Historians have misunderstood the fundamental nature of the English Jesuit mission of 1580–1. Beginning with A.O. Meyer in 1916 and continuing through John Bossy and Christopher Haigh in the 1970s and 1980s, historians have mistakenly characterized this mission as essentially pastoral. They have admired the Jesuit priests for their personal courage in the face of persecution but have simultaneously criticized them for their inability to sustain English catholicism among the laity. But in fact the mission was fundamentally political in nature, and Robert Parsons in particular hoped to use the mission to return England to the catholic fold, by force if necessary. Parsons's designs on Scotland and on James VI in the early 1580s are especially illuminating in this regard. The English mission failed in this its principal goal, and the exact nature of the missioners' failure must be understood for what it was.

This essay reexamines the fall of Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, in the last coup of Henry VIII's reign. Further evidence of Surrey's purported treason is uncovered. A study of his poetry reveals his allegiances, in religion and politics. The nature of the group which aligned against him – the ‘conjured league’ – is analysed, and the way in which he was betrayed, by whom and why, is discovered.

This paper investigates the relationship between constitutional ideas and political action during the 1630s by comparing the privately expressed ideas of Sir Simonds D'Ewes regarding ship money with his conduct regarding the levy, especially while he was sheriff of Suffolk in 1639–40. The first section investigates the constitutionalist views expressed in D'Ewes's ‘autobiography’, unpublished during his lifetime, and their relationship to D'Ewes's attitude to the political role of the levy. The second section studies D'Ewes's conduct as sheriff, in which he gave almost no expression to constitutionalist ideas, and suggests that he struck a middle course between neglect and zeal, while finding means to oppose the levy through his connections at court. The third section seeks to establish the reasons for the inconsistencies between D'Ewes's privately expressed ideas and his public conduct, which may have lain in a belief that, in the prevailing political situation, criticism of the levy had, in order to be effective, to be expressed in terms acceptable to potentially sympathetic courtiers; D'Ewes adapted the tone of his comments on ship money to his audience in order to achieve political ends, but had also to act in ways which would make that tone convincing. Participation in the collection of ship money was therefore not inconsistent with opposition to it.

This article contrasts the early careers of Thomas Cranmer and Stephen Gardiner, two Cambridge dons of approximately the same generation who diversified into politics in the late 1520s. It attempts to assess their developing attitudes to the religious changes of the period, and considers the nature of humanism in Cambridge University; it suggests, with the aid of new evidence, that in the 1520s, Cranmer was more conventional in his religion than Gardiner, but already showed an especial interest in the authority of a general council. Attention is drawn to their similar patterns of church preferment up to 1531. The crucial change in both men's careers is here seen as occurring in 1532; this change projected them in opposite theological directions for the rest of their intertwined careers. Gardiner took a leading part in the church authorities' unsuccessful attempt at taking a firm stand against Henry VIII's plans, while Cranmer made a clear breach with the medieval rules on clerical celibacy by marrying the niece of a Lutheran theologian.

This article is a study of Archbishop Abbot's attitude to puritan nonconformity. It contends that the accusations of laxness levelled against him by Laudian apologists such as Heylin and Clarendon can be discounted as the inevitable consequence of the very different standpoint from which they judged him. It was not laziness that led the primate to turn a blind eye to certain types of nonconformity, but rather a detached attitude – not shared by his anti-Calvinist opponents – which allowed him to differentiate between mild cases of conscience-induced ceremonial nonconformity which posed no danger to the status quo, and the factious high-profile stance of those who undermined the authority of the established church. By taking a very hard line against separatists and their ilk, Abbot felt he could justify the degree of tolerance he granted to those peaceable and orthodox preaching pastors with scruples over certain adiaphora, whose role was so crucial in the unremitting battle against popery to which he dedicated his life.

There has been disagreement among historians about the nature of the local response to the Diggers in Surrey, and about the relative importance of popular hostility and gentry-led opposition in the defeat of the Digger movement. It is argued here that a distinction must be made between the Diggers' reception in Walton and their treatment in Cobham: popular opposition was much in evidence in Walton, where the Diggers were treated as outsiders, but the response of Cobham's inhabitants was more ambivalent: some of Winstanley's most active fellow Diggers were Cobham inhabitants, and in this parish it was the local gentry who took the lead in the campaign against them. It is argued that the existence of a degree of local support for Winstanley was in part a reflection of Cobham's long tradition of landlord/tenant conflict, of the absence of a settled minister during the 1640s, and of the hardships experienced in the area in the aftermath of civil war.

Debates over billeting and martial law arose in the parliament of 1628 in conjunction with such other grievances as the forced loan and discretionary imprisonment employed by royal servants from 1626 onward to keep alive the war effort against the monarchs of Spain and France. Both houses dealt with billeting rather quickly, the Lords by resolving a dispute among magistrates and military officers in Banbury, Oxfordshire, and the Commons by hearing general and particular complaints from civilians, expelling a member who signed an order for billeting, and petitioning the king. Attacks upon the employment of military law internally when a state of war did not exist in England originated in the Commons, reawakened fears over the perceived threat of Roman or civil law superiority to the common law, and set off fierce debates in which royal servants and civil lawyers supported and leading common lawyers denounced as illegal the commissions of martial law issued by the privy council. Underlying these debates, as with those over discretionary imprisonment, were conflicting interpretations of England's ancient constitution with practical consequences for the governance of the realm.

Contrary to received historical wisdom, Sir Robert Walpole, the pragmatist par excellence, was diverted by political ideas. Thus he invested time and an unprecedented amount of money in political newspapers. This article investigates the primary pro-government newspapers and, as well as identifying the leading circle of political writers sponsored by Walpole, addresses the varied and complex arguments that appeared in their ‘leading essay’ each week for twenty years. After identifying some common but misleading historical representations of Walpolean political thought, the article examines the treatment of three broad philosophical questions – human nature, the origin, nature and extent of government, and political morality – so demonstrating that Walpole's spokesmen were not narrowly pragmatic. Subsequently, the article focuses upon the careful pro-government response to the common charges that Walpole corrupted the political system and betrayed traditional whig values. In doing so, the article highlights the skills of some underrated eighteenth-century political writers and, more importantly, emphasizes the union of government and ideology in Walpolean political thinking.

The origins of the Scottish National Covenant of 1638 in the traditional practice of banding have been explored in the past, as have the links between the Covenant and a millenarian perception of the Scots as an elect or covenanted nation. By locating the Covenant in the context of the sort of debate that went on about the legitimacy of the Five Articles of Perth after 1618, and in particular by considering the use in that debate of arguments relying on the Negative Confession of 1581, this paper suggests that the Covenant may have had less to do with asserting the particular heritage and destiny of the Scottish people than with re-tying the bonds of the universal law of God.

This essay deals with the problem of the roots of Ostrogorski's well-known approach to the problem of political parties, showing that: (1) Ostrogorski's approach is highly dependent on the nineteenth-century debate among the English intelligentsia about a supposed ‘American model’; (2) James Bryce was at the centre of an intellectual network assuming that ‘modern politicsxyr could become the subject of a sort of ‘scientific approach to politics’ more up to date than the traditional one depending on Tocqueville's school; (3) Ostrogorski betrayed Bryce's expectation of a balanced research on the transformation of modern politics because of his dependence on an old-fashioned liberal mind (as evident from his correspondence); (4) this cleavage between the two interpretations of political development was perceived and led to a certain discussion among English and American political scholars (and in this framework Lowell's contribution is peculiarly worthy of attention).

The causes and consequences of the quarrels between Louis XV and the parlements in the third quarter of the eighteenth century continue to provoke a lively debate amongst historians. In France, the traditional thesis of a reforming monarchy confronted by the selfish obstructionism of the judiciary has many adherents. However, few Anglo-American scholars favour such an interpretation and some have gone as far as to reject the existence of a crisis altogether. Research is also concentrated upon the consequences of these disputes, and their importance to the development not only of parlementaire constitutionalism, but even of a new political culture. In order to contest these conflicting interpretations, this article takes afresh look at the Besançon affair of 1757–1761. In one of the most heated political battles of the reign, thirty judges were exiled from the parlements of Besançon, provoking a lively response from the other parlements, headed by that of Paris. By examining the origins of the dispute in Franche-Comté, and the subsequent reaction of both the government and the Parisian magistrates, this article offers a new picture of the causes of crisis and of how judicial politics actually worked.

The aim of the high church agitation in the 1690s for a convocation was to establish doctrinal discipline within the anglican church. When convocation met in 1701 the lower house produced censures on Toland's Christianity not mysterious and Burnet's Exposition of the thirty-nine articles.

It was Francis Atterbury who insisted that Burnet's Exposition was heretical. He had long been critical of Burnet's views on the trinity and his erastian interpretation of English church history in his History of the reformation. And if Burnet's History was an attempt re-write English church history from the perspective of a latitudinarian, then his Exposition was its theological counterpart.

It was assumed that the charges against Burnet were lost. But a copy of them has surfaced and it confirms that it was the connection between latitudinarians and dissent which led to the attack on Burnet. In his zeal to heal divisions within anglicanism and between anglicans and other protestants Burnet had introduced a ‘latitude and diversity of opinions’ which misrepresented true anglican doctrine. This was dangerous, because Burnet intended his Exposition as ‘a platform laid for Comprehension’ with the dissenters and other ‘Adversaries of our Church’. These included obvious heretics like socinians and the deist Toland.

This article is a case study of labour strife in the Alabama coal fields from 1917 to 1921. It speaks to the broader issue of labour repression in the American South by examining the patterns of repression in one industry and in one state. Several revisionist works have been written recently refuting the alleged distinctiveness of the South on the labour issue. This article supplies evidence for a surprising degree of labour militancy; the type of militancy that has been used to buttress revisionist interpretations of the similarity of southern labour to that of other American regions. In this study, however, labour militancy is understood more as a function of the desperation of southern workers confronted with distinctive issues and degrees of racial acrimony, communal antipathy toward labour, and the advantageous position of southern coal operators vis-a-vis their northern counterparts. In the face of overwhelming odds of governmental, business, press, religious, communal, and legal opposition, Alabama coal miners mounted a militant, prolonged, and biracial protest against what have been described as the worst conditions in the United States at that time.

Madeleine Rebérioux was right to wonder whether France was truly a ‘Radical republic’ in the years between the Dreyfus affair and the Great War. Archives only opened or explored since Rebérioux published in 1975, and the re-interpretation of older newspaper sources, show that control of the Third Republic was still hotly contested in those years. The Radicals tried to build a republic in their own image, but in a situation where left and right were closely balanced, they were almost always foiled. Crucial to this process was a politically republican but socially conservative centre – best typified by the A.R.D. The A.R.D. wanted a Third Republic frankly favourable to the interests of big business. Since it held the parliamentary balance of power between the left and a right only partly republican, it generally got its way. Statistical sources also support this interpretation.

Between the sixteenth and eighteengh centuries, the nobility of the Polish–Lithuanian commonwealth had developed an ideology of extreme individualism and libertarianism, within a correspondingly weak and decentralized state structure. The first partition of 1772 starkly revealed the weaknesses of the Polish polity, but any hopes of major political overhaul were frustrated by the dead hand of Russian ambassadorial policing. The war of 1787–92 with Turkey proved a temporary distraction for Russia, which the Polish parliament of 1788–92 showed itself only partly capable of exploiting. Factional conflicts and a wary conservatism hampered reforms: the ideas of Montesquieu and Rousseau, which closely complemented so many aspects of traditional Polish noble ideology, seemed to offer the most acceptable way forward, culminating in the constitution of 3 May 1791, a compromise between enlightened idealism and political pragmatism.

M.P.s who supported the Grey, Melbourne, Russell and Palmerston governments were all described as ‘Liberals’ in contemporary registers such as those by Dod and McCalmont. However, historians have recently attempted to differentiate intellectually among these M.P.s, and in particular to sort out the liberals from the whigs. A difficulty here is that, in a period which was almost equally dominated by religious and ecclesiastical issues on the one hand and social and economic issues on the other, it appears that those politicians who were most ‘liberal’ in one context were least ‘liberal’ in the other. The subject of this article, Lord Morpeth, conformed to a type of ‘whig–liberal’ politician whose social policies were ‘whig’ rather than ‘liberal’, but who exemplified that tolerant approach to religious politics which has been termed ‘liberal Anglican’. It is possible to infer Morpeth's theological views from his many comments on sermons and devotional texts, and it appears that the best way to understand his religion (and its impact on his politics) is in terms, not of liberal Anglicanism, but of incarnationalism combined with a type of joyous pre-millenarianism (or jolly apocalypticism) not uncharacteristic of the mid nineteenth century. Reacting against the evangelical and high church revivals, yet sharing their piety and rectitude, Morpeth's incarnational religion represented an attempt to reconcile a theory of individual personality with ideas of community and brotherhood – to soften the ‘spiritual capitalism’ implied by ‘moderate’ Anglican evangelicalism, while retaining its emphasis on individual responsibility. Its secular equivalent was the type of ‘half-way’ social reform espoused by many whig-liberals in the third quarter of the century.

It is normally assumed that antisemitism in post-war France needs to be understood primarily in the light of the German occupation of 1940–4. This article seeks to describe the relationship between political antisemitism and events after 1945. Special attention is given to the issue that obsessed a large part of the French right: the loss of Algeria. It is argued that between 1954 and 1962 right-wingers came to took on the Jewish population of Algeria, which was often fervently opposed to French withdrawal, with new favour. Furthermore, many right-wingers began to admire Israel, which seemed so successful in combating Arab nationalism and which was widely believed to have links with the Organisation de l' Arméte Secrète. Changes in attitudes to Israel and the Jews were linked with a wider change in the French right that had been going on since 1945: most of the right now focused their loyalties around ‘l' occident’ a block of nations led by America and including Israel rather than around the France that was so important to Gaullist thinking. Finally, an attempt is made to show how the French right's new attitude to the Jews influenced its reaction to the 1965 Presidential election campaign, de Gaulle's denunciation of Israel in 1967 and the student riots of 1968.

The role of decolonization in the decline of the British empire has received a great deal of attention. In comparison there has been little research or analysis of the process of dedominionization affecting Australia and the other dominions. During the Second World War economic ties were seriously weakened and there were substantial conflicts over economic policy between the British and Australian governments. Australia refused to reduce imports in order to conserve foreign exchange, thus contributing to the United Kingdom's debt burden. The Australian government insisted that the British guarantee Australia's sterling balances and refused to adopt the stringent fiscal policies requested by the Bank of England and the British treasury. Australia also took the opportunity to expand domestic manufacturing industry at the expense of British manufacturers. Economic separation and conflict were complemented by political and strategic differences. In particular, the Australian government realized that British military priorities made it impossible for the United Kingdom to defend Australia. This led the Australians towards a policy of cooperating with the British embargo on Japan, only to the extent that this would be unlikely to provoke Japanese military retaliation. In general, the Australians preferred a policy of compromise in the Far East to one of deterrence preferred by the British.

This article is concerned with political divisions within the Dublin Society of United Irishmen in a period, 1792–1794, which historians, accepting the contemporary argument of its leaders, have generally agreed demonstrated the society's unity of purpose. It is argued that ideological tensions existed between the middle-class leadership and the middling-class rank and file which reflected the existence of two different conceptions of radicalism, one ‘Jacobin’ and one ‘sans-culotte’. These tensions are brought to light through an examination of the dispute between William Paulet Carey and William Drennan, which culminated in the latter's trial in 1794, and the career of the former until he exiled himself from Ireland after the ijg8 rebellion. It is further argued that, because these ideological differences have been ignored, historians have wrongly assumed that Carey was a political turncoat. In reality, he remained true to the sans-culotte principles of direct democracy and rotation of office, even after his ostracism. Carey's deep suspicion of the motivation of the United Irish leaders came to be accepted by Drennan in retrospect.