a recent article {JHS Iv. 20-34) I have argued that this passage is based on an allusion to the Eleusinian hro-meiot, the second grade of the Mysteries. My purpose now is to explain more clearly the significance of that conception.

Plato likened the soul of man to a charioteer, who drove two horses, one good, the other bad, one docile, the other recalcitrant (Phaedr. 246—7) : ἔνθα δὴ πόνος τε καὶ ἀγὼν ἔσχατος ψυχῇ πρόκειται. And he saw human life as a struggle in which many of the chariots clashed and fell (248b): θόρυβος οῦν καί ἅμιλλα λαί ἱδρὼς ἔσχατος γίγνεται … πᾶσαι δὲ πολὺν ἔχουσαι πόδρον ἀτελεῖς τῆς τοῦ ὄντος θέας ἀπέρχονται.

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 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.

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.

Some of the most magnificent representations of chariots in mid career are seen on the coins of Sicily and Southern Italy toward the close of the fifth century B.C. There are two major theories concerning the appearance of these striking compositions in Sicilian numismatic art. One theory is that dies for these coins are the independent products of local, native artists of highest competence. The other is that the dies for these pieces are the work of Attic artists who migrated to the prosperous cities of Sicily to take up new careers as workers in the minor metallic arts, as gem cutters, and as die sinkers for the various local rulers. We lack positive evidence. We cannot identify any artist who left Attica to pursue work of this type in Southern Italy or Sicily. Scholars have produced a mass of conjecture and speculation on this subject.

The treatment of space and depth in the chariot compositions seems to the writer to provide a new possibility for grouping and relating the representations of chariots in the late fifth century—both those on the major monuments in sculptured relief and those on the Tetradrachms and Dekadrachms of Syracuse and Akragas. From a restudy of the methods of relief representation and from a survey of information derived from such connecting links between major sculpture and coinage as silverware, gems, and vases further light may be thrown on the problems of the artistic derivation of the renowned die compositions of later fifth-century Sicily.

The construction of the Frogs of Aristophanes is of a normal conventional type. From the appearance of Dionysus in his strange garb, appropriate to the patron of a heroic stage run mad on realism, to a Dionysus whose wine is new and his bottles old, the customary series of comic incidents develops the conventional situation. This introduction presents us with the antecedents, the background, and the grouping of a comic dispute, The contest forms the main part of the drama; and, quite conventionally, it is separated from the introduction by a parabasis which offers a mixture of serious and comic advice. That the background is the nether world: that the disputants are so eminent a pair as Aeschylus and Euripides: that the judge is the god of all tragedy and comedy himself, and the chorus blessed spirits of the sanctified—all this illumines the old forms with a fresh and unrivalled originality. But the mechanical structure is simple and conventional, as has been said.

P.Oxy. 4711 (from a papyrus codex of the sixth century AD) contains elegiacs with at least three metamorphosis myths (Adonis, Asterie, Narcisssus). In this article I argue against the suggestion by (among others) the first editor of this papyrus that the verses might be by Parthenius. I do so by examining the evidence for Parthenian authorship (especially the presumed imitations by Ovid and Gregory of Nazianzus) and by comparing the style of the new piece with what we actually possess of Parthenian poetry (especially with fr. 28 Lightfoot, which might come from the Metamorphoseis). Instead I suggest a late date of composition and would regard the fragments as a collection of the-matically arranged διηέματα in verse which are related to the production of progymnasmata in schools.

The Terra-cotta reliefs which form the subject of the present article have been for some years one of the minor attractions of the Acropolis Museum, and I am indebted for permission to publish them to the kindness of the Ephor General M. Cavvadias, and of the Ephors, MM. Staïs and Castriotis. The latter as superintendent of the Museum most obligingly put at my disposal all the information in his possession and afforded me every facility for photographing the tablets. No single tablet in the collection is perfect and of the 73 fragments which comprise it, the great majority came to light during the systematic excavations of the Acropolis which were carried on from 1885–1890; they were all found at some depth below the surface and as far as could be learnt, to the north, the east and the south-east of the Parthenon. The rest have been in the Museum since 1863; these were all found on or near the surface and it is possible that others were carried away by visitors and are now hidden in private collections. The publication of the Museum fragments may lead to their identification and the completion of some of the tablets whose design cannot at present be determined.

In the early years after its foundation in 1857, the Victoria and Albert Museum at South Kensington pursued its policy of acquisition with a vigorously catholic taste. Since then its scope has become gradually limited to exclude work of the pre-Christian era, but in addition to the original purchases of Greek vases, the accession of large miscellaneous collections containing antiquities has contributed to what is now an excellent group of Greek and Roman objects. Important Greek vases were included in the big collection of modern European ceramics transferred in 1901 from the Museum of Practical Geology, Jermyn Street, and in 1910 the late George Salting bequeathed his entire collection, other than paintings, to the Victoria and Albert Museum. His good taste in every other direction was sufficient guarantee that the Greek civilisations should be represented by work of more than average merit. Unfortunately, Salting kept few records concerning the provenance of his acquisitions, and so one of the finest Etruscan engraved mirrors in existence came to the Museum without a past history.

According to Herodotus, the expression phoinikeia grammata means ‘Phoenician letters’ and refers to the Phoenician origins of the Greek alphabet. This account has found general acceptance, but it is not the only interpretation possible and other theories circulated in antiquity. The adjective φοῖνιξ does not only mean ‘Phoenician’; it can also refer to a palm tree or the colour red. This article argues that the expression phoinikeia grammata did not originally refer to the alphabet, but to Linear B writing on palm leaves, as already suggested by Frederick Ahl. It is shown that the account of Herodotus is the result of a ‘learned reinterpretation’, triggered by the ambiguity of the word φοῖνιξ. The new understanding of phoinikeia grammata proposeds here has some important consequences: it implies that Linear B, as has long been suspected, was primarily written on palm leaves (hence ‘palm-leaf writing’) and that in classical antiquity there was at least a limited historical awareness of the existence of pre-alphabetic writing systems in the Aegean. This paper adduces additional evidence to substantiate these claims. Lastly, a case will be made that Herodotus’ incorrect reinterpretation has led to the ‘Phoenicianization’ of Cadmus, who was originally a Greek hero.

Lysias 10 Against Theomnestos is the only surviving example of a classical Greek speech on a charge of slander (dikē kakēgorias). The case turns on establishing communal consensus in evaluation of meta-discursive claims: assertions as to what the law says about what citizens can say about their fellow citizens. I adapt Marmor’s account of the pragmatics of legal discourse to illuminate the litigants’ strategies as they seek to control interpretation of the legal question in this much-discussed case from 380s BC Athens. We see how each party used different assumptions about the law’s implicatures as well as its declarative meaning and presented these assumptions as grounded in common sense. The persuasive methods used by Lysias’ client are illuminated by means of cognitive narratology’s application of Lewisian possible-world logic to the creation of story-worlds and the relationships they generate between narrator and reader/audience. So understood, Lysias’ speech helps answer questions about the role and limits of free/frank speech (parrhēsia) in democratic Athens and about the relationship between individual agency and the collective agency of the dēmos, questions crucial to an understanding of the place of legal discourse and legal conflict in the ideology and day-to-day praxis of the democratic city.

A variety of ancient sources suggest that there was more than one Aristophanic play entitled Πλοῦτος, and the scholia on the extant Plutus show that one ancient commentator erroneously thought that he was working on a comedy of 408 BC when in reality he had the comedy of 388 BC in front of him. This error, which most likely arose because there were two similar versions of the late Plutus, has often been attributed to the first-century BC scholar Didymus Chalcenterus. It is here argued that the basis for this ascription is weak and that there are in fact substantial counter-arguments. Instead of Didymus, a later commentator such as the second-century AD scholar Symmachus may have been responsible for the mistake, which probably had more to do with the evolving transmission history of Aristophanes’ comedies than with careless scholarship.

This paper re-evaluates the narrative roles occupied by Geryon and Herakles in Stesichoros’ Geryoneis in the light of contemporary thinking about Herakles’ apotheosis. It proposes that Stesichoros activates his audience's awareness of Herakles’ fated divinity in order to reframe the hero versus monster encounter not as a duel between two mortal heroes – the usual interpretation – but as a showdown between a hero and a god. This reorientation destabilizes an audience's sympathies and self-identification, forcing a re-evaluation of the nature of both heroism and humanity. Following a discussion of the potential narrative roles in play, the prominence of Herakles’ apotheosis in the sixth century and its salience for Stesichoros’ audience is established. The apotheosis is then applied as a complementary lens to the long-recognized Iliadic intertexts in a reinterpretation of the encounter between Geryon and Herakles on Erytheia. Finally, the use of the apotheosis as a lens for interpreting two fragments beyond Erytheia is considered.

The custom of dedicating or of specially setting apart articles of use or ornament to divine beings has been common to many peoples, and has come down from a remote antiquity to the present day. Nor is the motive which prompts the action one in any way foreign to the impulses by which men are moved. A danger escaped, a victory achieved, is not unnaturally believed to be due, at all events in some measure, to powers not of the lower world, who can control and even overrule the designs of mortal men. In the temples, therefore, of the gods, and in other places hallowed by the more immediate presence of the divinity, it has been the habit to offer various things in recognition of benefits already bestowed, or in the hope of favours to be granted in the future. The pot of manna and Aaron's rod which budded laid up in the Tabernacle, are as trite as are the models which the same pious feeling still deposits in Christian churches, in remembrance of shipwrecks escaped from or of diseases cured. In no country was the custom more observed than in Hellas, where it was usual to dedicate a tenth of the spoil taken in war, and where at the great shrines so large were the offerings, that many of the states had θησαυροί, in which were preserved the almost innumerable votive objects dedicated to the Gods. In Greece itself there was no place, not excepting Delphi and Dodona, where more evidence of the observance of the custom was to be found than at Olympia, and in the temple where dwelt the cloud-compelling wielder of the lightning, the mighty dispenser of victory, Zeus, the King of Gods and men.

An unsolved problem has a peculiar fascination in archaeology as elsewhere. It compels our interest, and we come back to it again and again to try and find a solution. The Ludovisi and Boston Reliefs have presented us with many such puzzles and have consequently been the subject of much discussion. The two most important publications of these monuments—Studniczka's in the Jahrbuch des deutschen archäologischen Instituts, 1911, pp. 50–192, and Caskey's in the American Journal of Archaeology, 1918, pp. 101 ff.—have dealt at length with the numerous points involved and many of these have now been satisfactorily solved. The identification of the subjects represented on the reliefs, however, especially of those in Boston, is still only tentative. As Mr. Caskey says, ‘none of the numerous attempts to interpret the reliefs has met with unqualified acceptance.’ To the many explanations which have been advanced I am going to add still another, which to me at least seems the simplest, the most natural, and for that reason the most probable.