Any historian who sets out to write a book faces two dangers. The one might be called the “one more document syndrome,” the obsession with research that is so exhaustive that nothing further can be found. The other is the prospect of publishing a work, only to have further documentation come to light that was lacking in his original research or alters his conclusions. Perhaps the latter is the lesser danger because it at least permits part of the historical record to reach the public. It may be that I am prejudiced in that regard, having suffered this very experience. In a recent biography of Pedro Moya de Contreras, the first inquisitor of New Spain, third archbishop of Mexico, and interim viceroy, I wrote of his last years in Spain “one can only hope that future research and perhaps fortuitous discoveries will complete that part of his life's story.” The fortuitous discoveries were made within a few months after publication, happily by the author himself. They consist for the most part of a collection of documents in the library of the Instituto de Valencia de Don Juan in Madrid, especially the papers of Mateo Vázquez de Leca (1543-1591), Philip II's private secretary and an indefatigable hoarder of valuable documents.

On a warm December day in 1897 the political leadership of Minas Gerais converged on the small hamlet of Belo Horizonte to inaugurate a new capital for Brazil's most populous state. Foreshadowing the construction of Brasília six decades later, politicians and planners had transformed a rustic village of some 8,000 inhabitants into an enormous construction project. As with Brasília, those who promoted the move saw the new capital as a symbol and a catalyst. This planned city would symbolize the modernizing forces that were transforming Brazil and Minas Gerais at the turn of the century. More important, the rationally designed political center would also serve as a catalyst in the economic growth and integration of the state. In short, a modern, planned city would provide Minas Gerais with the dynamic economic and political capital that it so badly needed.

Photographs probably expanded more horizons and redefined more ways of knowing the world than any other product of nineteenth-century technology. The first daguerreotypes appeared in the Western Hemisphere merely months after the triumphal announcement of Daguerre's process by the French Academy in 1839. In the next three decades, millions of photographic images were produced. Three distinct categories predominated: studio portraits, scenic views for collectors and, after the early 1850s, photographic images transferred to woodcuts and, later, lithographs for publication as line sketches in illustrated newspapers and magazines. Photographic “science” complemented neatly the elite's striving for ways to affirm the region's material progress. Photographers played a vital role in presenting to the world a vision rooted in the aspirations of the dominant members of society.

The European occupation of Mesoamerica, set in motion by Columbus' voyages now almost five centuries ago, proved both enduring and pervasive. Not content simply to trade with the indigenous peoples from distant coastal forts or entirely new towns, the Spanish conquerors of Mexico moved right into Indian cities and, increasingly over time, Indian towns, villages, and their hinterlands. The conquerors' intention behind living in such close proximity was to better extract the local peoples' services and tributes and to convert them more effectively to every aspect of Hispanic culture. From the moment of their arrival Hernando Cortés and his followers sought to introduce a new king, a new god, and a new way of life into the land they called New Spain.

Spaniards introduced into the New World a custom called godparenthood, compadrazgo, which had both formal and informal connotations. The more formal, ritual ties were usually established at baptism, confirmation, or marriage ceremonies between the parents and coparents (comadres and compadres), and the godchildren (ahijados) and godparents (padrinos and madrinos). The terms comadre and compadre also connote an informal reference to adults in a relationship of mutual respect and friendship which differed from the ritual forms of godparentage. Godparental relations established formally or informally among Spaniards and Indians, as well as between the two races pervaded colonial society.

It is sometimes alleged that “history is written by the victors.” Perhaps, it is more accurate to say that “history is written by the rich.” The wealthy nations of the North Atlantic world, which have tended to dominate scholarship in modern times, have molded events in their own image. Thus, when considering the eighteenth century transformations, scholars with “global” vision such as Peter Gay, Jacques Godechot, and R.R. Palmer have interpreted the “Enlightenment” and the “Age of Democratic Revolutions” broadly, including both the experience of the United States and of select Western European nations. Yet these cosmopolitan scholars find no place for Spain or Latin America in their works. Gay describes Spain as the “other side of the eighteenth century,” while both Godechot and Palmer end the age of revolutions in 1799, thus excluding the Spanish and the Spanish American revolutions which occurred in the early nineteenth century.

This article attempts to compare the qualifications ascribed to law graduates who received appointments as oidores (royal judges) with their character and conduct as royal agents charged with the administration of the king's wishes, laws, edicts, and provisions. Because my conclusions are based on the conduct of royal judges serving in the appellate courts of Granada, Española, New Granada, Guatemala, and Mexico in the sixteenth century, this is not a definitive study. More than a thousand judges served in the New World audiencias (high courts) up to 1700. Moreover, judicial reviews (residencias), letters to the Crown, and related materials tend to stress sins of commission or omission rather than the good deeds of the royal magistrates. Sources also reflect differences between royal agents, conflict between royal agents and provincial officials, and the clash between the interests of the Crown, the church, and the colonists. Granted these limitations, enough documentation exists to observe the dichotomy between the administration of justice by magistrates, who were men of flesh and bone, and the idea of the wise and clement judge discharging the royal conscience by making it conform to natural and divine law.

People here don't care two straws about Central America, or Mosquitia or the Bay Islands or the Honduras boundary,” complained British Foreign Secretary Lord Clarendon to Prime Minister Lord Palmerston in December 1857, “all they wish for is freedom of interoceanic communication and this they believe can be achieved without a quarrel with the U.S.” Clarendon's bitter remark reflected his government's enduring frustration in arranging British holdings in Central America in accord with the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty of 1850. That diplomatic landmark was to have commenced an unprecedented era of Anglo-American cooperation in Central America that would finally fulfill the ancient dream of rapid interoceanic transit through the isthmus. The treaty prohibited colonization or fortification of Central America by either side and provided Anglo-American protection for a U.S. company's canalbuilding venture in Nicaragua. But the unfortunate document had yet to bring about the desired ends. No canal had materialized and the “Central American Question” would not go away. In vain the British government had tried to extricate itself from its embarassingly forward position in Central America. In the meantime, a wave of U.S. filibusters, urged on by the bold words and permissive attitude of their government, threatened to trample underfoot the treaty's prohibitions against foreign colonization. By the end of 1857, the Clayton-Bulwer treaty was in imminent danger of U.S. abrogation, and Palmerston and his cabinet had nearly despaired of ever exiting the isthmian quagmire with British honor intact, without at the same time opening the gates for the “most disageeable” Yankees.

In the study of Latin America's economic history, discussion of the role of the export sector in promoting development has entered a provocative new stage. Recently, advances in the understanding of export economies have questioned the view that export orientation is the principal cause of underdevelopment and dependence. New studies have demonstrated the impact of export growth on the increasingly efficient use of domestic factors of production improvement of transportation networks, urban and industrial diversification, and active state intervention accompanied by the rising political influence of middle and labor sectors. Yet despite the perceived importance of domestic and foreign credit during the heyday of export-led growth, and the often underestimated but crucial native struggle to control and direct Latin American financial structures, few of those works have analyzed the crucial links between the economic structure and native financial development.

Established in 1919 to be the Catholic voice of America, to look after church interests, and to offset the political influence of the Protestant Federal Council of Churches, the National Catholic Welfare Conference (NCWC) was a voluntary association of the American hierarchy meeting annually in convention. It implemented decisions through an administrative committee of seven bishops which operated a secretariat, also known as the NCWC, located in Washington, D.C. This headquarters had five departments (Education, Lay Activities, Legislation, Press, and Social Action) each with a director and all under the supervision of Reverend John J. Burke, C.S.P., the general secretary of the administrative committee and its representative at the capital.

In 1808 the Portuguese Crown ended centuries of imperial practice by opening Brazilian ports to the direct trade of friendly nations. This new royal policy caused considerable consternation among conservative Portuguese merchants and manufacturers who feared that a flood of foreign imports would drain precious metals out of the empire, and that economically stronger foreign merchants would monopolize Brazilian trade, thus ruining manufacturing in Brazil. Many Brazilian landowners, on the other hand, supported freer trade because they believed it would stimulate production and export of agricultural commodities. Ironically, one Brazilian product that did suffer dramatic decline resulting from the introduction of foreign competition was not a manufactured good, but an agricultural one, wheat.

The Relación De Las Ceremonías Y Ritos Y Población Y Gobernación De Los Indios De La Provincia De Michoacán is a complex, and beautiful, colonial text. We know that it was compiled by a Franciscan missionary, most probably Fray Jerónimo de Alcalá, although we cannot state his identity with complete certainty. We also know that it was based on the testimony of Michoacán's indigenous elite. Beyond that, however, it is not possible to obtain specific information about the text. For example, we do not know how or when the indigenous testimonies were collected, except that it was during the first twenty years after the Conquest (1519). The indigenous elite informants, with one exception, are also unknown.

Support by a segment of industrialists for Juan Perón has been a crucial feature of much writing about Peronism. This has been sustained by such diverse authors as Torcuato Di Tella, Miguel Murmis and Juan Carlos Portantiero, and Guillermo O'Donnell. Moreover, in many discussions of the nature of populism—in which Peronism is considered an epitome of the phenomenon—a critical role is played by a multiclass alliance which included both workers and industrialists. Yet in 1945 industrialists as a group did not support Perón. The year 1945 is critical to any discussion of the nature of Peronism because it was then that Perón built his core constituency. In addition, there occurred what can only be considered the founding myth of Peronism—the massive workers' demonstration of October 17. Later Perón was able to expand his support, but his base was created in 1945. In order to better understand both the development of Perón's support and then to reflect on what this tells us about the nature of populism, the relationship between Perón and industrialists will be explored from the military's seizure of power in June 1943 to the presidential elections in February 1946. During this period—although Perón was rapidly gathering power—he was not formally head of the government.

The fall of Nicaraguan strongman Anastasio Somoza in July 1979 contributed to the publication of an abundance of literature on United States-Central American relations and, like the literature before it, focused largely upon the crisis at hand. Two historical surveys appeared. Walter LaFeber's Inevitable Revolutions: The United States and Central America represented a revisionist approach, charging that United States economic imperialism is responsible for the present crisis. John Finding's Close Neighbors, Distant Friends: United States-Central American Relations is a straightforward account describing Washington's response to various crisis. Still an analysis of the literature is absent. In an effort to address that issue, this article examines the literature on United States-Central American relations in the twentieth century and concludes that the United States acted on behalf of its own security interests, whether or not the threat of foreign intervention had been real or imagined. In effect, the United States maintained the status quo and failed to deal with the structural problems responsible for the contemporary crisis.

In 1843, two friends, one Scottish and one American, published books about Mexico which were to become essential reading for students of Mexican history. Much the better known of the two is William Hickling Prescott whose History of the Conquest of Mexico became an instant best-seller and remains to this day one of the classics of Mexican historiography. Less well-known but equally valuable to historians of nineteenth-century Mexico is Frances Calderón de la Barca's vivid account of Life in Mexico based on her experiences during the two years from 1840-1841 when she lived in the country as the wife of the first Spanish ambassador. By coincidence, Prescott and Sra. Calderón were close personal friends and regular correspondents and they gave each other much assistance in preparing their respective books for publication. Both their works were greeted with critical and public acclaim in the English-speaking world of Europe and North America but reactions in Mexico were markedly different. While Prescott's book was received with qualified enthusiasm, Life in Mexico was the subject of hostile reviews and its author much vitriolic, personal abuse.