In spite of the labours of Sedlmayer,1 Ehwald2 and Palmer,3 it cannot be said that there exists a completely satisfactory edition of Ovid's Heroides. One or all of these editors sometimes leave a corrupted text, sometimes adhere too closely to a manuscript reading, and sometimes introduce untenable emendations. A new edition is called for, with revised collati ons of the known manuscripts, and an augmented apparatus criticus, exhibiting the large class of what I may term the ‘Vulgate’ manuscripts, which represents a tradition different from, and probably later than that of our chief authority, the excellent but unfortunately incomplete eleventh-century Parisinus (P), which, like all primary manuscripts of this type, contains many readings or corruptions which should not on account of its mere authority be accepted slavishly. Light is often thrown on the text from less important sources, and the truth may be recovered from manuscripts of the ‘Vulgate’ family, where our better authority fails. In this connexion the study of my own manuscript (O) has led me to some conclusions in certain passages which I venture to set forth as suggestions towards an improved constitution of the text of the Heroides. Though it is clear from the preceding investigation into its nature that O is no primary manuscript, but belongs rather to that large class which has passed through various stages of reproduction involving alterations (as is natural in the case of so popular an author as Ovid) due either to carelessness of copyists or, more rarely, to deliberate alteration, it presents at the same time a phenomenon not unusual with such manuscripts, inasmuch as it often supports the best tradition, and in some cases preserves a reading which yields the truth, or from which the truth can be elucidated. I have used the following symbols:

P = Parisinus 8242 s. xi.

E = Etonensis s. xi.

G = Gueferbytanus s. xii.

V = Schedae Vindobonenses s xii.

O = my manuscript s. xiv.

D = Dresdensis s. xiii.

ω = all or the majonly of the ‘Vulgate’ manuscripts.

ζ = some of these manuscripts.

The two passages in question are I. the discussion of Justice in Bk. V. chs. I-II, and in particular the definition and subdivisions of Corrective Justice (ch. II 1130b 30–1131a 9); and II. the discussion of the voluntaryand προα⋯ρεσɩς in Bk. III chs. II-II. My object is to show that each is better understood if it is seen in the light of contemporary legal ideas and practice.

Antiphon's speech on the murder of Herodes has been variously dated by several scholars, but all seem to agree that it was delivered a good many years after the revolt and recapture of Mytilene. According to this opinion the speaker in § 74 declares himself too young to know much of what happened in those days. Before going into this more carefully, it seems necessary to visualize the situation of the accused man. In order to achieve this the best we can do is to follow his own words in the Sirjyrjcris, §§ 20–24: ‘I travelled from Mytilene on the same ship as the lost man; we were on our journey to Ainos, I to see my father—he happened to be there at that time—he in order to sell some slaves to Thracian natives. These natives, who were to pay the ransom, and the slaves were on board too.—All this I will prove by witnesses.—As we, however, met with stormy weather, we were compelled to put in to a harbour in the territory of Methymna; there we found that* ship into which Herodes changed; in that ship, according to the accusers, he died. Now all this was mere chance: obviously I had not persuaded him to travel with me, no, he was travelling on his own business. Then I, personally, had a very good reason for travelling to Ainos; our putting in to that harbour was not premeditatd, we were compelled to. And again, when we were lying at anchor, the change of ship took place without any trickery or fraud: again, it was done because of necessity. The ship, viz., on which we had been travelling was not covered, the other one on the contrary had a covering; that was because of the rain.—All this I will prove by witnesses.—After boarding the other ship we drank some wine. After that it is only known that he left the ship, but did not return. I myself never left the ship that night at all. When the next day but did not return. I myself never left the ship that night at all. When the next day he had disappeared, we looked for him, I as well as the others. Probably it seemed strange to them, it certainly did to me. And it was I who caused a messenger to be sent to Mytilene, not one of the crew or the passengers belonging to Herodes, but my own servant. If I had been guilty, I would not, of course, have sent a man who might have informed against me. But when the man could not be found in Mytilene, nor anywhere else, and when the weather had improved and all the other ships were putting out, I also sailed.—All this I will prove by witnesses.

In describing the account of the εἷδη in the Phaedo, Burnet says, ‘they are explained in a peculiar vocabulary which is represented as that of a school. The technical terms are introduced by such formulas as “we say”’. Similarly Taylor has written of the ‘characteristic technical nomenclature’ used in the dialogues, of the ‘technicalities’ of the theory of εἷδη, of ‘the technical phrases of the Phaedo’ The validity of such language has been taken for granted by both these and many other Platonic scholars. But the assumption which it represents—that Plato employed certain words in a significance peculiar to his use of them—carries such wide implications for the history and interpretation of his philosophy that it can hardly be accepted without further investigation. In this article I shall examine the evidence in fifth- and early fourth-century literature about these words which Plato or Socrates is alleged to have transformed into ‘technicalities’: first, εἷδος and ἰδ⋯σ, which I shall assume to be more or less synonymous; second, the various terms used to describe the relation between εἲδη and particulars—,μετέχειν, κοινωνεἶν,παρεἶναι, ⋯νεἶναι,μιμησις,⋯μοιωαις, and so on.

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.

Amongst the people who pester Peisthetaerus (or Peithetaerus or whatever his name is) with unwanted help and advice in the latter part of the Birds is Meton, famous astronomer and mathematician, who produces and demonstrates with instruments a method of laying out the plan of the new town. Peisthetaerus makes no attempt to follow him and quickly bundles him out again without much ceremony. Commentators and readers with few exceptions treat him in a similar way. ʹΕπίτηδες ⋯δɩανόητα, δɩόλου ⋯νοηταίνεɩ, παίζεɩ—such are the comments of the scholiast, and editors are mostly content with that. Van Leeuwen (on 1002–1005) says, ‘Metonis haec verba intellegere velle, id est operam dare ut suo ioco frustretur cbtnicus.’ The passage is of course highly comical; to make it didactic and attribute to Aristophanes a serious excursion into geometry and town-planning would be perverse and pedantic; but in Aristophanes more than in most comic writers there is commonly a grain or two of truth among the chaff. These grains, though of little or no importance for the appreciation of the play as comedy, may still have some possible value in other ways, and should be carefully sifted.

The most famous and successful teacher of rhetoric at Athens in the fourth century was Isocrates, and he claimed for rhetoric an educational importance which Plato considered to be unmerited and misleading. He made rhetoric the basis of his whole educational system and claimed to teach his pupils to become not only good rhetoricians but good citizens. Plato attacked both aspects of this theory of education. In the Gorgias he exposed the claim of rhetoric to be considered valuable as an instrument of education by showing that rhetorical excellence had no necessary connection with moral excellence. In the Protagoras he exposed the inconsistency of those who claimed to teach men to be good citizens—to teach πολιτιк⋯ τ⋯?νη—without an absolute standard of moral values. Even if we believe that in the Gorgias and the Protagoras, as in other dialogues, Plato is representing faithfully the constructive views of the historic Socrates, we can hardly believe that he was unaware of the contemporary relevance of those views, and it is significant that he thought fit to publish them in the form of an attack on a teacher of rhetoric and an attack on a teacher of <ολιτικ⋯ τ⋯ϰνη At any rate it is reasonable to suppose that the Athenian reading public would expect to find such a contemporary relevance and that they would interpret these attacks as being, in some measure at least, directed against Isocrates.

The source-criticism2 of Diodorus XVI has been dominated by the principle of argument from detail. Thus, if two details in Diodorus' text are found to conflict, they are assumed to derive from different sources and, if similar, from the same source; and, where a fragment of an ancient historian is found to resemble a passage in Diodorus, that historian is assumed to be the source employed by Diodorus in that passage; finally, when a sufficient mosaic of such details is pieced together, general divisions are drawn to embrace each separate detail. But this principle is of questionable value: for it implies the tacit assumption that Diodorus made no mistake in compressing or transcribing detail, added no colour himself, and could only have derived a given detail, described in a given manner, from the one ancient historian whose description of that detail is preserved. When one remembers that Diodorus is a careless and unintelligent compiler of a compendious narrative, who aimed like Ephorus at lending each book a unity, and that the fragments of the many historians whom Diodorus may have excerpted are very scanty, it is clear that this principle admits of a large margin of error.

The traditional text of Thucydides, II. 1, dates the surprise of Plataea by the Thebans, which began the Peloponnesian war, έπì ΠυΘοδώρου ⋯τι δύο μ⋯νας ἄρχοντος Αθηναίοις. It has long been recognized that the two months are too short a time, and that the facts of the history demand four. The day cannot be precisely determined, but the narrative of Thucydides fixes it near the end of a lunar month, and the choice has lain between the new moons of March 8 and April 7, 431 B.C. Now that Meritt has shown that the year of Pythodorus was not intercalary and ended on July 2, the former must be accepted. Accordingly the Theban attack may be put on the night of, let us say, March 3, which by Attic reckoning would be the early hours of Anthesterion 27.

This pretty little work of the obscure Tymnes has recently been examined by A. Wilhelm in the course of a learned attempt to explain the puzzling phrase πολλ⋯ πολλ⋯ν (if that is how it should be divided and accented). With the result of his research in general I am not now concerned and the interpretation of this epigram does not greatly affect the value of his conclusions; but it seems worth while to point out what I believe to be the right explanation of a curious and much-emended phrase in the second couplet.

A calm has succeeded the clamour of the Virgilian Bimillenary, to be shattered all too soon by the commemoration of Augustus. In this brief interval there may be leisure to examine a question touching the career of Asinius Pollio and the history of the years 42·39 B.C. The Virgilian celebrations evoked two outstanding studies of the Fourth Eclogue, a poem dedicated to Pollio and written during—or perhaps just after—the consulate of Pollio (40 B.C.). Carcopino restated and sought to reinforce an opinion widely held in late antiquity among commentators of Virgil—the miraculous child of the poem was Saloninus, a son of Asinius Pollio: the child was born, he suggests, soon after the conclusion of the Pact of Brundisium, and shortly before the end of the year 40, while Pollio was still consul. At the time Pollio was at Salonae, on the coast of Dalmatia, which city his son's name commemorates. Tarn, however, adopting and reinforcing the theory put forward by Slater in 1912, argued that the Fourth Eclogue shows traces of being an epithalamium in form, designed to celebrate the wedding of Antony and Octavia, the seal and bond of the Pact of Brundisium which was concluded in the autumn of the year 40 between the dynasts Antony and Octavian; Pollio, a friend and a partisan of Antony, acted as his plenipotentiary in the negotiations; the new epoch was thus introduced under the auspices of Pollio, ‘te duce’; the child was the child to be expected from the marriage of Antony and Octavia; it turned out in fact to be a girl.

Most critics agree with varying emphasis that this is one of the most significant lines in the Watchman's speech, because of its emphasis on Clytaemnestra's unique masculinity. But the same interpreters widely disagree in deciding what exactly was her most masculine trait. In other words the meaning of the –βουλον part of the compound is in dispute. Here are some English renderings: ‘whose will is as a man's’ (Platt); ‘manly’ (Sidgwick); ‘with man's resolve’ (Lawson); ‘into the council of men’ (Verrall); ‘man-passionéd’ (Murray); ‘man's mind’ and ‘man-like spirit’ (Headlam); ‘manly-counselling’ (Paley); ‘shrewd-purposed as a man's’ (Tucker). Thus, as my italics show, we have will, resolve, passion, mind, spirit, counsel, and purpose, a pretty array of would-be synonyms, for the Greek βουλον, an area whose semantic termini are βουλεύομαɩ = I wish and βουλεύομαɩ = I deliberate, plan. The purpose of this article is to show that every ounce of interpretative weight must be put into insistence on the second meaning, and that unless this be done (and it has not been done by English editors) appreciation of two important motifs in the play will be impaired. The scholiast saw that βουλεύομαɩ was the operative element in ⋯νδρόβουλον, and wrote τò μείζονα ἣ κατ⋯ γυναȋκα βουλευόμενον ἣ κατ⋯ ⋯νδρòς βουλευομένης.1 His second alternative is otiose but scarcely culpable in the light of Aeschylus' amazing exploitation of verbal ambiguity throughout this play.2

The irregular division of vv. 35 sqq. between two semi-choruses seems to bo widely accepted and approved.2 I wish first to discuss the obvious objection that such an irregular division is unparalleled in a strophic chorus,3 and secondly to show that the reasons advanced for the division are themselves insufficient.

Fragments of mummy-cartonnage, formerly in the collection of University College, London, now on permanent loan to the Ashmolean. Parts of two columns of a papyrus-text of a Greek Tragedy: head and foot of both columns partly preserved. The lines of col. ii are not quite straight opposite those of col i. There were eighteen or nineteen lines in col. i, nineteen in col. ii, the last line of col. ii being slightly below the level of the last line of col. i. The text was written in the third century B.C, perhaps before 250 B.C. The hand is similar to that of P. Petrie I Plate V. No Lesezeichen of any kind are visible. [Fragment (a) = 6·9×7·1 cm.: (b)=6·7×10·9 cm.: (c) = 4·2×14·2 cm. Height of column of writing =14·7 cm. Existing margins = 2·5 and 2·3 cm. Probable height of roll = 20/21 cm. (P. Petrie I, of same age and similar hand, is 21 cm. high). Fr. (a) = col. i, 1–6 + col. ii, beginnings of 2–4: fr. (b) = col. i, 9–18 + col. ii, beginnings of 9–14, 16–19: fr. (c) = col. ii, middle of 1–15.]