Of all the renderings of the goddess Hera, the gold and ivory statue by Polycleitus in the Heraeum near Argos was the most famous, and was considered by the ancients one of the most beautiful works of Greek art. It certainly held its place beside the masterpieces of Phidias, and is even called by Strabo the most beautiful of all.

As in the case of the Zeus and Athene of Phidias, and the Cnidian Aphrodite of Praxiteles, it is most natural that numerous attempts were made in the past to identify this Polycleitan Hera with some extant monument. And, as the most beautiful Aphrodite extant, the Melian Aphrodite in the Louvre, was at once singled out as representing the most famous statue of which there is record in ancient authors, so the famous colossal mask of Hera, known as the Juno Ludovisi, was the first to be identified with the great Polycleitan statue. This identification has been abandoned. Then followed the so-called Farnese Hera, the claims of which were powerfully upheld by Brunn.

The accompanying cut represents the painting upon a hydria in the British Museum (No. E 818). The design, in red figures, covers the body of the vase, which apparently dates from early in the fourth century B.C., and stands 32 mètres high; the glaze is of that semi-iridescent character which marks the Attic vases of this time, and the red figures are smeared with ruddle and show the original sketch marks very plainly. It was found in excavations in Rhodes in 1880, outside a tomb at the site named in Mr. Biliotti's Diary Cazviri; unfortunately the circumstances of the find do not assist us in determining more accurately the date; but it may be taken as of certainly Athenian fabric, and probably of the date above stated.

Since the article on this subject (pp. 229 ff. above) was passed for press I have obtained some additional information in Venice which it seems desirable to put on record.

Of the two coats of arms illustrated on p. 240, that on the left belongs to Sebastiano Renier. The other is of Antonio Garzoni, who was elected podestà of Monemvasia in 1526, and again in 1538, when he was the last podestà before the Turkish conquest. The identification of this latter coat I owe to the assistance of Mr. H. F. Brown.

Hopf's statement, reproduced by me on p. 235, that Monemvasia was Venetian in 1419, is, I find, riot justified by the evidence. I have had some difficulty in tracing the documents cited by Hopf, as the pagination of the Vienna copy of the Misti used by him differs from that in the copy at Venice. The three documents merely shew that Venetian wine-merchants were engaged in the wine-trade at Monemvasia.

With reference to Dr Graham Anderson's note on ληκύθιον ἀπώλεσεν (Ar. Frogs 1198–1248), I would like to add the following remarks.

First, terracotta aryballoi fashioned and painted in the likeness of male genitals seem to have been widely distributed in archaic Greece. Examples are known from the East, Attica, Corinth, Sicily, and Tuscany. It is difficult to believe that the analogy responsible for these objects no longer operated in Classical times.

In my article in the previous issue of this Journal (JHS lxxviii (1958) 12) one of the points I tried to make was that the two-level ship was not, as is usually thought, a transient phase between the single-level ship and the trireme, but that representations of it appeared not long before 700 B.C. and continued until after the trireme is thought to have been introduced into Greece, i.e. during the third quarter of the sixth century.

Lucian's Timon accuses Zeus of negligence: even his statue at Olympia has not punished the temple-robbers who despoiled it, although it had a δεκάπηχυν κεραυνὸν ἐν τῇ δεξιᾷ(Tim. 4). But according to Lucian’s contemporary Pausanias (v 11.1), the Zeus at Olympia possessed no such weapon; it held a Nike in the right hand, a sceptre in the left. A. M. Harmon (LCL Lucian ii 331) notes that since Pausanias’ testimony is confirmed by numismatic evidence, Lucian must be wrong and ‘the error is odd in so good an observer’. In fact Lucian could be rather careless over such details; but in this case we can hope to account for his mistake. While he must have seen the Zeus at Olympia at some stage, the statue was also an obvious subject for rhetorical ecphrasis and literary elaboration: one thinks of Dio Chrysostom’s Olympicus (Or. xii); and Lucian may well have been as bookish in his approach to works of art as he was in so many ‘cultural’ subjects. In this case the error would easily have arisen if he had read, misread, or misrecollected an accusative of σκηπτός (‘thunderbolt’) for σκῆπτρον (‘sceptre’) in a previous written source; he would then only have had to supply a synonym κεραυνός for the wrong object. The fact that the thunderbolt is in the wrong hand would then have followed easily from the initial error: one does not hurl thunderbolts with the left hand! The obvious risk of confusion between σκηπτόν and σκῆπτρονσκῆπτρον is illustrated by the problem at Plutarch, de Alex. fort.ii (Mor. 338b), where Clearchus becomes tyrant of Heraclea, takes to carrying a σκῆπτρον and calls his son Κεραυνός. The Teubner editor rightly adopts Valckenaer’s σκηπτόν for MSS σκῆπτρον: a tyrant sufficiently uninhibited to call his son Thunder would also be uninhibited enough to carry a replica of a bolt.

The collection of Greek inscriptions in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, has been much increased during the last four decades. It will therefore be useful to give a complete list, and, where it seems to be advisable, a full description of these sixty-four texts in stone, bronze and wood, twenty-four of which are unpublished, as far as I am able to ascertain, or have been published without full transcription.