French naturalization of the Scots appears to have evolved from lands granted to individual Scots by Charles VII during the Hundred Years War, and it would seem that the libertas testandi associated with these grants in the fifteenth century was an early form of what were later called lettres de naturalité in the sixteenth century. French naturalization was granted not only to individual Scots but to all Scottish subjects by certain French monarchs from Charles VII to Louis XIV and had its origins in the ‘Auld Alliance’, as the Scots referred to their relationship with France, and the establishment of the garde écossaise by Charles VII in 1445. The sixteenth century saw a continuation of Scottish military service to the kings of France as well as a continuation of grants of lands, pensions, titles and privileges accorded by grateful French monarchs to Scottish soldiers in the main, but other Scots as well, many of whom were, and others who became by letters patent of naturalization, loyal subjects of the king of France.

The Polish mission to Liberia (1934–8) was a series of diplomatic, commercial, and scientific initiatives carried out by Poland's Maritime and Colonial League and Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Contextualizing the mission in terms of contemporary attempts to construct Poland's colonial identity, this article argues that Poland's colonial lobby imagined their presence in Liberia as a unique form of colonialism, distinct from its Western counterparts. Many participants in the mission considered Poland to have a special moral mandate in Africa by virtue of its own experience as a recently occupied nation. The grandiose visions of Liberia as a Polish colony and unfulfilled economic promises, however, contributed to the ultimate termination of the mission in 1938. The Poles’ concept of colonialism obscured their plausible objectives in Liberia and distracted them from executing their economic plan. The construction of a Polish colonial identity was a perfect means of rallying patriots around the flag and creating domestic support for Poland's maritime projects, but a colonial ideology was a double-edged sword in foreign affairs.

Between 1900 and 1918 the Labour party changed from being a new organization operating on the fringes of the Liberal party, to being the largest British opposition party. This change has attracted a great deal of historical attention. The analysis of electoral results in general, and municipal election results in particular, rightly plays a major part in the conflicting explanations of why this realignment took place. Negatively, this paper seeks to establish that many of the methods of examining electoral material common in the literature are in fact inadequate. It is also suggested, more positively, that despite problems with the way results are currently used, even a modestly elaborated treatment of municipal election results can reveal significant information about the origins and location of Labour's support. Accurate ‘quantification’ cannot of itself explain the rise of Labour, or the pattern of electoral politics more generally. It can, however, be an important component of broader attempts at establishing why political changes took place both in Edwardian Britain and in the still under-researched period between 1918 and 1931.

The pamphlet debate concerning the perceived effects of parliamentary enclosure on property and population in eighteenth-century Britain has been largely neglected by intellectual historians. One consequence of this debate was to undermine the credibility of the classical republican economic vision of agrarian simplicity, due to its proponents' failure to come to terms with the enormous disjunction between ancient and modern economies. Although the enclosure of agricultural land had provoked hostility since at least the fifteenth century, after 1700 its opponents developed new arguments to take account of the legislature's increasingly prominent role in facilitating the process. In doing so, anti-enclosure writers drew on classical republican ideas, arguing that enclosure was contrary to the public interest because it eroded the independence of the yeomanry, valorized by numerous republican authorities as integral to the country's military strength. In their criticisms of modern policy, these writers praised the agrarian laws of the Roman republic, as well as the Tudor tillage acts. The agricultural ‘improvers’, on the other hand, denied the validity of these precedents on the grounds that the historical contingencies which had produced the Roman agrarian laws, or the Tudor tillage acts, were of limited relevance in a society based on the interdependence of agriculture, manufactures, and commerce.

This article explores the impact of the First World War on the social reform movement in France, emphasizing hospital policy and medical insurance. I argue that the war gave birth to a concerted reform movement which succeeded in bringing about fundamental changes to health care policy. During the inter-war years, the French embarked on a mission to replace the traditional hospital, the maison des pauvres, with modern facilities designed to cater to the middle class as well as to the poor. In 1928, a landmark law was passed which extended medical insurance to workers and the lower middle class. By 1940, over one half of the population was covered by medical insurance, and dozens of modern hospitals had been constructed. The impetuses to this national reform legislation were the numerous local experiments, whose stories I examine in some detail. Despite the image of Third Republic ‘decadence’, the success of health policy reform during the 1920s and 1930s shows that France was indeed capable of important domestic reforms. Under Vichy, these reforms were consolidated and after the Liberation, Vichy's efforts were saluted and affirmed by French politicians.

In the summer of 1867 Lord Derby's minority Conservative government, scarcely recovered from the political steeplechase which ended in the Second Reform Act, launched an expedition into Abyssinia, the declared aim of which was to free a group of British captives in duress there. This expensive little war is now remembered, if at all, as a lavish and triumphant picnic for the Indian army yet, as a recent historian has pointed out, it does not deserve to be dismissed as a ‘military curiosity’. Certainly for contemporaries its origins were a vexed issue and one which was never satisfactorily resolved. Critics in the press and parliament laid the blame on the previous Liberal administration. They maintained that back in 1863 the Foreign Office had lost an important letter from Theodore of Abyssinia. When the king failed to receive a reply, he reacted to this snub by throwing the British consul and a group of missionaries into fetters. Responsibility for any such blunder lay in the last resort with the foreign secretary of the day, Lord John Russell. Elderly, frail, and with a reputation for rashness untarnished by time, Russell's term of office (1859–65) had been marked by a series of crises which had brought Britain into dangerous or ignominious confrontation with the U.S.A. over the Trent incident, with Russia over the Polish rebellion, and with Prussia over Schleswig-Holstein.

This article argues that the growth of a free press in nineteenth-century Germany went hand in hand with the growth of an official, government-sponsored, press. The collapse of pre-publication censorship in 1848 prompted the development of increasingly sophisticated (and relatively successful) press control strategies by German governments, in the shape of official newspapers, semi-official newspapers, and indirect government press influence. Government press policy was essentially reactive. Changes in press policy were usually prompted by political events. Furthermore, government press coverage was forced to reflect shifts in public opinion in order to maximize readership of official propaganda. Government press policy focused not just on the dissemination of pro-government opinion, but also on the dissemination of pro-government information, probably the most effective form of government press influence. News management was subtle, and targeted small circulation local newspapers, rather than high profile opposition newspapers. Consequently, historians have tended to overlook the scale of government news management.

Iconic early European maps of the Caribbean depict neatly parcelled plantations, sugar mills, towns, and fortifications juxtaposed against untamed interiors sketched with runaway slaves and Indigenous toponyms. These extra-geographical symbols of racial and spatial meaning projected desire and design to powerful audiences. Abstractions about material life influenced colonial perceptions and actions upon a space, often to deleterious effects for the Indigenous and African people who were abused in tandem with the region's flora and fauna. The scientific revolution curbed these proscriptive and descriptive ‘thick-mapped’ features that offer historians an underexplored record of early colonial Caribbean life beyond the geographically descriptive. Before this shift from mystery to mastery, the early correlation of colonization and cartography in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries provides a fascinating glimpse into the process of creating the Americas. This article offers ideas for deconstructing old maps as new sources for historians of the early Atlantic World. As digital readers may explore through the roughly fifty maps linked via the footnotes, their informative spectacle naturalized colonialism upon lived and imagined race and space, created an exoticized, commodified Caribbean, and facilitated wealth extraction projects of competing empires made profitable by African labour on Indigenous land.

At the close of his article on ‘The East Fulham By-election, 25 October 1933 C. T. Stannage was allowed extra space to attack the account of the 1933–5 by-elections given in K. Middlemas’ and J. Barnes’ Baldwin, to re-state the charge that Baldwin deceived the country at the 1935 general election over the need to re-arm, and to suggest that there was no essential difference between the government's position on rearmament and that of the Labour opposition. It is not my wish to rush to the defence of Messrs. Middlemas and Barnes (who are no doubt capable of looking after themselves). But Dr Stannage's account of the rearmament controversy seems over-simplified. And, as it has been accepted uncritically by no less a figure than Henry Pelling, it may be worth looking at the question in rather more detail.

This article surveys the fiercely contested posthumous assessments of John Stuart Mill in the newspaper and periodical press, in the months following his death in May 1873, and elicits the broader intellectual context. Judgements made in the immediate wake of Mill's death influence biographers and historians to this day and provide an illuminating aperture into the politics and shifting ideological forces of the period. The article considers how Mill's failure to control his posthumous reputation demonstrates both the inextricable intertwining of politics and character in the 1870s, and the difficulties his allies faced. In particular, it shows the sharp division between Mill's middle and working class admirers; the use of James Mill's name as a rebuke to his son; the redefinition of Malthusianism in the 1870s; and how publication of Mill's Autobiography damaged his reputation. Finally, the article considers the relative absence of both theological and Darwinian critiques of Mill.

Historians have praised Joseph Chamberlain's workmen's compensation act of 1897, the foundation of Britain's modern insurance-based compensation scheme for on-the-job injuries, as a forward-looking social programme of great benefit to workers. By contrast, the Liberals' support of the option of potential unlimited employer liability for worker injuries has been viewed as unimaginative and a failure of political leadership at a crucial juncture in the history of the Liberal party's relationship with labour. This article re-examines the employers' liability/workmen's compensation debate of the 1890s, arguing that historians' criticism of the Liberals' position stems from a misunderstanding that the crux of the debate was over the method of fair compensation. To the contrary, as this article demonstrates, the real issue was workplace safety. Far from being caught napping, Liberals strenuously argued the workers' long-held position that workplace safety, that is, the prevention of accidents, was much more important than compensation after the accident occurred and that Chamberlain's compensation scheme would do nothing to improve safety. Significantly, this article reveals that the Liberals were correct in that, while employers immediately gained protection from unlimited liability at minimal cost, worker safety, in fact, did not improve and may have even declined during the first decade of the act's operation.

In the last two decades, British urban history has flourished. The Tudor and Stuart periods have attracted particular attention, so that we are well informed on the party factions and politics of this time. There are excellent general accounts by Drs Clark, Slack and others; and notable local studies like Dr Evans' account of Norwich. However, it is interesting that early eighteenth-century towns are by no means as well covered, especially in the area of politics. We have studies of Norwich and the West Midlands, but these mostly concern the period after 1760. On the first half of the century, most of the available published material comes from incidental references in books on broader party politics and organization; for instance in works by Drs Holmes, Brewer and Colley.

The Convention Parliament, the revolutionary tribunal of the English Revolution of 1689, prohibited the printing of news of its affairs and barred the public from its debates. Authors, printers and publishers, however, defied these orders and published unlicensed accounts of speeches, votes, committee reports, and the membership of the Convention. Although the laws and administrative procedures which the later Stuarts had used to restrict the press were still in effect, they were not enforced. During the weeks of political crisis, quantities of news-sheets, newspapers and tracts reporting parliamentary news and political opinion appeared. At a time of growing scholarly and popular interest in the Glorious Revolution, it may be useful to examine the relationship between parliament and press. Although studies of the early press and of parliamentary reporting have been made, no detailed examination of these matters during the months of political upheaval in the winter of 1688–9 has been undertaken. Two central questions suggest themselves. How did the politically conscious public learn about what was happening in Westminster where their elected representatives and the peers of the realm were meeting to resolve the crisis facing the nation? What was the attitude of those representatives and peers to having information about their affairs spread beyond their chambers? The answers to such questions may deepen understanding of the Convention and of one aspect of the part played by the press in the Revolution.

Almost from the first, the reign of Henry VIII witnessed high views of kingship. Some instances in the first decade of his rule have attracted much attention, but one critical episode has been overlooked. In the course of the occupation of Tournai between 1513 and 1519, Henry developed and successfully tested a complete theory of imperial kingship, partly cast in a new language of sovereignty. Drawing in part on the French models liberally strewn about the English cultural landscape, Henry asserted all the prerogatives of a rex imperator not only against the Tournaisiens but more significantly against Leo X. This new model kingship and its implications for royal relations with the church alarmed some of Henry's agents, especially Ralph Sampson. Sampson contented himself with expostulating about the threat to his conscience to his chief, Thomas Wolsey, but others showed more alarm. One of Sampson's friends, Thomas More, a similarly junior but rising functionary, offered two meditations on the potential dangers of Henry's kingship, going much beyond the abstract admonitions against tyranny of his Latin epigrams.

Francois de Callieres (1645–1717) was a diplomatic envoy and man of letters who in 1716 published De la Manière de Négocier avec les Souverains. A Normand of literate and noble, but modest ancestry, he lived for many years in various parts of Europe before securing, somewhat late in a long life, a position in the service of Louis XIV. Although he won admission to the Académie Française for a panegyric on the King and published several other books including a noteworthy contribution to the ‘Battle of the Ancients and Moderns’, the high point in his sombre but determined life came during the Nine Years War when as a secret envoy he negotiated the crucial terms with the Dutch which led to the Congress of Ryswick (1697) and peace. Thereafter he held the sensitive position of secrétaire du cabinet at Versailles and supplied the secretary of state for foreign affairs with a flow of memoranda on the conditions of peace.

The seventeenth century was one of the twelve during which, in spite of what geographers might regard as probable and proper, the two sides of the Mediterranean were in the hands of two separate and inimical civilizations, different in religion, morals, law, economy and knowledge. That sea was nevertheless a busy highway. The Levant trade, the most important of all for the French and the Italians, was also important for the English and the Dutch; but North Africa, from the Atlantic coast of Morocco to the Libyan desert, Barbary par excellence, was outside the European system of international law and conduct. Even when they were nominally at peace the Christians and the Moslems never trusted one another or succeeded for long in abiding by the rules on which they agreed. Both sides tried to enforce such rules by collective and vicarious punishments, by reprisals and by other devices to which men resort when there is no law between them. Each side, often in spite of express treaty stipulations, made slaves of prisoners from the other: the Islamic society was based on slavery, and the Latin states also manned their war-galleys partly with their own criminals but largely with Moslems captured at sea. To the seafaring men of Europe captivity in Barbary was a danger worse than shipwreck.

For at least a decade, many American historians have bemoaned the downfall of synthesis in the writing of the history of the United States. A wide variety of subfields has replaced a single national narrative. This fragmentation has been caused in part by methodological changes in the historical profession worldwide, but also because of the collapse of American exceptionalism. However, there are still some distinctly American themes that are interwoven throughout these subfields. These themes include the rise of transnational and regional history as replacements for an exceptional national history, and above all the influence of the American present on the study of the American past.

This article summarizes the apparent fragmentation of the history of the United States before discussing some of the distinctively American themes that remain. The article then focuses in detail on five subfields in modern American history – the new western history, the new history of the segregated South, the cultural turn in Cold War history, and the histories of modern conservatism and modern evangelicalism – to show how these distinctively American themes recur in seemingly disconnected debates.

Historians of the debate over free trade and tariffs in Britain during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries have not taken adequate account of the impact of the protectionist United States. The article first examines how American protectionism influenced the cause of imperial preference. It then looks at how both sides in the fiscal debate used the American economic experience to bolster their cases. Finally, it is demonstrated that the economic success and liberal democratic character of America compelled free traders to attack the American example on a moral and political basis.

This article examines the early evolution of British policy, prior to the Second World War. The British government adopted an ‘open’ policy towards foreign direct investment (FDI), despite periodic fears that some foreign acquisitions of UK firms in key sectors might be detrimental to the national interest, and a few ad hoc attempts to deal with particular instances of this kind. During the 1930s, when the inflow of foreign firms accelerated following Britain's adoption of general tariff protection, the government developed a sophisticated admissions policy, based on an assessment of the likely net benefit of each applicant to the British economy. Its limited regulatory powers were used to maximize the potential of immigrant firms for technology transfer, enhanced competition, industrial diversification, and employment creation (particularly in the depressed regions), while protecting British industries suffering from excess capacity.