In JRS (1968), Shelagh Jameson discussed the relative chronology of the campaigns of Aelius Gallus and C. Petronius: her discussion has rightly met with broad acceptance. She argued that Petronius began his first Ethiopian campaign in or by autumn 25 B.c., while Gallus began his Arabian campaign in or by August 26 B.C. and ended it in October or November 25 B.c.

In his Vita Galbae (7) Suetonius informs us that after Gaius' assassination Galba was urged by some to attempt to seize power but declined to do so. Consequently he was much favoured by Claudius, and held in such high regard (‘tantae dignitatis est habitus’) that when Galba was smitten by a sudden, though mild, illness, the emperor postponed the expedition launched against Britain in A.D. 43: ‘ut cum subita ei [sc.Galbae] valetudo nee adeo gravis incidisset, dilatus sit expeditionis Britannicae dies’. The reference to the postponement is clear and unequivocal, and contains nothing scurrilous or titillating that might have persuaded Suetonius to fabricate it. It does not, accordingly, seem unreasonable that modern commentators should, on the basis of this passage, record that Galba was present in Britain in A.D. 43.

Martial wrote about himself and his participation in the everyday life of Rome more than any other extant poet of the post-Augustan Principate. More particularly, dozens of his epigrams describe the life of the ordinary client and his treatment by great and often arrogant patrons. Unfortunately for social and literary historians, however, Martial was writing satirical epigrams, not autobiography. Consequently, his poetry cannot be taken at face value as a direct reflection of Roman life. With regard to literary patronage, the difficulties of interpretation have allowed modern scholars to reach diametrically opposed conclusions. One editor and commentator baldly labelled Martial ‘a chronic beggar’ who ‘despite his numerous friends and the many patroni to whom he paid court,…dragged on a hand-to-mouth existence’. In a recent and more detailed study, on the other hand, Martial is portrayed as a man of independent means, who looked to his powerful amici not for financial support so much as for help in publicizing his work and for protection in literary squabbles.

‘Ein vÖllig unverständliches Wortspiel’, said Friedlander. There have been many attempts to solve the riddle. The older commentators, following Domizio Calderini, offered a fantastic solution: Athenagoras was a doctor specializing in leprosy (⋯λφ⋯ς): ‘porro ducta uxore coepit lingere cunnum…unde factus est olficius, hoc est olfacit cunnum’! H. C. Schnur emended to Olbius (ὅλβιος): Albius Athenagoras (Greek cognomen with Roman nomen gentilicium), by marrying a rich wife, became Olbius. This explanation deprives the name ‘Albius’ of any point; nor is it particularly witty to say that Albius married money. The most popular solution points to the biblical ⋯γώ εἰμι τ⋯ Ἄλφα κα⋯ τἈ 'Σ [sc. ⋯ πρ⋯τος κα⋯ ⋯ ἔσ×ατος] it can be shown with some plausibility that the expression was known to the Romans of Martial's time – and to Martial's phrases ‘alpha paenulatorum’ (2. 57. 4, 5. 26. 1) and ‘beta togatorum’ (5. 26. 4). Before marriage Athenagoras was A in his house; now he is last, in other words, henpecked. ‘Paenulatorum’ and ‘togatorum’, however, give ‘alpha’ and ‘beta’ a context which plain Alphius and Olphius do not possess. Moreover, in all the other passages which scholars quote in support of the A–Σ hypothesis,9 a letter of the alphabet becomes a byname for an individual, and is not incorporated in another name, as would be the case with Alphius and Σlphius. The presence of two names points to an etymological, not alphabetical, jeu des mots.

In a recent article Professor Brunt has made an eloquent plea for greater rigour in handling the remains of non-extant authors. When the original is lost and we depend I upon quotation, paraphrase or mere citation by later authorities, we must first establish the reliability of the source which supplies the fragment. There is obviously a world of difference between the long verbal quotations in Athenaeus and the disjointed epitomes provided by the periochae of Livy. As a general rule, the fuller and more explicit the reproduction in the secondary source, the more confident we can be that it approximates to the original. Our doubts should increase as the references become less precise and resort to paraphrase rather than direct quotation. The wider context is also important. One always needs to know why the secondary author is making his citation and what interest he has in a strictly literal reproduction. These principles are unexceptionable, but they are difficult to maintain in practice. One rarely has the opportunity to make a sustained experiment, checking an author's techniques' of quotation and digest against sources which are now extant. As a result the historian all too often feels constrained to squeeze the last drop of meaning out of testimonia which are by their very nature imprecise. The standard work, Jacoby's Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, is a pitfall for the unwary. It presents all citations, whether full quotations or the vaguest of references, on the same status as ‘fragments’; and the context is necessarily reduced to the barest minimum, so that the reader's attention is focussed directly upon the lost original and diverted from the machinery of transmission.

In the best Menippean tradition the De Consolatione Philosophiae of Boethius is peppered with quotations from different authors, most notably from the works of Homer. The quotations are generally spoken by Philosophy, and are used to articulate the narrative, e.g. at 1. 4 we find a line from Iliad 1. 363 whose application to the f present situation is immediately comprehensible, and would have been appreciated by the average reader. Another similar quotation is that of Iliad 12. 176: ⋯ργαλ⋯oν δ⋯ με ταȗτα Өε⋯ν ὣς π⋯ντ' ⋯γoρε⋯ειν at 4. 6. 53. Such uses are very simiar to what one, finds in the Apocolocyntosis of Seneca, albeit there used for comic effect. There are also snippets of popular wisdom in the form of an old proverb – though it is one with Menippean associations – and a Pythagorean maxim.

Five epigrams in the Greek Anthology are ascribed to Sophronius, sophist, poet, theologian and finally patriarch of Jerusalem when it fell to the Arabs in 638. Sophronius' other extant poems are all in the anacreontic metre, which he wrote with a certain fluency but (judged by classical standards) without perfect mastery. It is in principle quite possible that he also composed in so traditional a genre as the classicizing epigram, but (as we shall see) there are in fact considerable doubts about four of the five in question.

Why does Catullus in his eleventh poem tell Furius and Aurelius to take an unpleasant message to his girl-friend? After all, in the eighth poem he imagines himself able to do the job alone: ‘uale puella’ (12). Has his courage just evaporated? Or is it that he wants to put his messengers, whom he perhaps does not like, in an awkward position (so Baehrens, and more tentatively Fordyce)? Kroll is not sure why the poet chooses intermediaries. Some think they came in the first place from the girl, who wanted reconciliation, and that this poem is Catullus' response. But the poet is usually able to make it plain, as in poems 7 and 85, that he is replying to a question (cf. Prop. 2.1 and 31); here that standard device is missing, and should not be introduced. This note offers a new solution to the problem, and identifies the imagined situation in such a way that the eleventh poem can be seen to be in harmony with the poet's attitude to his idealised love-affair.

In any competition for monuments of wasted labour the collection of accidental acrostics in Latin poets published by I. Hilberg would stand a good chance of a prize. But amongst his examples of ‘neckische Spiele des Zufalls’ (269) is one I am gullible enough to believe may be more significant. In Aeneid 7. 601–15 Vergil describes the custom of opening the gates of war in a long anacoluthic sentence, the first four lines of which run:

Mos erat Hesperio in Latio, quern protinus urbes

Albanae coluere sacrum, nunc maxima rerum

Roma colit, cum prima movent in proelia Mortem,

Sive Getis inferre manu lacrimabile bellum…

There is a suspicion in the minds of a number of Virgil's modern commentators that Corydon, the lover-shepherd of the second Eclogue, is himself a slave, and that the dominus of his beloved Alexis (who may be the Iollas of line 57) is his master too.1 It is the purpose of this note to show that the suspicion is baseless.

None of the ancient commentators appears to know of such an interpretation. This should be significant in that they probably shared the poet's assumptions about literary decorum. We can gather how Virgil viewed the function of slaves in poetry of an exalted genre by looking at the Aeneid and the Georgics. The essential considerations were set out by W. E. Heitland in Agricola (1921), pp. 218-41. Virgil was less ready to introduce slaves into his epic than Homer had been. More startling is the complete silence of the poet in the Georgics on the use of slave labour in contemporary farming. Literary decorum induces this reticence; slaves are too mean to have a voice or place in epos. How do matters stand with pastoral?

R. Renehan's ingenious solutions to the problems of Symphosius 42. 1 and Anth. Lat. 207 in this journal (n.s. 31 (1981), 471 f.) are much to be welcomed. On the other hand, I do not think that his defence of the manuscript reading in Anth. Lat. 24. 3 marcent post rorem violae, rosa perdit odorem holds water. Taking rorem as = rorem marinum he explains that ‘the poet is not presenting us with a piece of botanical information about the relative seasons of the violet and rosemary; he means rather that all flowers wither and fade’. Actually, however, the poet on this showing does present information; and whether the information is botanically correct or not (I am not enough of a botanist to know), that is an odd way to make his point. Stranger still is his choice of rosemary out of all the fading flowers of field and garden. It was bound to be I misunderstood. As Renehan indicates, ros = ros marinus is supported only by Virg. Georg. 2. 212–13, where the identity has been doubted, and Plin. HN 24. 100, where ex rore supra dicto refers back to ros marinum in 99. Renehan may well be the first reader not to take rorem as dew. And an evergeen shrub (see Shorter Oxford English Dictionary) makes a singularly unfortunate illustration of floral decay, even though the shrub does produce a flower. Pliny classes it with herbs (19. 187; cf. 24. 99 ros marinum dictum est. duo genera eius: alterum sterile, alterum cui et caulis et semen rosinaceum, quod cachrys vocatur).