The aim of the high church agitation in the 1690s for a convocation was to establish doctrinal discipline within the anglican church. When convocation met in 1701 the lower house produced censures on Toland's Christianity not mysterious and Burnet's Exposition of the thirty-nine articles.

It was Francis Atterbury who insisted that Burnet's Exposition was heretical. He had long been critical of Burnet's views on the trinity and his erastian interpretation of English church history in his History of the reformation. And if Burnet's History was an attempt re-write English church history from the perspective of a latitudinarian, then his Exposition was its theological counterpart.

It was assumed that the charges against Burnet were lost. But a copy of them has surfaced and it confirms that it was the connection between latitudinarians and dissent which led to the attack on Burnet. In his zeal to heal divisions within anglicanism and between anglicans and other protestants Burnet had introduced a ‘latitude and diversity of opinions’ which misrepresented true anglican doctrine. This was dangerous, because Burnet intended his Exposition as ‘a platform laid for Comprehension’ with the dissenters and other ‘Adversaries of our Church’. These included obvious heretics like socinians and the deist Toland.

This is a study of a successful parliamentary campaign led throughout the 1920s by a small group of backbench Labour MPs aimed at abolishing the military death penalty for the offences of cowardice and desertion. It was sustained in the face of opposition from the military establishment, the Conservatives, and finally the House of Lords. The campaigners used the opportunity afforded by the requirement on government to pass, annually, an Army Bill, to challenge the military establishment's insistence that a capital penalty was essential to the maintenance of army discipline. Despite the unwillingness of the 1924 Labour government to confront the military on this issue, the reformers persevered, securing some minor, incremental reform before the coming of the second Labour government in 1929. The new government was prevailed upon by backbench pressure to authorize a free vote in the Commons which approved the abolition of the capital penalty for cowardice and desertion in the Army Act of 1930.

In 1808, an Estate of the lesser nobility of the Lower Austrian diet approved a statute barring from membership persons of Jewish descent in the ‘third degree’ regardless of confession. It is the only documented instance in Europe for the revolutionary era of such a paragraph that, in its rejection of Jewish ancestry in both the paternal and maternal lines, resembled the early modern Spanish statutes of ‘blood purity’ and the twentieth-century Nuremberg laws. The Josephian patent of toleration of 1782 had not allowed Jews to become members of the corporate nobility (the first Jew was only ennobled in 1789), but had relieved some of the worst aspects of discrimination. By the early nineteenth century, the archduchy of Lower Austria (including the imperial capital at Vienna) contained the largest, wealthiest, and most self-confident Jewish community in the Hapsburg Monarchy. The statute of 1808 was a reaction to Jewish acculturation to the upper class (including conversion, intermarriage, concessions of property-rights, the existence of salons in which Jews and new Christians mixed with the nobility) that presented a perceived threat to the status of its marginal members (lesser landed nobles, ennobled officialdom, and ennobled professionals). The statute was also a product of the politically and nationally charged atmosphere in Vienna between the Austrian defeat by Napoleon at Austerlitz (1805) and the renewed war against France (1809). No simple ideological continuum connects the Lower Austrian paragraph to either the early modern Spanish or the late modern Nazi ordinances. But it was the first such statute to take shape in a political context fraught with recognizably late modern concepts of ‘nation’. The statute of 1808 furthermore evidences the continuing fractured nature of public authority and lack of thorough-going state-formation in Austria.

When we believed that Locke had written Two treatises of government to justify the Glorious Revolution, we could say a great deal about his purposes in relation to the events of 1688–89. The book served to interpret those events, to disclose their underlying meaning; philosophy and action were joined in such a manner that both gained lustre from the link. But, now we have generally accepted the view that Locke actually wrote Two treatises in the partisan heat of the Exclusion debate, and we have stopped saying very much of anything about the book's relation to William III and the events of the year in which Locke anonymously published it.

Liberalism in Devon and Cornwall before 1914 pursued a traditional ‘democratic’ rhetoric based on a class division which associated the Liberal party with ‘the people’ and Unionism with a privileged aristocracy. The ‘new Liberalism’ and social reform were unimportant. In the 1920s, the Gladstonian trinity of peace, retrenchment and free trade comprised easily the most common theme in Liberal candidates’ speeches. The Gladstonian tradition remained central to Liberalism because it accurately reflected the preoccupations of the party's core supporters in the region. There was apparently no belief amongst Liberals that the party's policies after 1918 were out-dated and irrelevant; their view is supported by an analysis of the 1923, 1924 and 1929 contests and their results.

Throughout the period, Liberal candidates were as ready and able as their opponents to use the coarser arts of electioneering. Liberalism was not wedded to a restricted Edwardian electorate with a relatively high level of political intelligence. The argument that it was is contradicted by contemporary accounts that the electorate of the 1920s was more thoughtful and less susceptible to emotional appeals than were pre-war voters.

On the fourth of July 1754 a garrison of Virginians, under the command of the young George Washington, marched its British colours out of a small log fort in an isolated valley of the Appalachian mountains, where it had capitulated to a French detachment the previous evening. Washington's defeat had an impact upon world history no less significant than did his more famous victories subsequent to a more dramatic removal of British colours, on another fourth of July twenty-two years later. The French expulsion of British colonials from the Ohio valley led to nine years of war in America and quickly escalated into seven years of general war, so wide in its geographical extent that Churchill called it the first world war. At the end of hostilities in 1763 the acquisition from France of Canada and a number of West Indian islands laid the foundations of the nineteenth-century British empire.

Dadabhai Naoroji's ‘drain theory’ of British imperialism described the way in which a colonial government could abscond with the wealth of a dependent country, leaving it impoverished. This theory conceptualized ‘poverty’ as the negation of liberal ‘citizenship’. As such, through an exposition of Naoroji's thought, this article offers an insight into both the origins of the Indian political subject and Indian anti-colonialism. In doing so, it opens up an avenue for investigating how Indian thinkers locally adapted modular concepts of a Western provenance and then reintroduced them into the metropole, contributing to the heterogeneity of the Victorian liberal canon. Finally, Naoroji's imperial critique is compared to that of prominent British anti-imperialists, especially John Hobson, in order to demonstrate that Dadabhai's economic account of empire not only pre-dates Hobson's thesis but that it was more expansive in its criticism and more hopeful about the ‘progress’ of indigenous peoples.

The leading Fabians held different versions of permeation: Shaw saw permeation in terms of weaning the Radicals away from the Liberal party, so he favoured an independent party; Webb defined permeation in terms of the giving of expert advice to a political elite without any need for a new party. These varieties of permeation can be traced in the individual and collective actions of the Fabians, and, in particular, in their attitude to the formation of the Independent Labour party (I.L.P.). The Fabians did not simply promote the I.L.P. nor did they simply oppose the I.L.P.

The years 1920–5 constituted a pivotal phase in the development of twentieth-century British politics. At the same time, Ireland continued to be a potentially explosive issue despite the signing of the 1921 treaty. This was so because the agreement failed to resolve the dispute at the heart of the Irish question: namely, whether or not Ireland would be a united or a divided nation. This problem was particularly acute for the Conservative party, as it could revive splits between former Coalitionists and die-hards and, further, would hinder efforts aimed at winning over Liberal votes during the crucial 1924 general election. When Labour's first government was unwillingly forced to confront the Irish problem, Stanley Baldwin and his Conservative colleagues worked to contain the quarrel between the Irish Free State and Northern Ireland. Only by doing so could they then concentrate on other issues which were more likely to attract support for the tories and, further, to ensure that their party and Labour would dominate British politics to the exclusion of the Liberals.

This article reassesses interwar French advertising through the case study of alcohol, one of the period's most widely advertised and popular products. Examining the ways in which alcoholic beverages were branded, marketed, and advertised, the article revises the historiography of French advertising in several ways. Histories of interwar French advertising have described an industry that was retarded and underdeveloped, or else slowly progressing through the application and adaptation of American practices. By contrast, this article suggests that during the period French advertising was a remarkably successful enterprise which should be analysed on its own terms rather than through the dominant paradigm of Americanization. French interwar publicity innovations, like the alcoholic beverages that utilized them, were very much ‘home grown’ phenomena. Both were firmly rooted in Belle Époque advertising traditions and contemporary French consumer patterns. Advertising did not create a new consumer culture; instead it reflected and was, in turn, shaped by the society in which it operated and the products being advertised.

The career of the third Viscount Palmerston as foreign secretary and prime minister has been thoroughly studied, but few are aware that he was one of the first Irish landlords to finance the emigration of starving tenants during the great Irish famine. Although the first boatloads of emigrants were well outfitted, by the end of 1847 Palmerston stood accused of cruelly mistreating his departing tenants. One Canadian official compared conditions on the vessels he chartered to those of the slave trade. Given the tremendous detail with which historians have scrutinized Palmerston's long career, it is surprising that no thorough account of either the management of his Irish estate or of his emigration scheme has ever been written. An examination of the programme under which 2,000 residents of Palmerston's Sligo estate fled to America in 1847 adds significantly to our understanding of the career of one of Britain's most important nineteenth-century statesmen, the complicated motives driving landlords to ‘shovel out’ their impoverished tenants, and an often-forgotten means by which thousands of the most destitute famine-era immigrants made their way to America.

The study of British attitudes to the French Revolution continues to attract substantial scholarly attention. In recent years, this has resulted not only in the excavation of a substantial volume of new detail, but also in increasing attention being paid to the political experiences of members of the middling and lower orders during the revolutionary and Napoleonic decades. While historians have been interested in radicals and reformers from these social strata since the publication of E. P. Thompson's The making of the English working class in 1963, it is only more recently that their loyalist and less partisan counterparts have been examined by scholars to the same extent. This article begins by summarizing the recent publication of large collections of primary sources and of major biographies in this area. It then discusses recent historiographical advances and debates in the following areas: the British debate over the French Revolution; the political participation of members of the middle and working classes in patriotic and loyalist activities; the culture of popular politics; and the question of national identity.

During the seven years of Edward VI's reign, a variety of ideas about how best to reform the religious, economic, political, and social structures of the English commonwealth were devised, debated, and enacted. London's citizens and governors were increasingly occupied with developing legislative and institutional solutions for pressing social ills such as poverty and vagrancy: the question of how best to govern the commonwealth was not just a philosophical dilemma, but a practical concern. It was within this context that the first English translation of Thomas More's Utopia appeared in London. Published in 1551 by a group of citizens with a keen interest in social reform, the English Utopia may best be described as constituting an engagement with ideas of ‘good government’. This article draws on surviving evidence for the activities and concerns of Utopia's producers, and in particular the sponsor and instigator of the translation, George Tadlowe, in order to demonstrate that this publication represented a timely combination of humanist theory and political practice typical of the civic culture of the Edwardian reformation.

Between 1917 and 1919 the United States made its first, spectacular intrusion into European power politics. For President Wilson, entry into the First World War was a chance not only to eliminate an immediate threat to American interests but also to transform international relations. The time had come to weld the industrialized countries into a community of interest, based on a shared loyalty to representative government and the market economy, expressed by membership of a League of Nations, and in which economic and territorial causes of tension would have been removed. But hardly had the German obstacle to this programme been overcome before, at the peace conference of 1919, Wilson ran up against almost equally determined obstruction from his former allies. This article examines one source of that antagonism, in the latent conflict before the armistice between American war aims and those of France. It argues that French policy was moulded by a tension between the Paris leaders' own desires for the settlement with Germany and their need to preserve a system of alliances deemed essential for French security in the future as well as for the war itself. By 1917 French governments were already confronted with dilemmas which were to harass them for the succeeding twenty years.

While non-German biographers of Bismarck have usually kept a healthy distance from their subject, German biographers have often allowed their political and religious views to influence their portraits. Most German historians of the ‘long nineteenth century’ were fascinated by, as Hegel would have called it, the genius of such a ‘world historical individual’. Their work greatly influenced the images of Bismarck during the time of the Weimar Republic and the Third Reich. Their counterparts in the 1960s and 1970s, however focused critically on the ‘impersonal’ movements of the Bismarckian empire. These, Marxist influenced, analyses did not include any biographies. It was only in the 1980s that three biographers achieved a politically detached evaluation of the chancellor's personality. With the centenary of Bismarck's death in 1998, a return to the pre-1980s views can be noticed in biographies of the chancellor. They threaten to oversimplify Bismarck's personality and government technique again.

That Magdalene College should commemorate the centenary of a celebrated son is generous, in two ways. First, because modern England owes a felt debt to Newman, whether it is to Cardinal Newman or only Mr Newman; and since the quarrel between Kingsley and Newman still reverberates out of the Victorian age like the quarrel between Wilberforce and Huxley, anyone who feels any kind of debt to Newman is bound to have less than the highest natural sympathy for Kingsley. The second reason is that Kingsley's attitude to his own college was at one time so tense with contempt, and diis contempt expressed publicly, and read in all the middle-class homes of England, that the contemporary fellows of the college might be pardoned for being tepid when in i860 he came back to Cambridge as a don.

In the January 1916 issue of the Nineteenth Century the Reverend Robert H. Murray contributed the first of two articles on Irish insurrectionary movements during the wars with France at the end of the eighteenth century. He prefaced his text with some homilies directed at the British government of his ow n time:

During the early months of the present War the prospects of the invasion of these islands by sea as well as by air were discussed and prepared for by naval and military authorities. As the struggle developed month by month there has been less discussion of such contingencies. The magnificent work of our Fleet has lulled us into a complete sense of security. We do not foresee an attack upon the East Coast of England: we have almost forgotten our fears with regard to the West Coast of Ireland.

In the past decade, ‘internationalizing’ or ‘globalizing’ American history has become the mantra of the historical profession. This essay reviews this new body of literature that situates American history within a global framework, searches for connections between the United States and the rest of the world, and explores how American practices and culture have been exported. The ‘globalizing’ project, it shall be argued, has helped historians move beyond the limiting concept of American exceptionalism, whilst providing new explanations for the distinct and, at times, unique, history of the United States. It has also shed new light on the history of American foreign relations. Though historians need to balance the international with the national and better apply transnational methods to the study of the nineteenth century, the global perspective has already added a new texture to our understanding of American history.