On March 2, 1807, President Thomas Jefferson signed a bill outlawing the African slave trade. Opponents of the traffic rejoiced that the bill was passed at almost the same time as a similar anti-slave-trade bill in Britain. As one Philadelphia newspaper put it, “Thus, will terminate, on the same day, in two countries of the civilized world, a traffic which has hitherto stained the history of all countries who made it a practice to deal in the barter of human flesh.” Efforts to end the African slave trade in the British colonies of North America dated back to the 1760s, proceeded in fits and starts, and resulted from a wide range of motives. In contrast to Great Britain, the United States 1807 bill was not the result of a long, hard-won, popular abolition campaign. However, despite a series of laws intended to curb the trade, eventually making the United States laws the world's toughest, smugglers continued to bring enslaved Africans into the South after 1808, and, more significantly, American vessels played a crucial role in the massive illegal slave trade to Cuba and Brazil during the nineteenth century. The impact on the United States economy was not inconsequential, but even more important was the trade's impact on the Atlantic economy, fueling the rapid economic growth of Cuba and Brazil in the decades that followed.

George Van Cleve places Somerset's Case squarely in the middle of Britain's imperial history. It belongs there. After clarifying the “narrow” holding in the case—that Charles Stewart could not forcibly remove James Somerset from England—Van Cleve argues that Chief Justice Mansfield and his Court of King's Bench “creat[ed] a new legal framework for slavery” and “did so quite knowingly at the price of undercutting the legal, economic and moral basis of slavery as an institution throughout the Atlantic Empire.” This argument that Somerset's Case transformed slavery law throughout the British Empire rests on three claims. First, Van Cleve views Somerset's Case as an imperial conflict of laws case because it involved a conflict between the laws of two royal territories, England and Virginia. Second, Van Cleve contends that Mansfield intended the decision and his remarks accompanying it about the positive law foundation of slavery to have abolitionist effects. Finally, these two points are related: Mansfield drew a distinction “between English and colonial law on slavery” in order to undermine slavery across the empire.

Bruce Smith's article, “The Presumption of Guilt and the English Law of Theft, 1750–1850,” has a highly intriguing argument. While I do not agree with that argument, it is nonetheless very helpful in identifying questions fundamental to characterization of what Smith terms the “Bloodless Code”—the eighteenth-century laws authorizing summary conviction, laws that, as Smith states, were a striking feature of the Hanoverian legal regime.

How do we understand the relationship between law, power, and agency in colonial contexts? Broadly speaking, scholarly opinion is divided between those who view law as a core instrument of colonial control and those who emphasize the ways in which the complexities and ambiguities of colonial legal rule created room for maneuver and manipulation. The articles in this forum skillfully advance our insight into these issues by analyzing the workings of the personal law system in British India, with an emphasis on laws related to marriage. My introductory essay briefly summarizes the two primary approaches to the study of law and empire, clarifies the contribution of the articles to the broader literature, and draws out the thematic links that tie the forum together.

The rise of extraterritoriality in the nineteenth-century has been described as a transitional phase that laid the ground for the construction of territorial sovereignty. Yet in Egypt, where a particularly extensive extraterritorial regime emerged in the mid-century, the expansion of European jurisdiction underneath national sovereignty became entrenched with the creation of international mixed courts in the 1870s. This outcome, the article argues, was the product of a complex compromise between European empires, which upheld different conceptions of extraterritoriality, and the government of Egypt. While Britain refashioned its own extraterritorial judicial system as a means of promoting legal reforms in the Ottoman world, France aggressively pursued the expansion of extraterritorial rights as an instrument of informal domination and economic exploitation. The creation of an international type of jurisdiction, less susceptible to French political pressures but applying a French system of law, proved acceptable to all parties, although it severely constrained Egyptian sovereignty from within, even after Britain took over the reins of government in 1882. Extraterritoriality was not merely a transition, but an original feature of the global legal order, arising out of modern imperialism and imperial rivalry and yet conducive to the forging of new instruments of international law and governance.

At the New York Legal Aid Society's twenty-fifth anniversary banquet in 1901, Arthur von Briesen, the Society's longtime president, ended the evening with the following acknowledgement: “Before we separate I beg to be permitted to say a few words on … the valuable aid which the Society has received from the women of New York. I want you to understand that without them we could not have prospered, without their assistance we could not have done the work… . Their energetic efforts in our behalf, their clear understanding of the duties … has enabled us to increase not only the forte and our power for good, but enabled us to create a special branch in which the cases of women can be specially considered by an able lawyer who is also a woman.” Here Briesen publicly recognized women's efforts on behalf of legal aid as benefactors, supporters, volunteers, and lawyers. The audience that evening would not have been surprised to learn that a woman lawyer now would be providing legal services to women clients, for this was not a new phenomenon. The Society already employed a number of women lawyers. Furthermore women formally untrained in law, but nonetheless acting as lawyers, had prior to the turn of the century provided legal services to poor women through New York City's Working Women's Protective Union (WWPU). As I demonstrate, the origins of legal aid lay in the provision of legal services to poor women—often by other women.

Lawyers have long been depicted as having a conflicted relationship to that modern style of contextual thought we call “history.” Their efforts to think about law have been alternately lauded for contributing to, and criticized for falling short of, a full-fledged historical consciousness.

Today, millions of migrant workers, some of them caught in debt bondage, some victims of fraud or forced migration, and others simply desperate for a better life elsewhere but instead finding themselves working for below subsistence wages or no pay at all, could be called modern-day slaves. Campaigns to end modern-day slavery have taken many forms. Most visibly, what is sometimes called “the new abolitionism,” constitutes a strand of modern antislavery and antitrafficking movements that draws often on the analogy between these workers’ plight and chattel slavery in the Atlantic world.

For historians and property law scholars, the abolition of the fee tail estate in land by many states during the American Revolutionary Period serves as a principal symbol of the power of republican ideology during the Founding Era. Political leaders of the Founding Era deplored the system of hereditary privilege that defined the European aristocratic political order. Property served as the foundation of that order: political, economic, and social privileges were associated with ownership of landed estates. Property and inheritance law enabled families to retain land, and, therefore, the privileges associated with landed estates, over the generations. Therefore, American historians celebrate the abolition of the fee tail estate and primogeniture by some states as a practical and tangible achievement of the Republican Revolution.

In 1750, Archibald Kennedy condemned New York's legislators for their radical constitutional innovation. “They take upon themselves to be the sole judges,” he stormed, and “‘insist… that no order for publick money shall issue, till their judgment has been obtained for it.’” Kennedy meant the charge literally. For almost half a century, New York legislators had preserved their power over the purse by determining claims made against the colony for money. In an arrangement sharply at odds with later legal doctrine on the separation of powers, the legislature—not the courts—had since 1706 settled contract claims for services and materials, demands for military pay and salaries, calls for compensation for the impressment of property, petitions for disability pensions, and a range of other claims.

When former UN Secretary General, Kofi Annan, gave his farewell address in December 2006, he expressed his dismay at the Bush administration's conduct during its anti-terrorist campaign. The United States had given up its vanguard role in the promotion of human rights, he averred, and appeared to have abandoned its ideals and principles. There have been many statements similar to this one made in the period since September 2001. Even close allies, such as the British government, for example, have called for the closure of the Guantanamo Bay detention facility on the grounds that, as a symbol of injustice, it had tarnished the United States as a “beacon of freedom, liberty and justice.”

Scholars today are unanimous about the existence of a forum internum in the Western church since the rise of scholastic theology and jurisprudence in the twelfth century. From that time onward, they agree, an “inner court,” dedicated exclusively to individual believers who confessed their sins in absolute secrecy to a priest was sharply distinguished from the so-called forum externum, which dealt with publicly alleged breaches of the canon law.

In 1522, Marie Quatrelivres, accused of adultery by her husband and found guilty, was condemned to be beaten with sticks on three Fridays and afterwards enclosed in a convent. The court allotted her husband 2 years to decide if he wanted to take her back. If he did not choose to reconcile with her, she was to be enclosed for life and lose all of her property. So wrote eminent jurist Jean Papon (1505–1590) in his collection of notable cases heard before the royal courts of France. Papon described a handful of other sixteenth century adultery cases similarly decided, and then cited a contemporary and fellow eminent jurist, Nicolas Bohier, as having stated that another common punishment for adultery in France was to cut off an adulterous woman's hair, tear her clothes, and parade her in shame throughout the town or city in which she lived.

The punishment prescribed by English law for murder in the first half of the twentieth century was death. A judge had to pronounce this sentence upon a person convicted of murder, except in two special classes of cases: persons under eighteen years of age at the time of the offense and pregnant women. He had no discretion to impose any less severe sentence. While retribution survived only in a symbolic form elsewhere in the criminal law, capital punishment, as Oxford criminologist Max Grunhut maintained, was a “powerful relic of retaliation in kind.” The law still reflected the ancient concept that every murderer forfeits his life becauce he has taken another's life: “He that smiteth a man, so that he die, shall be surely put to death.”

The history of the professions in England before 1800 is attracting steadily increasing academic interest. Among the most popular areas for study has been the legal profession, and especially its lower branch, the attorneys. A number of these studies have shown that attorneys played a significant role in provincial and metropolitan society during the eighteenth century. Yet, despite the existence of good and detailed information about the distribution of eighteenth century attorneys, no systematic attempt has yet been made to assess the actual number of practitioners present in England (and Wales) at that period. Using lists from both the early eighteenth century and the very beginning of the nineteenth, this article aims to put that right by sketching the statistical background to the energetic and many-sided activities of the attorney, and especially the country variety. The object is to see something of how one numerous branch of an influential profession responded to the economic and social changes of the eighteenth century.

On February 15, 1886, in a New York City courtroom, Bridget Grady placed her mark on an affidavit charging Bernard Reilly with rape. The twenty-six-year-old servant told the magistrate that in July of the previous year, while her employer was in the country, Reilly had called on her at the east 38th Street home where she worked. he had been Bridget's “steady company” for about three years and had “several times told her that if he married at all, he would marry her.” During the visit he made what Bridget described as unexpected, unprecedented “advances” to her. When she resisted, Reilly seized her, and they fell to the floor. Bridget, being, as she put it, a “proper and virtuous woman,” became so frightened at Reilly's conduct that she immediately lost consciousness. While Bridget was in that state, Reilly had sexual intercourse with her, as a result of which Bridget became pregnant. once she regained consciousness, Bridget “began to cry, and declared she would kill herself; he took her upon his lap and tried to pacify her, telling her at that time that if anything came of it he would marry her.” As a result of that promise, Bridget took no action against Reilly. Seven months later, however, still unmarried, and due to give birth to a child in two months, Bridget had come to the court to make a complaint.

In 1974, gay father Bruce Voeller sought visitation with his three children after divorcing his wife. The New Jersey family court held a six day trial that centered on expert witness testimony as to whether Voeller's homosexuality would be detrimental to his children. Drs. Richard Green and John Money testified on Voeller's behalf, whereas Voeller's ex-wife called Dr. Richard Gardner, who concluded that “‘the total environment to which the father exposed the children could impede healthy sexual development in the future.’” In his opinion, which imposed strict limitations on visitation, the judge focused on the opposition within the American Psychiatric Association (APA) over the decision to declassify homosexuality as a mental illness, reasoning that psychiatrists' inability to agree on how to define or classify homosexuality indicated that it was impossible to know what effect Voeller's homosexuality would have on his children. The court consequently concluded that the medical controversy, combined with “the immutable effects which are engendered by the parent-child relationship, demands that the court be most hesitant in allowing any unnecessary exposure of a child to an environment which may be deleterious.” The court imposed visitation restrictions to prevent the children from being in “any homosexual related activities,” which included prohibiting Voeller from ever introducing his partner to the children.

In 1953 a musical titled The Adventures of Nasseradin opened in Tel Aviv. One of its tunes, the “Song of Law,” had music and lyrics so appealing that overnight it became the most popular song in Israel. The subject of the lyric was a tyrant, the Emir of the Kingdom of Buchara. Two brothers were arguing over a pot, and the Emir in his capacity as judge, presided over their trial. His decree: plaintiff and defendant should be executed and the pot thrown into the royal treasury.

In the history of English law and the Puritan Revolution, the Levellers are generally considered opponents of the common law, who increasingly used natural law arguments in their revolutionary propaganda. John Lilburne, one of the foremost Leveller leaders, in the tract The Legall Fundamentall Liberties of the People of England published in June 1649 and at his trial for treason in October 1649 used the common law as presented in Sir Edward Coke's The Institutes of the Laws of England and his report of Dr. Bonham's Case, to support his attack on the Rump Parliament. This was only the second use of Dr. Bonham's Case in public controversy as opposed to in a private law matter. Lilburne's reliance on The Institutes and Dr. Bonham's Case also reveals how Coke's legal thought could be integrated into revolutionary thinking, i.e., the limitation of the powers of parliament, not just through judicial review, but through individual citizens' interpretation of statutory law and their individual judgment of the validity of laws. The tenet of radical Protestantism, the supremacy of individual judgment, finds expression in Lilburne's interpretation of statutes and his belief in the limited powers of Parliament. The idea that radical Protestantism led to democratic theory and shook the foundations of established institutions is given additional support by Lilburne's propaganda and defense of himself.