In general, we are all aware of the shortcomings of historical statistics. But this may be the moment, as the cliometricians dust off their computers, to take a closer look at one of the more attractive series, the statistics for foreign trade. Assuming that foreign trade figures exist at all and that they are not distorted beyond average by misrepresentation or fraud, the most difficult problems of interpretation are likely to arise over the origin and destination of the trade, the system of valuation of the products traded, and the classifications employed.

The most recent as well as the most comprehensive book on the statistics of the Atlantic slave trade has been written by Professor Philip D. Curtin. The Atlantic Slave Trade, A Census is a work which applies modern techniques and sophisticated analysis to the very difficult historical problem of the magnitude of the Atlantic slave trade. As Curtin himself states: ‘The dimensions of the nineteenth century slave trade have always been a matter of controversy — political controversy at the time and historical controversy since’. Professor Curtin's book will not put an end to the controversy, but it does suggest further areas for research. More work needs to be done on the historical sources from which the statistics of the slave trade are derived. This article examines the main sources available for assessing the importation of slaves into Cuba from 1790 to 1867 and analyses the statistics which these sources yield in the light of Curtin's conclusions.

Peasant movements in Brazil are not a recent phenomenon but have recurred throughout the history of this essentially agrarian nation. The earliest manifestations of peasant discontent were pre-political movements of both a religious and a secular nature. They were primarily local expressions of immediate felt needs, temporary outbursts against misery and oppression. They were largely atomistic movements, confined in time and space, and characterized by a lack of unity and effective communication. More important, they were most often led by social deviants who were generally incapable of expressing realistic social goals which had appeal beyond the local group.

The military coup d'état which installed General Maximiliano Hernández Martínez as President of El Salvador during December 1931 created a crisis involving the 1923 Washington Treaties. By the terms of these accords, the Central American nadons had pledged to withhold recognition from governments seizing power through force in any of the isthmian republics. Although not a signatory of the treaty, the United States based its recognition policy on this principle. Through this means the State Department had attempted to impose some stability in Central America, by discouraging revolts. With the co-operation of the isthmian governments, United States diplomats endeavored to bring pressure to bear on the leaders of any uprising, to deny them the fruits of their victory, and thus reduce the constant series of coups and counter-coups that normally characterized Central American politics.

In the middle of the nineteenth century, ecclesiastical wealth in Mexico consisted basically of real estate and mortgages. The Church avoided investments in mining, industry and commerce. There were regional differences, the Church being richer in some parts of the country than in others: in the two most important cities, Mexico and Puebla, the different ecclesiastical corporations owned about half of the total real estate, whereas in some of the smaller cities, such as Veracruz, Jalapa, Orizaba, Córdoba and San Luis Potosí, the Church was proportionately much poorer. The urban real estate consisted of houses rented on fairly favourable terms to both rich and poor, monastic buildings and churches. In the countryside, the Church was considerably poorer than in the cities: its haciendas were few compared to the number of those privately owned, and their value amounted to about 5 per cent of that of all rural estate. Real estate formed about one-half of Church possessions; the other half consisted of mortgages.

Recent explanations of the crisis in Uruguay have tended to focus either on the inadequacies of economic policy in the 1950s, or on the financial and moral implications of the social legislation of Uruguay. This article puts forward an alternative interpretation of the crisis, finding the fundamental causes of it in the manner in which modernizing forces were reconciled to traditional structures in the early decades of this century. The first section discusses the nature of the economic crisis, its immediate causes and some of its political repercussions. The second analyses Uruguay's reputation for political and social modernity. The third suggests the origins of the crisis in the policies of José Batlle y Ordóñez and the consequences they have had. The sections, therefore, broadly correspond to three different perspectives on the crisis–the first economic, the second political, the third historical.

In the short history of anthropology as an academic discipline, polemics tinged with personal recrimination have been a constant feature. One might even be led to suspect that controversy has become a firm technique, in line with conflict theory, so that in the middle ground between opposing interpretations of social behaviour may be found a more acceptable aspect of the truth. ‘Penetrating analyses’, so the aphorism might run, ‘are tempered in the fire of animosity.’ Some protagonists had a positive genius for attracting thinly-veiled contumely and for polarizing opinion, even after they had ceased to be practising anthropologists. Perhaps the best example of this was Radcliffe-Brown, as a perusal of the journals Oceania in 1955 and the American Anthropologist from 1951 to 1956 will readily disclose. This method of advancing knowledge, if we may call it such, did not die with Radcliffe-Brown; it has been used many times since—and the discipline is the richer, one hastens to add.

One of the most striking developments in Mexican historiography during the last twenty-five years is the burgeoning of the genre known as the ‘history of ideas’. The origins of the movement date back to 1925, when German historicist and existentialist philosophy made its entry into Mexico through the ideas of José Ortega y Gasset. More recently the impetus came from the seminar in the History of Ideas initiated at El Colegio de México and at the National University by the Spanish philosopher, José Gaos. So great has been the influence of Gaos that it is fair to say that until very recently die history of ideas or intellectual history in Mexico has been dominated by his students—men such as Luis Villoro, Francisco López Cámara, and Leopoldo Zea. Edmundo O'Gorman, while not a student of Gaos, shares his views and has come to be considered as a natural member of the history of ideas group.