In the last quarter of the seventeenth century the Spanish officials of Florida, both religious and civil, became convinced that a certain game of ball played by the Christian Indians was detrimental to their bodies, their souls, and the peace of the provinces of Apalache and Ustaqua. During a ten-year campaign this time-honored custom was investigated, argued over and finally outlawed. The story of this crusade against a ballgame is valuable for both the ethnologist and the Spanish colonial historian. For the ethnologist it is important because among the documents is a lengthy description of the game and its associated myths and magic: “Origin and beginnings of the game of pelota which the Apalache and Ustaqua Indians have played since pagan times up to the year 1676, brought to light by the Reverend Father Fray Juan de Paiva, Father of the mission of San Luis de Talimali. September 23, 1676.” For the colonial historian, the campaign demonstrates the identification of conversion with sovereignty long past contact and conquest, as well as the interwoven relationships among civil and religious authorities, unofficial Spanish residents, and native nobility.

Trans-Pacific relations of Japan and Latin America began toward the end of the sixteenth century, but it was not until almost three centuries later that continuous contact was established. A seclusion law, adopted in 1638 by the Tokugawa shogunate of Japan, was enforced until the late nineteenth century. During this period Japanese citizens going abroad were subject to the death penalty upon returning, and foreigners, except for a limited number of Chinese and Dutch traders, were excluded from Japan. The expedition of Commodore Matthew C. Perry was instrumental in reestablishing Japan's relations with the West. Following the restoration of the Meiji Emperor, Mitsuhito, in 1868, Japanese were encouraged to seek knowledge throughout the world; however, the emigration of Japanese subjects, in general, was not legalized until 1885.

Since early times civil and religious authorities of New Spain showed considerable interest in population statistics of New Mexico. Such an interest was directly related to the peculiarities of settlement in the province since the Reconquest, fourteen years after the bloody Indian uprising of 1680. From then on, control over New Mexico could only be sustained with great difficulty—final pacification could not be achieved until the late eighteenth century—for a purely geopolitical reason: keeping New Mexico for the Crown as a defensive bulwark in the northern approaches of New Spain against the penetration of hostile Indians and foreigners. In that sense, the Franciscan missions performed a decisive role in affirming the Spanish occupation of the territory.

At first glance, nothing could be stranger than a paper discussing the relationship between Martín Fierro and peronism. It is not just the disparity of genres. The gulf of history that separates their worlds and styles appears to be unbridgeable. Martín Fierro is emblematic of the gaucho, the endless pampa, man alone, the pastoral economy, individualism and the search for personal transcendence. Peronismo, on the other hand, calls up images of the factory worker, the city, mass society, the industrial economy, corporatist idealogy and the struggle for collective salvation.

Despite these differences, however, Martín Fierro and peronismo are in both clear and complex ways of the same lineage and an analysis of their relationship illuminates both generations—and a century of Argentine social protest. The world's of Martín Fierro and peronismo may be different, but the line of descent that joins them is as clear as that which leads from Fierro's pampa milonga to the tango of porteño peronismo and as complex as that which runs from the singer in the pulpería to the orator in the Plaza de Mayo.

Conceived in trepidation, plagued by ineptitude, and ultimately relegated to obscurity, the Villa de Branciforte marked the last Spanish colonial town to be founded in California, or for that matter, in the Americas. A hybrid of civilian and military enterprise, Branciforte was envisioned as California's grandest town only to become instead an early casualty of incompetence and Madrid's depleted exchequer. Yet, despite its misfortunes, the Villa was within a venerable and generally successful tradition of frontier endeavor. In certain instances, the resources of Spain's distinct urban institutions of settlement and pacification—the presidio, pueblo and mission—were joined in varying combinations to meet the demands of extraordinary circumstance. If the Villa de Branciforte failed in its assignment, it was primarily for want of sagacity.