Mary Tudor's ecclesiastical policy is highly vulnerable to the criticism that it was negative and lacked a sense of direction. She seems to have reserved her efforts for the repeal of schismatic legislation and the burning of obstinate heretics. It is therefore easy to agree with those who see little positive zeal or spiritual content in the Marian Church —‘arid legalism’ is one recent verdict. And this condemnation includes Reginald Pole. He received extensive legatine powers from the Pope, enjoyed a wide reputation as a reforming Cardinal, and was trusted by Mary as her kinsman and adviser; we should therefore expect him to have employed in England all the available weapons of the Roman Church for an attack on heresy. Yet, in Professor Dickens' words, Pole and Mary ‘ failed to discover the Counter-Reformation ’.2 It is the intention of this article to examine the priorities which Pole followed in his plans for the Marian Church, and to investigate whether his legalistic approach and his rejection of the positive methods of the Counter-Reformation were the result of inefficiency or were based on a considered, though possibly mistaken, long-term policy.

Writers on Leibniz have frequently stressed the marked contrast in character between his metaphysics and his political theory. As a metaphysician Leibniz appears as a thinker of daring originality whose views have sometimes seemed to set up certain tensions with orthodox Christian teaching. In the field of political theory, however, we encounter a much more traditional and conservative figure. Writing in a post-Hobbesian period Leibniz is a determined opponent of any trend towards a secular analysis of political questions; yet, within a framework of conventional theological assumptions, he is quite as insistent as Hobbes that obligation is co-extensive with the ruler's ability to provide protection. In a large measure the conservatism of Leibniz's political views can be explained by reference to die external facts of his position. Occupying a semi-official post at the court of Hanover, Leibniz was dependent on the favour of his electoral patrons; his political writings tended to be occasional pieces composed with a view to promoting specific Hanoverian interests. Leibniz's experience of politics was thus confined to the world of a minor German court, and die narrowness of diis background placed him at a severe disadvantage for understanding the political debates of a country like England with quite different traditions.

It has been argued that the general election of 1852 marked the zenith of clerical influence in Irish politics in the nineteenth century. If so, it marked a barren use of power. The present paper is concerned with how such influence was acquired and why it was so curiously exercised; or, more precisely, with these questions in so far as the catholic hierarchy was concerned.

During the first half of the French Third Republic, before 1914, certain regions of France established themselves as ‘red’, areas where the extreme left of the political spectrum could rely on strong and regular popular support. One of the outstanding features of this geographical ‘partition’ of French politics was the extent to which the ‘red’ areas were located in the countryside, notably in the departments of small peasant property in the south. Radicals, socialists and latterly communists have all benefited from this fact of French political life, consistently carrying at elections departments such as the Creuse, the Haute Vienne, the Allier, Gard, etc. Contemporaries and historians alike have observed this phenomenon with some surprise, and we are now witnessing a concerted effort by French historians and political scientists to find convincing explanations for it. This article is intended as a contribution to the continuing debate.

In the House of Commons on 23 May 1892, following a speech by Joseph Chamberlain in qualified support of Balfour's Irish Local Government Bill, Tim Healy assailed ‘our Birmingham Diogenes’ with considerable warmth for the manner in which such support was habitually rendered:

What happens is this. The Government bring in a Bill. Its proposals are attacked, and the Government gets into distress, and then of course ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed’. The Rt.hon.Gentleman the Member for West Birmingham gets up and makes a speech. I have heard him make a speech on the Coercion Bill of 1887 in almost identical terms, and also on the Parnell Commission Bill of 1888.

Much as late-Victorian Nonconformists were inclined to take a simplified view of national politics, which they saw as a perpetual conflict between the agents of darkness and the apostles of light, students of the period have tended to take a simplified view of political Nonconformity, which was as multifarious in its secular loyalties as in its theological variations. The self-appointed guardians of the Nonconformist Conscience spoke with many voices, rarely in unison. Indeed, the individual who gave currency to that catchphrase, the Rev. Hugh Price Hughes, was - much by his Wesleyanism as by his idiosyncrasy - among the least typical of those whom he was alleged to represent.

At the outbreak of war in August 1914, the Germans poured out propaganda in the form of posters, leaflets and pamphlets, in an attempt to explain Germany's entry into the war and discredit the motives of the allies. The British government was greatly disturbed by the virulence of the German campaign, which was specially directed towards influencing the United States of America. At the end of August 1914, the matter was raised in the cabinet: ‘Mr Lloyd George urged the importance of setting on foot an organization to inform and influence public opinion abroad and to confute German mis-statements and sophistries.’ On 5 September the cabinet decided that steps were to be taken without delay to counteract the dissemination by Germany of false news abroad. Though there had been no peace-time precedent, the cabinet accepted the need for an organization to co-ordinate propaganda directed at foreign opinion for the duration of the war.

From August 1935 to July 1936 Sir Frederick Leith-Ross, the Chief Economic Adviser to the British Government, was away from Britain on an official mission to the Far East. While accepting that, as Hankey, the secretary to the cabinet, put it, after Leith-Ross had been away for several months, he was a ‘distinguished Civil Servant’ whose ‘services could, with difficulty, be spared from European problems’, the aim of this paper is not to describe in detail what Leith-Ross did during his lengthy Far Eastern sojourn: on that he himself wrote an account which was published just before his death. The purpose is rather, by studying the origins of the mission and the reactions to it in British Government circles concerned with Far Eastern policy, to cast light on that policy during Britain's last few years as a great power in the Far East.3 Within die Foreign Office itself, Far Eastern policy was to a large degree the preserve of die professional staff concerned with it. The most senior of these in 1935 were C. W. Orde, head of the Far Eastern department, Sir John Pratt and Sir Victor Wellesley.