The attempts of Verrall and Tucker to discover, without resorting to emendation, a construction for the participles in v. 285 have convinced only their authors. All other recent scholars either postulate a lacuna before this line or transpose it to follow v. 288, if they do not delete it altogether. All alike assume that both participles describe the behaviour of the victim of the underworld powers.

Histories of Roman literature state under Martial that his birthday was on ist March.1 Martial repeatedly says so himself. But these statements must now be questioned, since they harbour a peculiar difficulty, perhaps even a problem, whose solution is here attempted.

The ancient scholia and various modern editors interpret these lines as a description of the prodigies which followed the death of Caesar. It is bold to criticize a view so widely held, but its acceptance, to me, involves considerable difficulties. The first is the long interval between Caesar's death and the date of the Ode. About this date editors vary, but the general view is that it belongs either to the year 29 or 28 B.C.

That the thirteenth Idyll of Theocritus and the Hylas episode in the first book of Apollonius are not independent of each other was perhaps first pointed out by Casaubon, who supposed T. to be the earlier of the two. The opposite view was upheld, whether for the first time or not I do not know, by Wilamowitz in his lectures, and it was assumed, without much argument, by his pupil G. Knaack, who presently defended it, with little more, against an attack by G. Türk. Gercke and Susemihl were persuaded, and later on Wilamowitz himself touched briefly on the matter. Legrand, who had doubted before, remains unconvinced, and Cholmeley, to whose chronology this theory was disastrous, took shelter behind the unsubstantial shades of Antimachus and Philetas. In Italy, G. Perrotta has supported Wilamowitz's view, but L. Bignone says that the problem is insoluble. I have myself no doubt that Wilamowitz was right, but the arguments employed have not been very cogent, and, as the evidence has not been well set out, it may be useful to outline it here and to add a little to it.

On the Athenian disaster at Aegospotami the reaction, suppressed half a dozen years before, against the régime responsible for the war and its calamitous results sprang up again with double force. The capture of the fleet, the loss of the empire, which had been a useful buffer between the selfish interests of the wealthier citizens and the predatory appetites of the proletariate, the bankruptcy of the treasury, the discredit of the whole democratic system, the grim privations of the blockade, and the imminent return of the exiles eager for power and vengeance, all portended the speedy downfall of the constitution, should the victorious enemy leave it standing. Yet the progress of the revolution was slower than might have been expected. In fact the oligarchs were at first crippled by the absence of their banished chiefs, andthroughout they had to reckon not only with a people which had long enjoyed liberty and empireand with a democratic administration already in office, but also with the middle party, disgusted indeed with the existing form of government but unwilling to substitute for it the rule ofa narrow privileged class, and led by a statesman of great ability and experience.

At 195B 9 it is pointed out that the Wax Block theory does not cover that large class of judgments in which no sense-objects are concerned, e.g. judgments about numbers. How can we make the mistake of judging that 7 + 5 = 11?

The simile of the Aviary, now introduced, is very simple. It illustrates the difference between potential (or latent) knowledge and actual knowledge, i.e. between knowledge at our disposal, because it has been learnt and stored away in the mind, and knowledge present and ‘alive’ at the moment. The theory is that when we make a mistake about the sum of 7 and 5 we are ‘hunting for’ the knowledge of 12, which we ‘possess’ (κεκτ⋯σΘαι) as we might possess a bird in a cage, but which we have not ‘got about us’ (ἒχειν); but we mis-take, wrongly take our knowledge of 11, i.e. we call up before our mind a different piece of knowledge.

When Demosthenes brought Aeschines to trial on a charge of malfeasance as an ambassador, he made what seems now the astonishing declaration in connection with Aeschines' acting of the part of Creon in Sophocles' Antigone: ⋯στε γ⋯ρ δ⋯που το⋯θ' ὅτι ⋯ν ἅπασι τοῖς δρ⋯μασι τοῖς τραγικοῖς ⋯ξα⋯ρετ⋯ν ⋯στιν ὥσπερ γ⋯ρας τοῖς τριταγωνισ ταῖς τὺ τοὺς τυρ⋯ννους κα⋯ τοὺς τ⋯ σκ⋯πτρ' ἔχοντας εἰσι⋯ναι. Until the last generation (and even later) this was taken at face value as indicating that of the three actors presenting a tragedy the third (and least important) was regularly assigned the part of royalty. But that the title rôle in such plays as Sophocles' Oedipus Tyrannus or an important character such as Creon in the Antigone should have been entrusted to the third ranking actor is incredible. How is the discrepancy to be explained?

C. Cornelius Gallus requires brief introduction or none at all. A poet in his own right, the friend of Virgil and of Pollio, Gallus is enshrined for ever in literature—and in literary legend, for the inept fictions of Servius and his tribe will survive the most damaging of revelations, remembered even when refuted. Not only that—Gallus is a conspicuous figure in the social and political history of the revolutionary age.

In the Fitzwilliam Museum at Cambridge there is a papyrus fragment, hitherto unpublished, of Euripides' Medea. It was written early in the 2nd century A.D., or possibly at the end of the 1st century A.D. The hand is a good round medium upright, similar to that of P. Oxy. 1810, possibly a little older. The stop and apostrophe in Fr. 1 line 1174 were evidently added later. There are several smudges and blots. Elisions only. There were 35 lines to a column.

De Anima A 2, 404a 27=Diels, Vorsokratikev 5th edition 68a 101: ⋯κεῖνοςμ⋯γ⋯ρ ⋯πλ⋯ς ψυχ⋯ν ταὐτ⋯7nu κα⋯ νο⋯ν. τ⋯ γ⋯ρ ⋯ληθ⋯ς εἶναι τ⋯ φαι7nu;⋯7mu;ενον; and a 30–31: οὐ δ⋯ χρ⋯ται τῷς δυν⋯7mu;ει τ7iota;7nu;⋯ τ⋯ν ảλ⋯θειαν, ảλλ⋯ ταὐτ⋯ λγ;ει φυχ⋯ν κα⋯ νο⋯ν.

2. Metaph. Г 5, 1009b 12=D.v. 5th ed. 68A 112: ὂλως δ⋯δι⋯ τ⋯ ὐπολαμβ⋯νειν φρ⋯νησιν μ⋯7nu; τ⋯ν αἲσθησιν, τα⋯την δ εἷναι ảλλο⋯ωσιν, τ⋯ φαι7nu;⋯μεν7nu; κατ⋯ τ⋯ν αἷσθησι7nu; ⋯ξ ⋯7nu;⋯γκης ⋯ληθ⋯ς εἶναἰ φασιν.

The old ritual word macte was only vaguely understood even in Republican times. As is well known, the ancient critics connected the word with magis, magnus, and explained it as magis auctus (so Servius on Verg. Aen. IX. 641; Nonius 81, 18; Paul. Fest. p. 112, Lindsay). A glance at Walde's Wörterbuch reveals that many attempts have been made in modern times to solve the mystery; but the formidable equipment of the modern philologist has yielded little better results than the popular etymology of the ancients, the most favoured view to-day seeing in mactus the PPP of a verb mago (so L-H p. 405) with macto as the frequentative which replaces it. The supposed semantic development of this verb, originally meaning ‘to increase’, has been set forth by Warde Fowler in a well-known passage (Rel. Exper. 182 f.), to which recent authorities have accorded their assent and praise: ‘the vitality of the deity … was really increased by placing on the altar the organs of life of the victim’. But this is a solution which ignores half the problem: macte and mactare are used not only of the deities but also of the victim (despite Warde Fowler and others, see below). One can perhaps understand lovem mactare as ‘to magnify J.’, but not even by the most superficial analogy can we find a transition from here to the meaning typified in mactare vinum. Yet this is one of the most frequent usages of the word. So deep a gulf lies between the two semantic spheres of the verb that some scholars have sought to find in it two different verbs (so Walde). But this is a counsel of despair which the editor of the Thesaurus dismisses with a non recte. We must agree, then, with Hey (A.f.l.L. XIII, 223 ff.) that the modern explanation is ‘sicher eine unrichtige’ and with Meillet-Ernout that there exists ‘aucune étymologie claire’. It is, therefore, surprising that so ill-founded a preconception should lead investigators to ignore or even dismiss important evidence which the ancient authorities offer for the solution of this problem.