The White Paper on Palestine, issued by the British Government in May 1939, adumbrated future British policy in Palestine at a time when all members of the Cabinet, including Chamberlain, had accepted the inevitability of war. Yet, while they were concerting measures for war on a global scale, the Middle Eastern theatre was of low military priority, and appeasement remained the order of the day, with the White Paper as its principal instrument. The White Paper severely restricted Jewish immigration into Palestine for the next five years and amde further, subsequent immigration dependent upon Arab consent. Britain also promised to set up an independent Palestinian State within the next ten years, if this should prove feasible.

A spectre is still haunting historians of nineteenth-century France, the spectre of the bourgeois revolution of 1830, surviving despite the exorcism of revisionists. It is a spector that distorts our image of the liberal opposition to Charles X and of the victors after the July Days. Restoration prefects, moved from department to department with increasing rapidity in Charles X's reign, were content to categorize critics of the Polignac government as bourgeois. In the July Monarchy socialists vilified the elite as an established bourgeoise who robbed the real revolutionaries, the artisans, of their rights.3 Early socialists, including Marx, defined bourgeois broadly, to embrace landowners, but later marxists, writing when France was less of an agrarian state, labelled the bourgeoisie of 1830 as a business and industrial elite. The most recent generation of revisionist historians has shown, by empirical and detailed investigations, that the development of industry and accompanying social change occurred over several centuries and that revolutions, in particular, 1789, were mainly political events and more likely to retard than to facilitate the evolution of bourgeois capitalism. Thus revisionist historians of nineteenth-century France refer to ‘notables’ and stress the numerical dominance of landowners rather than businessmen in the elite of both the Restoration and the July Monarchy.

The aim of those drafting the Southern Manifesto of 1956 was to coerce wavering Southern politicians into supporting a united regional campaign of defiance of the Supreme Court's school desegregation ruling. The Manifesto largely succeeded. Most Southern congressmen, including leading moderates, felt they had no alternative but to succumb to what they perceived to be mass popular segregationist sentiment and sign the Manifesto. This paper examines the cases of those who refused to sign: what were the sources of their racial moderation, did they face electoral retribution, or did their careers suggest there was a political alternative to massive resistance? The evidence from Texas, Tennessee, Florida, and North Carolina highlights the diversity of political opinion among the non-signers – from New Deal liberal to right-wing Republican ideologue – and the disparate sources for their racial moderation – national political ambitions, party loyalty, experience in the Second World War, Cold War fears, religious belief, and an urban political base. Their fate suggests, at the very least, that outside the Deep South there was room for political manoeuvre, especially if state political leaders took a united moderate stance. Nevertheless, the cautious and gradualist stance of the moderates did not offer a convincing alternative to the massive resistance strategy so passionately advocated by the conservatives.

This history of Russian place naming in the Pacific Islands from 1804 to 1830 systematically juxtaposes, correlates, and compares toponyms inscribed in varied genres of Russian texts: map, atlas, journal, narrative, and hydrographic treatise. Its empirical core comprises place names bestowed or recorded by naval officers and naturalists in eastern and northern Pacific archipelagoes during expeditions led by the Baltic German circumnavigators Krusenstern (1803–6), Kotzebue (1815–18), Bellingshausen (1819–21), and Lütke (1826–9). We address the interplay of personality, precedent, circumstance, and embodied encounters in motivating voyagers’ toponymic choices and their material expressions. We consider diverse textual movements from located experience, to specific inscription, to synthesis. Russian toponyms constituted part of the vast stock of historical raw material from which Krusenstern later created the authoritative pioneer Atlas de l'Océan pacifique (1824–7). This toponymic focus is scaffolding for a dual ethnohistorical inquiry: into the implications for Russian toponymy of Indigenous agency during situated encounters with people and places; and into the relative significance of loca'l knowledge conveyed to Russian voyagers by Indigenous interlocutors, and its presence or absence in particular sets of toponyms or different genres of text.

Most historians now acknowledge that Catholic recusancy existed in small pockets throughout 1560s and early 1570s England thanks to the sporadic efforts of a handful of former Marian priests. However, it is widely agreed that the influx of continentally trained seminarians and missionaries from abroad after 1574 was responsible for transforming the ‘curious and confused’ activities of these Marian clergymen into a fully fledged, intellectually justified campaign in favour of nonconformity. This article challenges this consensus through investigation of a neglected group of clerics – the cathedral clergy of Mary I's reign. Drawing on insights emerging from recent research into the nature of Mary's church, it demonstrates how these clerics became key agents in the so-called ‘invention of the Counter-Reformation’ in Marian England. It suggests that this ‘upbringing’ gave these priests the determination and skills to become leaders of a co-ordinated campaign in favour of principled nonconformity following Elizabeth's accession. Far from lacking the zeal of their seminary and missionary counterparts, this article sees the former cathedral clergy imitating the practices of their adversaries and anticipating the strategies of the later English mission in order to promote recusancy throughout England from as early as 1560.

Lord Hardinge succeeded Minto as viceroy of India in November 1910, after a distinguished career in the diplomatic service and in the Foreign Office as permanent under-secretary from 1906 to 191 o under Sir Edward Grey. Up to the outbreak of the First World War, he was considered a successful as well as a very popular viceroy. From August 1914 until the end of his viceroyalty in March 1916, the Mesopotamia Expedition was his greatest concern and India's most important undertaking. The expedition and subsequent inquiry had important effects on Britain, India and throughout the East, and had perhaps a more profound impact upon Hardinge's career and personality than any other event during his forty-two years of government service.

Few would argue against the intimate relationship between citizenship and speech in early modern England. Historians of political thought and literary scholars have explored the cultural and political impact of the English Renaissance, which turned subjects into citizens and which produced a learned, humanist, and oratorical model of citizenship, centred upon the virtues of the ‘articulate citizen’. But the English Renaissance did not give birth to citizenship. There was an older, vernacular, urban-based concept of citizenship, which was grounded in social practice rather than in intellectual tradition. This citizenship was shaped by multiple, competing, and conflicting impulses: inclusive, yet exclusive; participatory, yet discriminatory; a mixture of rights and duties. Speech both exposed and amplified these different senses of citizenship: who could speak and act against authority, and were there limits on what citizens could say and do? The tensions between urban citizenship and speech persisted throughout the late middle ages and into the early modern period. Local power struggles about the nature of civic authority helped to define ideas of citizenship and of free speech.

One generalization which can be made about politics in the reign of George III with a fair degree of certainty is that the vast majority of M.P.s did not consider their conduct in the House of Commons as predetermined by the wishes of their electors; they preferred to see themselves as elected as members of Parliament rather than as delegates to Parliament. Moreover, despite the recent concentration of some historians upon the history of Parliament, the discipline of psephology rarely engaged the attention of politicians after a general election. These two attitudes of mind, which together indicated a clear division between electoral and Parliamentary politics, were nowhere more prevalent than in constituencies where landed interests were predominant. These, which comprised the majority in Scotland and Wales, were, after 1801, also thought to predominate in Ireland. This, in fact, was part of the reason why the Whigs at Westminster so firmly opposed the Union during the debates in 1799 and 1800. They argued in effect that in Ireland, as in Scotland, there was little dependence upon electors and a great dependence upon patronage; that the union with Scotland had added a substantial proportion of the forty-five M.P.s to the ranks of the government of the day; and that the union with Ireland would add near a 100 more. In fact the traditional picture of Irish electoral politics between 1801–26 is that, notwithstanding the fact that in Ireland the economic and social position and above all the religious sentiments of the majority of the electors were nowhere more clearly opposed to those of their M.P.s, the constituencies remained firmly controlled by the leading landed, and therefore Protestant, interests, the majority of whom supported every administration. The purpose of this article, however, is to argue that the Catholic vote in Irish constituencies was an integral and important factor in elections before 1820; that it not only played its part at elections but that it also affected in some degree the conduct of Irish M.P.s in the House of Commons towards the question of Catholic emancipation.

This article examines the criminal law reform career of James Mackintosh (1765–1832). As Recorder of Bombay (1804–11), writer and Whig MP (1813–32), Mackintosh engaged with diverse aspects of criminal law. His view of the organic relationship between law, society, and public opinion, which was shaped by his Scottish intellectual background and Foxite Whig politics, was distinct from the radical and liberal political perspectives most often associated with criminal law reform. The article traces the implications of Mackintosh's approach for the practice of politics and legislation in the period and suggests cause to revise assessments of its outcomes.

The outbreak of the First World War in Europe and the subsequent Ottoman–German alliance presented Great Britain with some severe dilemmas as to her interests in the Middle East as well. Striving to consolidate their position in the Middle East should a war against the Ottomans become inevitable, the British began to search for local allies. In the Arabian Peninsula, three rulers emerged as potential allies: the Sharif Husayn, the guardian of the Holy Places in the Hijāz on behalf of the Ottoman sultan; the Idrisi Sayyid of 'Asīr, the area south of the Hijāz and north of Yemen; and 'Abd al-'Azīz Ibn Saud, the Amir of Najd, who became a Persian Gulf coastal ruler in May to 1913 by virtue of his occupation of Hasa the coastal strip stretching from Kuwayt to the base of the Qatar peninsula.

During the period from the Reform Act of 1832 to the early 1880s, when a change set in, the house of lords was perceptibly weaker than the house of commons. The prevailing view of its position, accepted for the most part even by the peers themselves, was expressed in Walter Bagehot's highly influential English constitution (1867, rev. 1872), where the house of lords is described as safe from rough destruction but not from inner decay, the danger coming not so much from assassination as atrophy, not from abolition but decline. This description drew on Bagehot's distinction between the dignified and efficient parts of the constitution. The house of lords belonged to the first category: that house in its dignified capacity inspired a reverence in the people that attached them to the government. Yet, paradoxically, in view of the great respect for the aristocracy, the house of lords had been subordinate as a legislative chamber to the house of commons even before the Reform Act of 1832; and since then this subordination had grown ever more pronounced.

This historiographical review offers an overview of new approaches to the global history of the First World War. It first considers how, over the last decade, there has been a move to emphasize the war's imperial dimensions: in reconsiderations of the war in Africa, the experience of soldiers and workers from across Europe's colonial empires, and the German ‘global strategy’ of fomenting unrest within the Allied empires. It then suggests that new global histories of the First World War give further attention to its economic aspects, particularly in two ways: first, by recovering understudied global financial aspects of the war, including the effects of the 1914 financial crisis and wartime inflation on economies and societies far outside of Europe; and second, by investigating wartime histories of primary production, both in colonial territories and sovereign states in Latin America, Africa, and Southeast Asia. It argues that these approaches can offer an important corrective to common assumptions that the First World War led to a dramatic break with pre-war globalizing trends.

‘So Arthur Balfour is really leader – and Tory Democracy, the genuine article, at an end!’ Conventional historical wisdom has endorsed Randolph Churchill's judgement of 1891, attributing the demise of tory democracy partly to Balfour himself and partly to the inexorable forces of class division. Balfour's tactical ingenuity secured the defeat of Joseph Chamberlain's tariff reform, a valiant bid to revive tory democracy and turn back the tide of class politics; thereafter the Liberals, anxious to retain their working-class support, made the running on social reform, while the Unionists fell back on ‘negative’ policies and the middle-class vote. Yet perhaps historians have become the prisoners of their own orthodoxy. Though the ideology, the policies and the electoral bases of the new Liberalism have been extensively explored, the Unionists have been relatively neglected. Because it is assumed that before 1914 the Conservative party was devoid of proposals for social reform, one of the most obvious sources for such proposals has been overlooked: the Unionist Social Reform Committee of 1911 to 1914.