Ptolemy I, son of Lagos and Arsinoe, is usually supposed to have belonged, through his mother, to a cadet branch of the Argead house and to have been a third cousin of Alexander. But a fragment of Euphantus, so far unexplained, leads up to the conclusion that his mother was not of the blood royal and that he had no connexion with the royal house at all. Hellenistic literature was full of fictitious relationships, which often found their way into history as facts; and we seem to have here another case of the same sort.

Euphantus is contemporary evidence for the period during which Ptolemy I was king. He was a pupil of Eubulides and the first philosophic teacher of Antigonus Gonatas; supposing he went to him when Antigonus was thirteen, as Aristotle did to Alexander, he was a known man in 307 or 306, while Ptolemy took the crown in 305. As he wrote a treatise on Kingship for Antigonus he was alive in or after 276, after Ptolemy's death; he wrote a history of his own time, and died of old age.

The Editors of this Journal have reason to think that a considerable body of its readers will be glad to be furnished with reproductions of the monuments, mainly vase paintings, that are discussed in connexion with Bacchylides. Even those to whom the published illustrations are readily accessible will probably find it convenient to have them brought together for reference, in a collection made from this point of view.

III. The story of Croesus.—In the story as told by Bacchylides, Croesus voluntarily ascends his pyre, with wife and daughters; he invokes the gods, and more especially Apollo; he orders the pyre to be kindled; Zeus extinguishes the flames, and Apollo takes Croesus and his children to the land of the Hyperboreans. According to Herodotus, Croesus with his companions is placed on the pyre by order of Cyrus. After Cyrus has changed his mind, and his servants have made ineffectual attempts to extinguish the pyre, Croesus invokes Apollo, who extinguishes the flames. Fig. 1 shows the well-known vase in the Louvre, representing the subject. It had already been interpreted, before the discovery of Bacchylides, as evidence of an alternative version of the story, in which the sacrifice was voluntary. Croesus sits enthroned, and makes a solemn libation, while an attendant Euthymos is busy with the pyre. Some of the commentators interpret the objects that he holds as torches, but they are quite unlike torches, as usually represented (cf. J.H.S. xi. Pl. 6), and resemble more nearly the whisks for sprinkling lustral water. If this is the correct interpretation their use further emphasises the ceremonial character of the scene.

The Imperial Ottoman Museum has recently acquired a very valuable and interesting gold ring (Fig. 1) which was found in 1894 or 1895 in a tomb at Lampsacus. The Museum authorities subsequently undertook further excavations in the necropolis of which this tomb formed part, and it is a matter for great regret that no detailed report of the results was drawn up; we are therefore forced to content ourselves with the somewhat meagre information given by the late Baltazzi-Bey to M. Salomon Reinach, according to which the necropolis yielded fragments of red-figured pottery and specimens of silver autonomous coins of Lampsacus. Both these details are of importance in fixing the date of the ring; for on the one hand silver coins of this class belong almost exclusively to the fourth century, and on the other, the manufacture of painted vases was not continued after that date. When we add that the evidence of coins and inscriptions proves that this was the most flourishing period in the history of Lampsacus, we have strong a priori reason for assigning the ring to this century, while a consideration of the style of the intaglio may help us to fix the date within narrower limits.

As the task of publishing the immediate results of this journey has been entrusted to me, my first duty is to acknowledge the many obligations under which Professor W. M. Ramsay has placed me. Neither my companion Mr. G. A. Wathen of St. Peter's College, Cambridge, nor I, had had previous experience in this form of research, and we were fortunate in beginning the study of Asia Minor under his auspices. A large proportion of the materials here given was collected by him alone; and it is no exaggeration to say that without him we could have accomplished practically nothing, even if we had made the attempt. As I am increasingly conscious that the period of noviciate, on which I then entered, did not end with the journey, I am glad to think that my obligations to him extend to the time of the preparation of this Report. The same reason also makes me glad to know that Professor Ramsay is himself working these results into their place in the General History and Geography of Asia Minor. In this gladness all those interested in such studies will share.

My next duty is to thank all those who, in various ways, helped us to carry out the objects we had in view. On the one hand, we are especially indebted to the British Ambassador at Constantinople and to the Turkish Governor of the Vilayet of Konia; on the other, the funds at our disposal were largely increased, not only by the gifts of friends, but by contributions from the Managers of the Craven Fund, Cambridge, and the Worshipful Company of Mercers, London.

The justification for including this article in a volume dedicated to Sir David Ross must be that the tragic poets reflect the psychological terminology of educated Athenian society during a period which corresponds almost exactly with the life-time of Socrates and includes the first twenty years or so of Plato's life. Of course the tragic poets wrote in a poetic language strongly influenced by Homer and less strongly by lyric poetry, but they were also influenced by contemporary thinkers, doctors, sophists, and philosophers. The present study is confined to the words psyche, thymos, kardia (and its synonyms), phren/phrenes, nous.

It may be useful first to note the range of usage of these words and secondly to point out very briefly the historical development. The range of usages of these words is difficult to define; in fact such definition cannot produce boxes into which instances can be sorted but may usefully mark points on the scale of meaning between which any given instance falls. Of the five words, kardia and phrenes are names for parts of the body, ‘heart’ and ‘diaphragm’. It is perhaps rash to identify psyche and thymos with the cold/moist and hot/dry components of breath, but certainly in many passages of Homer they have some such physical meaning. Nous, however, is a verbal abstract and verbal abstracts in Greek mean not only a process but also the agent or the result of the process; as a process, it means ‘appreciating the situation’ in the military sense in which appreciate involves also making a plan; as an agent, it means ‘the appreciating mind’; as a result, it means ‘the plan or thought’ which results from the appreciation. By analogy, I suspect, with nous the other words also can be used for mental processes and results as well as for agents; thymos can already mean ‘thought’ in Homer, kardia ‘courage’ in Archilochos, and phrenes ‘intention’ in Solon. The full possible range of meaning is: (a) part of the body, (b) psychological agent, (c) psychological process, (d) result of psychological process. But these meanings fade into one another and any particular instance may be difficult to classify precisely.

What follows is an attempt to interpret the Hesiodic Shield of Herakles by the same method as I have used elsewhere for the ‘Shield of Achilles.’ Long ago Brunn attributed obscurities to interpolation, mixed the zones, and allegorized; but nevertheless perceived that a real composition was in the poet's mind. Studniczka endeavoured to prove that the shield which Hesiod described was a real shield. But to support his theory he had to manipulate the text; his positive evidence was weak; it was, indeed, too soon for such an enterprise, and perhaps it is too soon still; and what was known then about archaic Greek art led in another direction. Recently, Mr. R. M. Cook has argued that while parts of the description of Herakles' shield were based, in subject and in phrasing, on the Homeric ‘Shield of Achilles,’ most of the other parts had parallels, sometimes very close, in archaic Greek art; and at a meeting of the Hellenic Society on 3rd May, 1938, he supplemented this argument with illustrations. Assuming, not unreasonably, that the vase-paintings are fairly representative, he showed that all the required models are to be found within the decade 580–570 B.C., and within the Attic and Corinthian schools. He found no evidence of the influence of Ionia, nor of Chalcis. He noted that these results agree with the view, based on historical and literary arguments ‘perhaps inadequate’ (I follow the summary circulated at the meeting of 3rd May, 1938) that the poem was written about 575 B.C. by a Boeotian or a Thessalian.

The remarkably well-preserved treaty with Chalcis has long formed a fixed point in Attic epigraphy, since it is confidently associated with Pericles' suppression of the Euboean revolt in 446 B.C. But is this dating and interpretation really certain? From the decree itself we learn that it was modelled on similar arrangements for Eretria, of which fragments in Ionic script survive. Now Hesychios records a decree, passed ἐπὶ Διφίλον, which regulated the seizure of hostages from the wealthiest Eretrian families. The simplest hypothesis is that both this decree and a parallel one for Chalcis preceded D 16 and 17. But this lands us in serious difficulties. If ἐπὶ Διφίλον gives the archon-date we must put the extant decrees in 442/441, which is inconveniently late for the orthodox view. The alternative is to separate Hesychios' decree from D 16 and 17, as Gomme suggested. There would then have been new trouble in Eretria three years after the settlement, which necessitated fresh recourse to hostages. Now if we once allow that Athens could take such drastic action in peacetime, what guarantee have we that the Chalcis Decree represents the settlement after armed revolt? It also might be an example of arbitrary Athenian intervention in the face of suspected disloyalty. In trying to save orthodoxy we have exposed the weakness of its basis. Another line of defence proves even more damaging. It is fair to suggest that ἐπὶ Διφίλον does not after all give the archon-date. Very few decrees before 421 are dated by the archon either in their prescript or internally. The normal dating is by the secretary of Council for a particular prytany.

There is a bird perched on the neck of a bull on a Late Bronze Age krater from Enkomi in the British Museum (plate I 1). It has long legs and a long neck, and it is much larger than any of the crow tribe, so often seen on cattle. Its long pointed bill is fixed on a point in the bull's neck probably removing a tick or something of the sort. The operation is painful and the bull tosses his head. On the other side of the vase the bird has lost his footing but still keeps the grip of his bill on the neck of the bull (plate I 2). That daggerlike bill is longer than the one on the other side of the vase. We must therefore suppose that the bill in the earlier scene has been inserted into the bull's neck to a considerable depth. No wonder the bull is plunging about to dislodge the operator.

A bird with long neck, long legs, and long beak can only be a marsh bird, and as it is hunting for insects on the neck of a bull, it can only be a Cattle Egret (plate I 4.), though its body bears some resemblance to the bodies of birds which are probably meant for geese or swans; its beak is more formidable. Presumably this insect-hunting bird is not a deity revealing him or herself; but perhaps Cypriots are more secular than Mycenaeans.

In the early part of the fourth century it was the regular practice for Athenian treaties to specify the authorities who were to swear the oath on either side, and, although the fifth-century material is more scanty, three clear instances suggest that the habit was already established by 425. The notable exception is the Peace of Nikias, and with it the Spartan alliance of 421, in which not the quality but the number is prescribed, seventeen from each city. Kirchhoff suggested that this odd number might be built up, on the Spartan side, from the two kings (who in fact head the list), the five ephors (the eponymous ephor Pleistolas comes third and the next four might be his colleagues; cf. Tod, GHI 99), and a board of ten. Kirchhoff refused to speculate about these ten beyond saying that it was a normal number, but this gap in his argument can perhaps be filled from a passage in Diodorus (below) which has received no satisfactory explanation. Normal Athenian practice would not oblige Athens to conform to the Spartan number, and if Kirchhoff is right we should perhaps suppose that Sparta asked for numerical parity. The next question will be, how the Athenians made up their seventeen.

In this paper, I explore the literary aesthetics of Attalid Pergamon, one of the Ptolemies’ fiercest cultural rivals in the Hellenistic period. Traditionally, scholars have reconstructed Pergamene poetry from the city’s grand and monumental sculptural programme, hypothesizing an underlying aesthetic dichotomy between the two kingdoms: Alexandrian ‘refinement’ versus the Pergamene ‘baroque’. In this paper, I critically reassess this view by exploring surviving scraps of Pergamene poetry: an inscribed encomiastic epigram celebrating the Olympic victory of a certain Attalus (IvP I.10) and an inscribed dedicatory epigram featuring a speaking Satyr (SGO I.06/02/05). By examining these poems’ sophisticated engagements with the literary past and contemporary scholarship, I challenge the idea of a simple opposition between the two kingdoms. In reality, the art and literature of both political centres display a similar capacity to embrace both the refined and the baroque. In conclusion, I ask how this analysis affects our interpretation of the broader aesthetic landscape of the Hellenistic era and suggest that the literature of both capitals belongs to a larger system of elite poetry which stretched far and wide across the Hellenistic world.

The four best-preserved aulos pipes unearthed at Pompeii are examined and their original pitches are as far as possible determined by mathematical analysis. It is argued that the scales of the instruments as well as specific details of their mechanism fit well with our knowledge of music from the Roman Imperial period.

The continuing and polemical debate over the authenticity of the Peace of Callias has become so complicated that it would be a positive service to scholarship to remove some of the more contentious evidence and reduce the scope of the argument. That is the object of this article. A fragment of Callisthenes has bulked very large in the modern literature. According to the received view the Olynthian historian denied the existence of a formal peace between Athens and the Persian King and alleged that the King observed a de facto limit to his empire, never venturing west of the Chelidonian islands. For sceptics this is grist to the mill. A writer of the mid-fourth century rejected the Athenian patriotic tradition, and it is assumed that he had good reason to do so. On the other hand defenders of the authenticity of the Peace stumble over Callisthenes' apparent denial and are forced to counter-denial or to sophistry. What is common to both camps is a tendency to refer to the evidence of Callisthenes without noting that the original text is lost. The ‘fragment’ (which it is not) is preserved by Plutarch in a sophisticated passage of source criticism and due attention needs to be paid to his mode of citation. Only then can we begin to elicit what Callisthenes may have said and reconstruct the probable context in his historical exposition. As always, we need to approach the unknown through proper study of the known.

In May, 1918, Captain A. E. W. Salt, then Base Censor at Salonica, sent me a rough copy of an inscription, about which he wrote: ‘It is copied from a stone which I had cleaned, lying not 100 yards from my house near the Hippodrome, not, I think, in its original position’. I was unable to examine the stone personally, and my reading of the text is therefore based wholly upon Captain Salt's copy, which fortunately proves to be remarkably accurate if the difficulties of making such a copy and its provisional nature are borne in mind. It is here reproduced, save that I have ignored certain erasures and corrections, giving only the text as finally read by Captain Salt.

The first strophe opens with a wish and a syntactical problem:

εἴ μοι ξυνείη φέροντι μοῖρα τὰν εὔσεπτον ἁγνείαν λόγων ἔργων τε πάντων,…

The sentence is often interpreted as though φέροντι were φέρειν: ‘may it be my destiny to possess’. However, for this meaning the infinitive is clearly required; there is no valid parallel for the use of the participle supposed here. Burton offers: ‘may a share of life be my companion provided that I win or possess purity’; purity is a precondition for life. This interpretation is possible but improbable, for the use of μοῖρα as a synonym for βίος would be obscure in this context. It is altogether easier to interpret with Kamerbeek: ‘would that Destiny were with me when I (“so long as I” or the like)’; the chorus hopes for the favour of fate, provided that this is earned by purity of word and deed. The hope thus embraces an intention to avoid all impurity of word or action. Against this interpretation it has been objected that μοῖρα is a constant presence, not a helpful power which might desert. However, συνεῖναι is attested with the sense ‘favour’ (Aesch. Sept. 671, Soph. OT 275); and the notion that fate may favour individuals or groups is attested (Pindar O. 2.35 ff., P. 3.85 f).

Kars-Bazaar is about four hours from Boudroum; in its situation it agrees with Flaviopolis, standing on a branch of the river Pyramus, at the foot of the mountains. Unfortunately none of the inscriptions reveal the name of the site.

‘A very handsome tessellated pavement in a cottage, with an elaborate pattern, in the centre of which is the following legend.’ Copied by Mr. Bent.

Probably from the floor of an early church. Dedicated by the guild of fullers. It is interesting to see these trade-guilds, so common under the Empire in Asia Minor, passing unchanged into the Christian Church. For συνέργιον = συνεργασία, see C. I. G. 4346 and Addenda, p. 1163 (from Side).

This paper is a much revised version of that read to the Classical Association at Bangor on April 11, 1956; here I intend to concentrate on the development of the trilogy with particular reference to the Prometheus Purphoros, on the meaning of the trilogy and (in an excursus) on the questions of authenticity and date.

The Medicean Catalogue records three Prometheus plays by Aeschylus—our surviving Προμηθεὺς Δεσμώτης , the much-cited Προμηθεὺς Λυόμενος and the Προμηθεὺς Πυρφόρος Pollux ix 156, x 64 (with citation) adds a Προμηθεὺς Πυρκαεύς The Luomenos followed on the Desmotes and included the actual release of Prometheus. Pollux' citation of the Purkaeus has an anapaest in the fourth foot, suggesting that the play was satyric and therefore probably to be identified with the satyric Prometheus recorded as accompanying the Persae group of plays; with it should probably be associated the verse in Plutarch: τράγος γένειον ἆραπενθήσεις σύ γε (TGF 207: τοῦ δὲ σατύρου τὸ πῦρ ὡς πρῶτον ὤφθη, κ.τ.λ.) and also the long fragment recovered from Pap. Oxy. 2245. These last two items go some way to show that the Purkaeus dealt with the original discovery or bestowal of fire; with regard to its omission from the catalogue, it should be borne in mind more constantly than it has been that the other plays which accompanied the Persae—the Phincus and the Glaukos of Potniai—have been omitted too; and while it is hard to imagine what particular misfortune can have befallen a number of plays of the same group, it would be rash to assume that there can have been none.

One of the most basic features of the imagery employed by Aischylos in the Oresteia is the consistent perversion of normally propitious aspects of human existence, with the result that they become sinister and destructive. As Anne Lebeck puts it, ‘in Agamemnon those forces which should be beautiful, benevolent, and life-giving are converted into their opposites’. Male and female interchange their proper roles, sacrificial language cloaks impious deeds of vengeance, the hunting of animals turns into the hunting of men, the wealth of the house of Atreus becomes the blood in which that house is drenched, and the fertility of the whole land is corrupted by its application to death instead of life. The deliberate misuse to which Aischylos puts each of these structures has been well surveyed; taken together they lend dramatic reinforcement to a central theme of the Oresteia, that man's world is in a state of chaotic disorder from which it will not recover until the dilemma of vengeance v. justice has been solved. What I should like to do here is to trace out a similar arrangement in the substantial fire imagery of the trilogy. Fire, of course, as Aischylos himself tells us in the Prometheia, is one of the basic tools of mankind, a device used to provide many of the comforts of civilisation. Yet the same element, when handled improperly, may also ravage and destroy (compare the problems encountered by the satyrs in the Prometheus Pyrkaeus).

Ancient trade between Mediterranean lands and Atlantic Europe was first and foremost a quest by Mediterranean folk for tin, of which the indigenous supplies were insufficient. In this quest the Greeks had a vital interest, in view of the great development of their bronze industry. What actual part did they take in the Atlantic tin traffic?

This question raises two others, which will require a brief notice. From what part of the Atlantic seaboard, and by what route, was the tin fetched?

Fortunately we need not reopen the controversy over the Cassiterides or Tin Islands, which in the common Greek belief were the source of Western tin. This belief was in any case a mistaken one, for in Western Europe there are no tin deposits worth mentioning on any archipelago of islands. Moreover, the discrepancies between the notions of various ancient writers as to their situation suggest that the name ‘Cassiterides’ was applied in turn to more than one of the Western tin districts. We may therefore circumnavigate the problem of the Cassiterides by treating them as a floating expression like the ‘Spice Islands’ of early modern times, and refusing to attach the name specifically to any one metalliferous area.

In the play of Aeschylus the problem before the first jury of the Areopagus was this. A man kills his mother at the order of a god, because she killed his father. Can he be held guilty for an act which racial custom demanded and a god sanctioned? And yet, shall matricide go unpunished, or can that man claim to escape from the Erinyes, whose right and duty to avenge a mother is no less certain than a son's right and duty to avenge his father? The jury could not make up their minds: their votes were equally divided. It is hardly easier for us to give a clear answer to the problem which puzzled those Athenians; and we have a further problem which they were spared—what did Aeschylus think? on what grounds did he acquit Orestes? what did he mean by his solution?

Editors and critics have answered these questions differently. Sidgwick holds that in the Eumenides ‘the stage is lifted from earth to heaven: it is the powers of light, Apollo and Athena, who are active to protect the morally innocent against the powers of darkness, the Erinyes and the shade of Clytaemnestra, who persecute the technically guilty. The lower view, that guilt lies in the deed, is embodied in the pursuing Furies, and here conflicts with the higher view that the innocent heart must be saved…. The gods of light fight with the gods of darkness, and overcome.’ Verrall's explanation is allied to this but more refined. He sees in the play the conflict of two Rights—of justice absolute and inexorable with the relative justice of a civic community—of the lex talionis with equity; and he sees in the reconcilement of the Eumenides a mysterious identification of Vengeance and Grace.