Historians have long debated which continental sources gave a major impetus to the early Elizabethan religious reform. While many have examined the alleged Reformed influence on the English church, that of the Lutherans has also been discussed by some. However, these have in the main failed to appreciate the full implications of this German influence which was linked closely with ongoing diplomatic developments on the continent. During the early years of Elizabeth's reign, political considerations more than religious actually dominated the minds of politicians like William Cecil in formulating the nation's ecclesiastical policy. In fact, some key decisions on religion were the direct result of contemporary diplomatic talks with Lutheran princes.

In 1581 Antoinette de La Marck, the devout duchesse de Montmorency made a pilgrimage to the shrine of the Virgin at Montserrat in Catalonia. The next year her husband Henri de Montmorency, the governor of Languedoc, corresponded with the viceroy of Catalonia about the problem of banditry which was rife on both sides of the frontier. In 1583, Montmorency's servant carried letters to Charles Emmanuel, duke of Savoy, hidden in the soles of his shoes. During the festivities for the wedding of Charles Emmanuel to the infanta Catalina in 1585, Giuseppe Lercaro, Montmorency's Genoese-born intendant desfinances, spent some ten days in Barcelona concealed in the lodgings of Savoy's ambassador and had several clandestine interviews with both the duke and his new father-in-law Philip II. In 1588 Philip offered 100,000 francs towards the dowry of Montmorency's daughter Charlotte, provided that she married the son of the due de Guise and thus reconciled the two families whose rivalry had dominated the French political scene since the 1540s. These incidents, unremarkable as they may individually appear, formed part of the negotiations between Henri due de Montmorency and Philip II which, in notable contrast to those of the Spanish king with the Guise family, have been little studied by historians. Consequently, Montmorency's reputation now is generally that of a politique and patriot. This paper offers a rather different appraisal of him.

Viscount Scudamore had three great passions: God, cider and cattle, in that order. He was remembered for cultivating cider apples, breeding cattle, his learning, and most of all for his piety, rebuilding one church, endowing others and aiding distressed divines during the interregnum. Many commended his erudition. He stood on the fringes of that republic of letters which revolved around Mersenne, a friend of the philosophers Hobbes, DuBosc and Grotius, and known to Samuel Hartlib who considered him ‘a great schollar and studying hard continually’. In particular he was a great reader of theology. William Laud had to warn him to ‘Booke it not to much’ while William Higford advised his grandson to ask the viscount, ‘a great lover of learning and very learned’, to guide his own study. The viscount recommended Jeremy Taylor's Holy living and Holy dying to his son, whilst consulting with Laud and Henry Hammond for his own reading. Hammond directed him to Augustine, Aquinas, Peter Lombard, Suarez and Grotius; clearly he was no beginner. In the early eighteenth century Matthew Gibson, Scudamore's first biographer, was astonished at the amount oftheological notes amongst the first viscount's papers. These, however, have all but disappeared. DespiteScudamore's famed ‘affection to Divine knowledge…[and] good proficiencie in it’, it is no longer possible to construct a system of divinity for the viscount, if he did ever work out his theological position comprehensively; perhaps like his friend William Laud he preferred to leave off the deep points of divinity.

On 15 February 1647 hostility to the excise flared up at Smithfield market in London. A riot occurred when a purchaser of livestock refused to pay his excise and attempted to remove his livestock without doing so. When he was stopped by ‘the guard’ a crowd gathered in his defence. It was dispersed but another crowd gathered later burning down the excise office and ‘80. or 100.li [was] scattered and purloined’. The rioters were said to have drawn encouragement from excise disturbances in Norwich shortly before. The crowd that gathered later was led by butchers one of whom, William Taylor, was reported to have said that he would ‘bear down the Excise by Force’. The Kingdom's Weekly Intelligencer could not ‘heare of any man killed’, but remarked that the tumult ‘did arise to such a hight that many of the Officers of the excise were beaten, [and] their books torn’. The Weekly Account, emphasizing the seriousness of the riot, reported that the ‘Lord Mayor and Sherriffes of the City were forced to come in person to pacifie the tumult’.

The study of the agricultural history of Jamaica, particularly after the seventeenth century when England seized the island from Spain, has traditionally been dominated by investigations of the sugar industry. Recently a few scholars have deviated from this path to examine in varying degrees of detail, agrarian activities which did not represent the standard eighteenth-century West Indian route to wealth. Foremost among this growing body of literature are articles and papers on the livestock industry (and livestock farmers), arguably the most lucrative of the non-sugar economic activities in rural Jamaica, perhaps until the advent of coffee later in the eighteenth century. Intended as a contribution to the historiography of non-staple agricultural production in colonial Jamaica, this article traces the early establishment and expansion of the important livestock or ‘pen-keeping’ industry. But the history of pens must also be located within the context of the dominant sugar economy; for during the period of slavery, pens were largely dependent on the sugar estate to provide markets for their outputs. Indeed pens expanded as a result of the growth of the sugar industry and, therefore, the importance of the livestock industry in eighteenth-and nineteenth-century Jamaica is best appreciated by examining its economic links with the estates.

Between 1824 and 1828, the aged William Godwin, who thirty years before had written the speculative but highly successful Enquiry concerning political justice, published a four volume study of the English Republic, the History of the commonwealth of England. Godwin's publisher, Henry Colburn, paid an advance of five hundred pounds for what was originally conceived of as a work in two volumes, and he no doubt did so because he expected that the book would appeal to a public that showed a great deal of interest in the civil war period. One reason for this interest was that historical studies of the seventeenth century, and commentaries upon them in the reviews, played a significant role in contemporary political argument.

From the pageantry and elaborate stage-management of embassies in the early modern period to ping pong or panda diplomacy, policy-makers have used public rituals to dramatize or make statements about international relationships. For most of the nineteenth century the United States refused, in the name of republican simplicity, to sanction the wearing of court dress or the sending and receiving of ambassadors. Congress steadfastly refused to compromise with the standards of European monarchies on these symbols of American exceptionalism. Historians of diplomacy have neglected such phenomena, but concentration on them may allow a bridging of the gulf which Bernard Porter has lamented between their field and other sub-disciplines, commenting that the former remained ‘Newtonian survivals in the age of Einstein’.

‘Socialist planning’ was a notable, if unlikely casualty of Labour government after the Second World War. Between 1931 and the election victory of 1945, central economic planning was, in the words of G.D.H. Cole, the ‘professed creed of the Labour Party’. Depression and war demonstrated that the anarchy of free-market capitalism had to ‘give way to ordered planning under national control’. Labour won the election of 1945 with a commitment to ‘plan from the ground up’ through the socialization of industry, the establishment of a national investment board and the use of wide-ranging economic controls. Planning was the defining characteristic of Labour's socialism in this period and it could indeed be argued that the party did not find so effective a political rhetoric until ‘Labour and the scientific revolution’ in 1963.

From the perspective of the 1990s, scarcely an eyebrow would be raised by the news that in 1946 India complained internationally about South Africa's treatment of persons of Indian origin. It would be regarded as fully in keeping with the ethos – both domestic and international – of the age. Moreover, it would be seen as entirely appropriate that the complaint should have been lodged with the United Nations. For that body has not only become South Africa's scourge but has also played the leading role in the now-orthodox campaign against racism. Furthermore, if it were pointed out that this was, in fact, the very first occasion when anti-racist sentiments were given a significant international airing, the response might well be that the UN was set up to deal with just this kind of issue.