Perfectly bewildered, I turned the relic over. It was covered from top to bottom with notes and signatures in Greek, Latin, and English. The first in uncial Greek was by Tisisthenes, the son to whom the writing was addressed. It was, ‘I could not go. Tisisthenes to his son, Kallikrates.’ Here it is in fac-simile with its cursive equivalent:—
ΣΚΑΛΛΙΚΡΑΤΕΙΤΩΙΠΑΙΔΙ
Τισισθένης Καλλικράτει τῷ παιδί.
This Kallikrates (probably, in the Greek fashion, so named after his grandfather) evidently made some attempt to start on the quest, for his entry written in very faint and almost illegible uncial is, ‘I ceased from my going, the gods being against me. Kallikrates to his son.’ Here it is also:—
ΠΟΡΕΙΑΣΚΑΛΛΙΚΡΑΤΗΣΤΩΙΠΑΙΔΙ
Καλλικράτης τῷ παιδί.
Between these two ancient writings, the second of which was inscribed upside down and was so faint and worn that, had it not been for the transcript of it executed by Vincey, I should scarcely have been able to read it, since, owing to its having been written on that portion of the tile which had, in the course of ages, undergone the most handling, it was nearly rubbed out—was the bold, modern-looking signature of one Lionel Vincey, ‘Ætate sua 17,’ which was written thereon, I think, by Leo’s grandfather. To the right of this were the initials ‘J. B. V.,’ and below came a variety of Greek signatures, in uncial and cursive character, and what appeared to be some carelessly executed repetitions of the sentence ‘τῷ παιδί’ (to my son), showing that the relic was religiously passed on from generation to generation.
The next legible thing after the Greek signatures was the word ‘Romae, A.U.C.,’ showing that the family had now migrated to Rome. Unfortunately, however, with the exception of its termination (cvi) the date of their settlement there is for ever lost, for just where it had been placed a piece of the potsherd is broken away.
