Despite the stature of J. S. Mill as a political philosopher and the growth of interest in Irish history, the literature on Mill's writings on Ireland is sparse. Aside from passing comments in some of the major works on Mill, the issue has been addressed by only three recent scholars who, for the most part, have not dealt directly with the relationship between Mill's political theory and his published materials on Ireland. R. D. C. Black has concentrated on economic considerations, arguing that Mill broke ranks with most of the English economists of his time because he believed that Irish conditions were different from those of England and hence that radical land reforms were necessary for economic development in Ireland. E. D. Steele has challenged this position, claiming that Mill was not so radical about Irish matters in his early years, that Mill hedged significantly on governmental interference with landed property until the rise of Fenianism in the 1860s, and that, even then, Mill's reforming zeal was guided by his concerns for saving the Union and upholding the empire. R. N. Lebow has argued that Mill's writings reflect the tensions in his own thought and in Victorian England concerning individual rights and social concerns, suggesting that Mill resolved the problem only late in his life, by deciding that the interests of society (in this case, the issue of land reform for the benefit of Irish tenants) overrode the individual property rights of the Irish landlords.

This article is concerned with explanations of the failure of stateformation and nation building in liberal Italy, and concentrates on attempts to integrate western Sicily into the new political framework. The marxist account of this process has emphasized the extent of peasant revolt against the new state, and its brutal repression. Unification, it is argued, failed because it was based on coercion and domination rather than on leadership by popular consent. The present article suggests that this explanation is incomplete as it ignores the behaviour and attitude of local elites within western Sicily. The dominance of local affairs by such groups was challenged by the advent of a modern centralizing state. The article uses records from this period to show that many local notables frustrated government efforts to set up new town councils, new police forces and a liberal judicial system. This kind of resistance was far more difficult to overcome than popular revolt, because it could (and did) challenge the whole basis of centralized liberal rule. The article also looks at the military repression of the 1860s and argues that it too was undermined by the opposition of local elites. An additional reason, therefore, for the failure of unification after 1860 may be the new state's lack of appeal among its supposed class allies.

By focusing on the history of white ants in colonial South Asia, this article shows how insects were ubiquitous and fundamental to the shaping of British colonial power. British rule in India was vulnerable to white ants because these insects consumed paper and wood, the key material foundations of the colonial state. The white ant problem also made the colonial state more resilient and intrusive. The sphere of strict governmental intervention was extended to include both animate and inanimate non-humans, while these insects were invoked as symbols to characterize colonized landscapes, peoples, and cultures. Nonetheless, encounters with white ants were not entirely within the control of the colonial state. Despite effective state intervention, white ants did not vanish altogether, and remained objects of everyday control until the final decade of colonial rule and after. Meanwhile, colonized and post-colonial South Asians used white ants to articulate their own distinct political agendas. Over time, white ants featured variously as metaphors for Islamic decadence, British colonial exploitation, communism, democratic socialism, and, more recently, the Indian National Congress. This article argues that co-constitutive encounters between the worlds of insects and politics have been an intrinsic feature of British colonialism and its legacies in South Asia.

Scotland's Unionist culture has already become a world we have lost, investigation of which is hampered by the misleading notion of a ‘Celtic fringe’. Nineteenth-century Lowland Scots were not classified as Celts; indeed they vociferously projected a Teutonic racial identity. Several Scots went so far as to claim not only that the Saxon Scots of the Lowlands were superior to the Celts of the Highlands, but that the people of the Lowlands came from a more purely Anglian stock than the population of southern England. For some Scots the glory of Scottish identity resided in the boast that Lowlanders were more authentically ‘English’ than the English themselves. Moreover, Scottish historians reinterpreted the nation's medieval War of Independence – otherwise a cynosure of patriotism – as an unfortunate civil war within the Saxon race. Curiously, racialism – which was far from monolithic – worked at times both to support and to subvert Scottish involvement in empire. The late nineteenth century also saw the formulation of Scottish proposals for an Anglo-Saxon racial empire including the United States; while Teutonic racialism inflected the nascent Scottish home rule movement as well as the Udal League in Orkney and Shetland.

John Stubbs's controversial pamphlet against Elizabeth's proposed marriage with Francis, duke of Anjou, The discoverie of a gaping gulf (1579), has conventionally been seen – with Edmund Spenser's The shepheardes calendar and Philip Sidney's letter to Elizabeth – as part of a propaganda campaign organized by Leicester and Walsingham to force Elizabeth to reject the marriage. Yet the evidence linking Stubbs with Leicester and Walsingham is thin. This article re-examines that evidence in the light of recent research on court factionalism, men-of-business, and concepts of counsel. It argues that A gaping gulf was an independent initiative taken by Stubbs which expressed very different attitudes to ‘counsel’ from Sidney's letter. It suggests that participants in public debate need to be explored on their own terms, rather than as necessarily catspaws of councillors; that there was an emergent Elizabethan public sphere independent of the court which, in holding different attitudes to counsel than councillors, could bring them into conflict with Elizabeth.

Two main alternative paths structured the lives of women in early modern Italy: marriage and the convent. Historians have analysed the disciplinary and economic functions, and the legal, religious and symbolic meaning of these paths, from a variety of perspectives. However, studies of marriage and the convent have mainly developed as two separate fields of historical research. My article reviews these two series of studies in the context of the historiography of early modern Italy, and suggests some of the possible connections between them.

In this article we unravel family religion as a crucial strand of evangelical piety in the late seventeenth century. We show how this programme was promoted in print and manuscript by a group of evangelical clergy from both sides of the conformist divide. Using the printed and manuscript memoirs of John Rastrick, a Lincolnshire clergyman, we explore the construction of clerical sociability through the printed text. In particular, we demonstrate that its heart was the communal reading of scripture and religious literature, confirming the household as the key locus for piety in this period. Whereas historians have traditionally been eager to categorize both clergy and laity in this period as either Anglican or nonconformist, we demonstrate that such a divide was often blurred in practice, in particular as represented through family religion. By focusing on issues such as sociability, the formation of identities, and reading practices, we also reconnect the second half of the century with its early Stuart past, suggesting that its influences and refractions fed into a continuity of evangelical identity, stretching from late sixteenth-century puritanism through the Civil War and Restoration to the onset of Evangelicalism in the eighteenth century. Though they were complex, these continuities help to show that a coherent style of evangelical piety was expressed across the ecclesiastical divide throughout the long seventeenth century.

The perception of Ireland and India as ‘zones of famine’ led many nineteenth-century observers to draw analogies between these two troublesome parts of the British empire. This article investigates this parallel through the career of James Caird (1816–92), and specifically his interventions in the latter stages of both the Great Irish Famine of 1845–50, and the Indian famines of 1876–9. Caird is best remembered as the joint author of the controversial dissenting minute in the Indian famine commission report of 1880; this article locates the roots of his stance in his previous engagements with Irish policy. Caird's interventions are used to track the trajectory of an evolving ‘Peelite’ position on famine relief, agricultural reconstruction, and land reform between the 1840s and 1880s. Despite some divergences, strong continuities exist between the two interventions – not least concern for the promotion of agricultural entrepreneurship, for actively assisting economic development in ‘backward’ economies, and an acknowledgement of state responsibility for preserving life as an end in itself. Above all in both cases it involved a critique of a laissez-faire dogmatism – whether manifest in the ‘Trevelyanism’ of 1846–50 or the Lytton–Temple system of 1876–9.

Recent years have seen the growth of a new and newly self-conscious cultural historiography of the senses. This article extends and critiques this literature through a case study of the sensory work and worlds of Sir John Floyer, a physician active in Lichfield during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. Floyer is best known for his work on pulse-taking, something which he described as contributing to the art of feeling. Less well known is his first book – a discussion of the tastes of the world and their therapeutic possibilities. The article explicates, contextualizes, and relates these two books and uses this analysis to suggest ways of refining and developing the wider historiography of the senses. It demonstrates how they reveal that what Floyer sensed was closely bound up with the changing ways in which he sensed, particularly when he began feeling the pulse in a ‘Chinese’ style. This, the article concludes, suggests that historians of the senses need fundamentally to reconsider the model of culture which underpins their work, focusing less on the ways in which people have interpreted or ordered sensory stimuli, and rather analysing the senses as forms of skill or dynamic ways of engaging with the world.

This article examines the role of the British popular press in the campaign against venereal diseases during the Second World War. Concern about the rapidly rising incidence of syphilis and gonorrhoea prompted the Ministry of Health to ask the press to carry a series of informative advertisements about VD, but the Newspaper Proprietors' Association refused to publish them until they had been made less explicit. A major controversy erupted in Fleet Street as the two most popular dailies, the Mirror and the Express, took opposing views about the suitability of ‘family newspapers’ educating the public about sexual health. While the Express refused to print even the edited VD advertisements, the Mirror broke away from the popular press's tradition of evasiveness on this issue and discussed the problem in unusual detail. The Mirror's bold approach won widespread public support, with investigations by Mass-Observation and the Wartime Social Survey finding that information about VD was, in general, gratefully received by a public hungry for more knowledge about sex. Although many editors continued to treat the subject very cautiously, the article argues that the campaigns run by the Mirror and the Ministry of Health marked an important moment in the public discussion of sex and encouraged the belief that all citizens should be sexually informed.

The Young Conservatives were primarily a social club, hosting dances, beauty contests, car rallies and winning endorsements from sports stars. They made a virtue of this apolitical reputation to recruit a mass, middle-class membership, and with rhetoric of service and citizenship embedded themselves in local civil society. This article reflects on why this associational culture has been neglected by political and social historians. In the approach of Raphael Samuel's ‘Lost world of British Communism’, it explores the worldview and lifestyle of YCs in 1950s and 1960s Britain, drawing on national, local, and oral sources. Boasting of being ‘the free world's largest youth political movement’ it was a considerable political resource and confounds Conservatism's aged public image in this period. The article accounts for the Ycs' falling membership through the 1960s and discusses its legacy. Decline came as it experienced social and cultural change, as the value of mass party membership diminished and as, after the Macleod report, YCs sought to become more conventionally ‘political’. The resulting debates about politics–social mix are illuminating about political culture more generally. It argues the YCs were not simply victims of social change, but that the decision to become ‘political’ was also a factor. Until the later 1960s it contends the YCs attest to the persistence of strands of Conservatism described by interwar historians like McKibbin and Light – an associational appeal, whose light touch deftly avoided the appearance of being partisan in anything other than name.

Daniel Scargill and Samuel Parker have both been regarded as isolated and eccentric disciples of Thomas Hobbes. However, a detailed examination of their views reveals a more complicated relationship with the notorious philosopher. Far from being simple ‘Hobbists’, Scargill and Parker developed ideas close to those of ‘latitudinarian’ clergymen. In the polarizing political circumstances of the later 1660s, the hostile identification of their views with the doctrines of the Leviathan led to public discussion of latitudinarianism and its relationship to Hobbism. In response, writers with latitudinarian sympathies used criticism of Hobbes as a means of reconsidering and redefining their own position. Such criticism accepted some of Hobbes's political conclusions, while at the same time rejecting his controversial methodology. Discussion of Hobbism and criticism of Hobbes were thus important means by which Hobbes's political insights were absorbed by Restoration political thinkers.

Jimmy Carter's response to stagflation, the unprecedented combination of stagnation and double-digit inflation that afflicted the American economy during his presidency, made him the subject of virulent attack from liberal Democrats for betraying New Deal traditions of activist government to sustain high employment and strong economic growth. Carter found himself accused of being a do-nothing president whose name had become ‘a synonym for economic mismanagement’ like Herbert Hoover's in the 1930s.1 Liberal disenchantment fuelled Edward Kennedy's quixotic crusade to wrest the 1980 Democratic presidential nomination from Carter. ‘[H]e has left behind the best traditions of the Democratic Party’, the Massachusetts senator charged, ‘We are instructed that the New Deal is old hat and that our best hope is no deal at all.’2 A quarter-century later a more dispassionate analysis would suggest that Carter was neither a do-nothing president nor a throwback to the past in terms of economic policy. Far from being the ‘Jimmy Hoover’ of liberal obloquy, Carter was really ‘Jimmy Clinton’ because in seeking solutions for stagflation his administration laid the foundations of a new political economy that the next Democratic president would build upon.

This article examines the policy pursued by William Laud during his tenure as bishop of London, focusing specifically on the way in which he enforced the various royal edicts against discussion of predestination. It is argued that Laud enforced Charles I's decrees in an unbalanced manner, attacking Calvinists while apparently leaving their anti-Calvinist opponents untouched. It is likewise argued, however, that this strategy was accomplished not through a policy of overt judicial persecution, but through a more subtle regime of quiet threat and harassment. Such a policy was necessary because, at least in London, the question of predestination had by 1629 become a serious and explosive issue, one that was inextricably linked in the minds of many observers to more explicitly ‘secular’ matters of government and policy. In the process of examining Laud's strategy, the article seeks to untangle the question of why both the Caroline authorities and their enemies saw the seemingly scholastic question of predestination as a matter of such crucial political significance. Ultimately, the article helps to revise our understanding of the political atmosphere that prevailed in England at the outset of the personal rule, while likewise contributing to a deeper understanding of the political breakdown that led to civil war and revolution in the 1640s.

The literary tradition about the makers of early written codes in Greece presents so many contradictions and inconsistencies that it is natural to take refuge in complete scepticism. But if the tradition is analysed, it appears that there are two strata, the first reasonably consistent, matter-of-fact and credible, the second progressively vitiated by influences which can be isolated and explained. The division between the two strata lies about the year 300 B.C. and the primary tradition is not necessarily less credible because of the existence of the secondary tradition, which proves not that the primary tradition was false, but that truth itself could not prevail against the pseudo-history which set in after Aristotle. The primary tradition about the personalities of the early makers of codes cannot be lightly rejected; the content of their codes, as far as it is given in the primary tradition, is not inconsistent with the general character of early Greek lawgiving as it can be reconstructed from other evidence.

The states of sixteenth-century Europe fell into two financial groups. France and Spain, in a class of their own, enjoyed an apparently total freedom for much of the time from the normal constraints, and this in spite of their rapidly escalating debts. The other European states which made up the second category were compelled to observe far more stringent controls. The distinction between the two groups was further underlined by the question of credit. Although the Habsburg and Valois monarchs spent in a way that was both financially reckless and socially unpitying, the moneyed classes were only too eager to advance additional funds. Repeated, and sometimes spectacular, failures seemed rarely to have damped their enthusiasm. The smaller states seldom found such ease of access to credit. For most of the time they were obliged to maintain a semblance of order by sustained and sordid frugality - the bilking of minor creditors, the levying of dubious ‘loans’, or the dissipation of capital. While no strangers to these devices, France and Spain were able to operate for prolonged periods free from ordinary limitations. But even for these privileged beings the moment of truth eventually arrived. Resources were finite; and even an imperial state could exhaust the credit, if not the credulity, of its principal bankers. Such an intrusion of reality took the form of a public bankruptcy.

It has been said of James Tyrrell that his ‘main claim to distinction was perhaps his friendship with John Locke’, but his elaborate monument in Oakley church, near Brill in Buckinghamshire, although it records a number of his qualities and achievements, does not mention this. James was the eldest son of Sir Timothy Tyrrell, Knight, of Shotover House, near Oxford; his mother's father was James Ussher, archbishop of Armagh. Sir Timothy had been a Cavalier and in royal service, but his n son was to devote himself to writing books attacking the principles for which the royalists had stood. Born in London in May 1642, James Tyrrell was entered before he was fourteen as a student at Gray's Inn, but a year later he abandoned legal study and went up as a gentleman commoner to Queen's College, Oxford.

The so-called ‘decade of reform’ witnessed far-reaching changes not only in Britain's domestic affairs but also in the colonial sphere. This applied particularly to the sugar colonies. Until the early 1830s the economy and society of those colonies had rested upon two main pillars – slave labour and a protected market for their produce in the United Kingdom. Yet within a few years the first of these pillars was completely destroyed, the second was already beginning to crumble, and the old ruling classes in the sugar colonies were in a state of frustration, rapidly despairing of the possibility of adapting themselves to the new situation.

This article looks at central government's role, focusing on the parliamentary terms 1959–64 and 1964–6, in directing the way in which local authorities enacted the central area redevelopment schemes of the 1960s. The first two sections review the substantial but little-studied literature produced across the political spectrum about central area urban renewal in the period 1959–64. Section III uses the Joint Urban Planning Group, a group set up within the Ministry of Housing and Local Government, as a case-study to show how modernist approaches to redevelopment became operative within a government department. The Joint Urban Planning Group has received no attention from historians. Section IV discusses the fate of these ideas during Labour's first term after the 1964 election.