This article deconstructs a character that was ubiquitous within parliamentarian pamphlet literature in the English civil war: the “malignant,” whose “party” had been identified in the Grand Remonstrance of December 1641 as conspiring to destroy parliament and the true religion. Thereafter, the existence of this party became central to parliamentarian justifications of the war effort and to the activities of radical extra-parliamentary activists. The malignant thus became bound up in contests within the parliamentarian coalition, something reflected by the issuing of new remonstrances by London's Presbyterians, Levellers, and the New Model Army, each of which hinged on the identification of a new enemy. Despite these efforts, the specter of the malignant continued to haunt parliamentarian discourse after the regicide, although its meaning became increasingly ambiguous, symptomatic of the challenges facing the post-regicidal regimes as they sought to transcend the ideological parameters of the civil war in the name of “settlement.”

This article traces the transformation of martial law during the Civil Wars and Interregnum culminating with the creation of the High Courts of Justice in the 1650s. The Long, Rump, and Protectorate parliaments used, adapted, and combined martial law procedures with others to solve some of the most difficult and pressing legal problems they faced. These problems included the trial of spies, traitors to the parliamentary cause, Charles I and his royalist commanders of the Second Civil War, and conspirators, plotters, and rebels during the 1650s. The Long Parliament, the English Commonwealth, and the Protectorate governments used these legal innovations to control discretion at law, and to terrorize dissidents into obedience. The Petition of Right, whose makers had demanded that English subjects only be tried by life and limb by their peers in peacetime, was overturned in order to meet these challenges.

This article explores the impact of the 1654 ordinance against challenges, duels, and provocations. Despite the Council of State's original intentions, this legislation offered non-elites the opportunity to prosecute threatening and abusive language as “provocations,” recasting interpersonal conflicts as dangerous to society rather than to an individual's “common fame.” Indeed, many of the cases prosecuted at the Middlesex sessions centered on “provocative” behavior that questioned normative social and gender relations, revealing how the Protectorate's anti-dueling legislation provided a new weapon in contests over social power. Comparing the creation and implementation of the 1654 ordinance, this article argues that the Protectorate's legislation exposed the connections between the regulation of social interactions and the preservation of the social and political order.

This study aims both to build upon and to challenge recent historiographical interest in the cultural origins and religious associations of royalism in the midseventeenth century by examining the devotional character of the exiled royalist community of the 1650s. Focusing primarily upon those royalists closely affiliated with the court of Charles II, it assesses the impact of disillusionment, dislocation, penury, and forced mobility upon the subsequent framings and reframings of religious identities. It considers the multiple venues in which these articulations appeared and were negotiated—through personal correspondence, print, diplomacy, rumor, and conversion—in order to illuminate the challenges posed to the maintenance of clear confessional boundaries and community ideals. In doing so, this article argues for the incorporation of a much broader sense of the impact of the “English Revolution” that considers the full geographical, chronological, and cultural scope of these upheavals across Britain, Ireland, and Continental Europe.

This article explores the events surrounding the Monitor controversy, which stemmed from radical criticism of the crown's conservative approach to the war between Spain and Great Britain in 1762. While some observers wished to quickly bring the war to an end, others expressed more radical plans for the destruction of the Spanish Empire. When the crown retaliated against prominent agitators with a round of arrests designed to silence their dissent, the result was a succession of legal cases that culminated with Entick v. Carrington in 1765. In their arguments, the plaintiffs expressed concern that the British Empire was seemingly in danger of evolving into an oppressive, allegedly “Spanish” style of polity. These legal processes and the precedents they set were critical to the development of protected space for political dissent in the British Empire, and affirmed a more broadly participatory model for the future development of imperial policy.

William Austin (1802–1857), the child of Deptford laborers, was adopted de facto as an infant by Princess Caroline, the estranged wife of the Prince of Wales. She rendered the child's identity such a mystery that it prompted the Delicate Investigation in 1806, a quasi-judicial affair published in 1813 in the vexed volume known as The Book. “Prince Austin” was regularly on stage during Caroline's carnivalesque rambles on the Continent from 1814 to 1820, frequently attacked in the loyalist press as “that bastard Billy Austin.” In the uproar of the Queen Caroline affair in 1820, Austin remained a target of loyalist scorn. Because Queen Caroline named him her residuary legatee at her death in 1821, his name registered aftershocks of queenite disruption through the middle of the century. In these narrative contests about Austin's identity, the metonymic traffic between a provisional family form and an absolutist national model bobbed and weaved in a disorderly fashion on the conspicuous stage of a dysfunctional royal family. On this prominent platform, adoptive contingency intermittently confounded closed absolutism.

The events of the Easter Rising have been subjected to extensive analysis by historians who have focused on military strategy as a means of explaining the occupation of specific sites. However, Jacob's Biscuit Factory and the South Dublin Union have proven resistant to this paradigm. The political value of both places can be understood by giving close attention to the long history of antagonism between these two institutions and the Irish Transport and General Workers' Union, out of which the Irish Citizen Army that fought in the rising was formed. In his articles for the Irish Worker and Workers' Republic, James Connolly adapted traditional republican discourse of economic emancipation through political sovereignty to address a contemporary urban context. An understanding of the way that this discourse functioned facilitates an understanding of the role of Jacob's Biscuit Factory and the South Dublin Union in the Easter Rising: as sites of actual and symbolic liberation. This analysis of popular discourse in the contemporary press offers a new approach to the study of events that have been termed the Irish Revolution, and it presents a model for understanding the way that republican discourse accommodated the very different political objectives of Irish separatists.

The memoirs of six “scholarship boys”—Richard Hoggart, Frank Kermode, Eric Hobsbawm, Harold Perkin, A. H. Halsey, and Brian Magee—reveal the deeply varied experience of academically gifted working- and lower-middle-class males in the twentieth century. The arc from social outsider to cultural prominence drew upon a commitment to humanism acquired in their youth. Scholarship boys navigated the crosscurrents of post-industrial culture in many ways but shared an unwillingness to accept uncritically the sophisticated reductions of postmodern theory and the “creative destruction” of neoliberal practice. The life writing of these figures reveals the often-concealed subjectivities behind academic success, including the desire in old age to honor the lived worlds of their youth. Humanism remained a continuing though not always dominant strain in post-industrial culture.