One generalization which can be made about politics in the reign of George III with a fair degree of certainty is that the vast majority of M.P.s did not consider their conduct in the House of Commons as predetermined by the wishes of their electors; they preferred to see themselves as elected as members of Parliament rather than as delegates to Parliament. Moreover, despite the recent concentration of some historians upon the history of Parliament, the discipline of psephology rarely engaged the attention of politicians after a general election. These two attitudes of mind, which together indicated a clear division between electoral and Parliamentary politics, were nowhere more prevalent than in constituencies where landed interests were predominant. These, which comprised the majority in Scotland and Wales, were, after 1801, also thought to predominate in Ireland. This, in fact, was part of the reason why the Whigs at Westminster so firmly opposed the Union during the debates in 1799 and 1800. They argued in effect that in Ireland, as in Scotland, there was little dependence upon electors and a great dependence upon patronage; that the union with Scotland had added a substantial proportion of the forty-five M.P.s to the ranks of the government of the day; and that the union with Ireland would add near a 100 more. In fact the traditional picture of Irish electoral politics between 1801–26 is that, notwithstanding the fact that in Ireland the economic and social position and above all the religious sentiments of the majority of the electors were nowhere more clearly opposed to those of their M.P.s, the constituencies remained firmly controlled by the leading landed, and therefore Protestant, interests, the majority of whom supported every administration. The purpose of this article, however, is to argue that the Catholic vote in Irish constituencies was an integral and important factor in elections before 1820; that it not only played its part at elections but that it also affected in some degree the conduct of Irish M.P.s in the House of Commons towards the question of Catholic emancipation.

The Act in Restraint of Appeals to Rome of 1533 has become one of the most controversial statutes of what Dr G. R. Elton has called the ‘Tudor revolution’. The central issue seems to be Elton's view that the term ‘empire’ in the Act's famous preamble provided the theoretical basis for Henry VIII's claim to a jurisdiction in spiritual cases. It is not my intention to enter this high and perhaps irresolvable debate; rather I propose to consider the solution that the Act provided for the practical problem that was its occasion, namely, the king's ‘great matter’, and the inadequacy of that solution for problems that developed subsequently. The political doctrines stated or implied in Tudor statutes are interesting and significant, but, as Elton has written in connexion with the causes of the Reformation, ‘Anne Boleyn should not be forgotten’.

In 1956 Professor Roskell, at the end of his discussion of the attendance of the lords in medieval parliaments, showed very briefly that attendances improved considerably during the reign of Henry VIII. More recently an attempt has been made to demonstrate a political significance in the use made by the Crown of the customary right of absent lords to nominate proctors to speak and vote for them in the House of Lords. The importance of the early sixteenth century for the development of Parliament seems to warrant another approach to the problem of attendance in the House of Lords during the reign of Henry VIII. So far the evidence has not been fully exploited nor have all the relevant questions been asked.

‘Promotion’, says Holy Scripture, ‘cometh neither from the east, nor from the west: nor yet from the south’. Clerical aspirants knew better than the psalmist the strange geography of preferment in Restoration England, where the return in 1660 of the Stuarts did much to encourage in churchmen a greater sense of direction and purpose. Our present study is to elucidate one particular period in the history of preferment, that spanned by the short-lived and little-known Commission for Ecclesiastical Promotions which sat at the height and at the helm of the Tory Reaction. To place the Commission in its proper perspective, however, something must be said of the Restoration Settlement itself. It was, of course, no accident that the hereditary monarchy and Anglican Church returned together. Sir Edward Hyde, foremost of the statesmen at the exiled Court and, from January 1658, lord chancellor to Charles II, had bent his energies to achieve this very end. Yet, for the Church, it was a re-establishment rather than an unqualified restoration, for the loyalist nobility and gentry-the real architects of Sion's delivery-were careful not to resurrect Laud's persecuting prelacy. To understand the changed circumstances in which the Church found herself, it is essential to take account of what was not, as well as what was restored. Neither the imperious Court of High Commission nor the self-incriminating ex officio oath was brought back. Shorn of the chief weapons with which she had formerly harried the more wayward of the political nation, the Church returned as part of the only workable constitution England had ever known, that is as a buttress of monarchy.

The ripening of the Anglo-American friendship in the first half of the nineteenth century was truly an evolutionary process, but most observers agree that in the diplomatic sphere the significant aspects of that early rapprochement took place about the time of the Webster–Ashburton agreement. One previously unknown factor involved in this development centred on British and American cooperation in the Belgian indemnification dispute in the late thirties and forties. This struggle by several major powers aimed at receiving indemnities from the newly created state for property damages incurred during the Belgian revolution of 1830 in Antwerp.

Although after the peace of Ryswick it was generally expected that the sea powers would renew the Grand Alliance, by April 1698 King William had already concluded that he was free to embark on the Partition negotiations without infringing any obligation towards the emperor. At his audience on 13 June the imperial ambassador Count Leopold von Auersberg still brought up the question of the allied undertaking to lend a fleet to convey the Archduke Charles and a German army to Catalonia, but fortunately the emperor himself had freed the king from this outstanding obligation by telling the king of Spain that he would be unable to provide for an expeditionary force, until he had made peace with the Turks. So although Auersberg put several awkward questions they could all be answered by general and rather non-committal assurances.

Within the last twenty years, historians' views about the significance of ‘Benthamism’ for the development of British government in the nineteenth century have fluctuated pretty widely. In 1948 J. B. Brebner set decisively in motion a movement away from the interpretation, stated in classic but curiously ambivalent form by A. V. Dicey, which made Bentham the philosopher and advocate of an allegedly dominant policy of laissez faire or ‘individualism’. Brebner attacked both legs of Dicey's argument, contending that in the years 1825–70 (which Dicey had identified as the period of individualism) the scale and variety of State intervention were extensive, and that the State intervention of the time ‘in practically all of its many forms was basically Benthamite—Benthamite in the sense of conforming closely to that forbidding, detailed blueprint for a collectivist state, the Constitutional Code’. More recently, some specialists in nineteenth-century administrative history have accepted, and have in some directions extended, one side of Brebner's thesis, but have cast doubt on the other side. Thus, reinforcing Brebner's interpretation of Victorian policy-making, David Roberts has located ‘the origins of the welfare state’ in the period 1832–54, and Oliver MacDonagh has argued that in ‘the middle quarters of the nineteenth-century…(contrary to all expectation and desire) the collectivist system of the present day began to take its shape’. But in developing their themes Roberts and MacDonagh have tended to attach little importance to what Dicey called ‘opinion’—consciously formulated and coherently worked-out beliefs or programmes—and to stress instead the pragmatic responses of politicians and administrators to problems and events.

During the early years of the nineteenth century the distribution of patronage n i Ireland—‘the spoils system’—reflected current English practice, but with peculiarly Irish overtones. The duke of Wellington's observation in 1830 that the government was losing its control of patronage to private members of Parliament may well have been applied to the Irish scene at any time after the Union. The men who benefited from the Irish system were drawn almost exclusively from the Ascendency party, that group of upper class Anglo-Irish Protestants long favoured by law and custom. Their pre-eminence had been assured during the negotiations prior to the Act for the Union of Great Britain and Ireland in 1801. In the same manner that Pitt and Castlereagh had achieved their objective by exploiting Irish ambitions for titles, pensions and sinecures, Ascendency politicians established themselves as the dominating force in domestic politics. Commonly referred to as ‘Irish tones’, these men consistently exalted their special religious and economic needs far above any comprehensive British tory interests. Within the permanent Castle staff their influence was all pervasive. They shared a sense of power and the overriding confidence which characterized generations of Anglo-Irish families. Their satisfaction with ‘Orange’ politics served to compliment their pre-occupation with their own self-interests and the maintenance of the status quo.

Although the first decade of the German Empire has long been a central topic of historical research, the question with which this essay is concerned—Bismarck's relationship to the pressure groups at this time—cannot be answered satisfactorily on the basis of the material known hitherto. This is due to the fact that until very recently historians have concentrated on the diplomatic-political occurrences. Bismarck's eastern policy, the Livadia affair, the ‘war-in-sight crisis’, the Berlin Congress, and the change from the Three Emperors' Alliance to the ‘Eternal’ Treaty with the Danube monarchy—these are the events always used to demonstrate Bismarck's ‘genius’ in the field of foreign policy. On the problem of the ‘Kulturkampf’ much less effort has been expended. Here Bismarck's outstanding political skill was not as apparent as it was in his judgement of international relations. Moreover, this question was bound up from the very beginning with a strong ideological bias which only slightly weakened after World War II for the first time. Even less attention has been paid to the problems of domestic and social policy and economic developments have been almost totally neglected. It is true that these items have recently obtained new historical relevance from the new socio-political point of view, but up to the present day they have not been clarified. The chief general contributions of this kind have been published by non-German historians (e.g. Rosenberg, Lambi, and Pflanze) in the United States or in Canada. These studies, however, give inadequate answers to specific questions, as do the detailed essays of Karl-Erich Born and Wolfgang Zorn with their systematizing way of reflexion. They do not deal with our formulation of the question: the relationship between economic development and political events in a comparatively short period. Nevertheless, the essays of Born and Zorn will serve as a starting-point for our own investigation. Born in particular realizes the urgent need for more detailed research in the social and economic sphere, and pleads for a ‘supplementary’ approach (Ergänzungsgeschichte). He states that

the history of the aristocracy during the industrial age has to be completed by studies dealing with the history of the trade unions; by dissertations on the history of industrial branches, commercial centres, and companies; and last but not least by works on the disintegration of the old bourgeoisie. Then we shall be able to extend the political history of the German Empire, which is largely clarified, to a comprehensive view of a German historical epoch by adding the social and economic history of the late nineteeth century.

The process of parliamentary reform which laid the foundations for a democratic political structure in this country contained much that was haphazard, and it is the object of this paper to discuss some of these elements, and particularly some of the conceptions and aims on which the legislation was based, and the technical defects of the legislation itself.

John Lingard (1771–1851) was the first English historian to attempt to look at the history of England in the sixteenth century from an international point of view. He was unconvinced by the story of the Reformation in England as found in the works of previous historians such as Burnet and Hume, and believed that new light needed to be thrown on the subject. One way of doing this was to look at English history from the outside, so to speak, and Lingard held it to be a duty of the historian ‘to contrast foreign with native authorities, to hold the balance between them with an equal hand, and, forgetting that he is an Englishman, to judge impartially as a citizen of the world’. In pursuit of this ideal Lingard can be said to have given a new dimension to the source materials for English history. As parish priest in the small village of Hornby, near Lancaster, Lingard had few opportunities for travel. But he made good use of his various friends and former pupils at Douai and Ushaw colleges who were settled now in various parts of Europe. It was with the help of these friends that Lingard made contacts with and gained valuable information from archives in France, Italy and Spain. We shall concern ourselves here only with the story of Lingard's contacts with the great Spanish State Archives at Simancas.

Although it failed to achieve its original goal, Macdonald's expedition is still of interest in that it marks the end of an epoch. It is the last flicker of the Scramble, and it was carried out in the tradition of the great expeditions which in the previous decade traversed vast stretches of Africa and staked the claims of the various European powers.

It is well known that the nomination of a Radical candidate in the by-election held in April 1873 in the department of the Seine split the Republican ranks and that his victory contributed to the fall of Thiers, the President of the Third French Republic. This contest, in which the comparatively obscure Désiré Barodet, a former primary school teacher and latterly mayor of Lyon, defeated the Comte Charles de Rémusat, friend of Thiers and minister for Foreign Affairs, was one of the most exciting in the history of the Third Republic; indeed Paris witnessed no such tumultuous election again until the candidature of General Boulanger in 1889. It was important for its consequences and for the passions it aroused. But it is also of interest for reasons which are less well known, and which are considered or reconsidered here. Quite apart from the fact that it was only one, albeit by far the most dramatic, of eight by-elections which took place on 27 April, it cannot be separated from the subsequent election of Arthur Ranc at Lyon on 11 May. These two elections brought into the limelight two interesting and influential figures in the early history of the Third Republic; they also vividly illustrated the methods and influence of the leader of the Radical Republicans, Léon Gambetta.

That Britain's attitude towards foreign powers for a considerable part of the nineteenth century and at the beginning of the twentieth was governed by a so-called ‘policy of isolation’, often, although not invariably, linked with the epithet ‘splendid’, was long accepted by many historians. Indeed, it would be easy to compile a list of distinguished writers, in whose works these words are to be found. There has, however, been some disagreement both as to when the alleged policy originated and as to when it came to an end. Moreover, in recent years the very existence of the ‘policy of isolation’ has been called in question. The late Dame Lillian Penson dismissed it as a ‘legend’.

James Bryce considered that 1914 would be a satisfying year. He had just been created a viscount and, at the age of seventy-six, could look back on a career of distinction in university life, politics and diplomacy. He could continue to write books and indulge in correspondence with his friends. In fact, the books were not written and his correspondence became very practical. The tension in Europe in the summer of 1914 caused many people to ask him for advice on the best course of action. What, in particular, were Liberals to do? Some M.P.s were talking of peace demonstrations to keep Britain out of European war, but Bryce hesitated. On the evening of 31 July, the matter was discussed with J. A. Spender who noted that ‘… Bryce … strongly advised not to join this demonstration. He agreed that violation of Belgium would be casus belli.’ When Belgium was violated, Bryce was committed to the war but his commitment was reluctant, hesitant and with foreboding. The consequences of his decision are the subject of this article.

The significance of the Entente Cordiale has often been disguised both by its own emotive title and by the subsequent development of Anglo-French relations. Vincent Auriol claimed on its fiftieth anniversary that ‘the convention of 8 April 1904 embodied the agreement of our two peoples on the necessity of safeguarding the spiritual values of which we were the common trustees’. Eden's interpretation on the same occasion was more prosaic and more accurate. ‘At the time when it was concluded’, he told the Commons, ‘the Entente Cordiale did not represent some great surge of public opinion on either side of the Channel. It was in fact an instrument of political policy at the time, calculated to attempt to remove the differences which had long complicated Anglo-French relations in Egypt and Morocco.’ The solution to these differences which was suggested to the English government by the French foreign minister, Théophile Delcassé, in July 1903, and which formed the basis of the agreement signed nine months later, was the barter of Egypt for Morocco. In all that has been written on the Entente Cordiale neither the origin of this barter nor the steps by which it became the foundation for the diplomatic reconciliation of France and England have ever been explained.

In recent years considerable attention has been focused on the role played by the Court and government office in the social and political evolution of Elizabethan and Early Stuart England. Professor Trevor-Roper has treated office under the Crown as a smooth highroad to economic advancement, one of the principal causes of such rise of the gentry as may have occurred. According to this view, the political antecedents of the English Civil War are best interpreted in terms of the polarities of Court and Country: it was reaction against an overgrown and corruptly lucrative Court that inspired the opposition in 1640; it was desire to dismantle the whole centralizing apparatus which inspired the policy of the Independents in the late 1640s and the 1650s. Others, including Professor Aylmer and myself, have subjected officialdom to detailed inspection and have concluded that its rewards were usually modest, especially under Elizabeth and Charles I, its personnel was restricted in numbers, and its more spectacular beneficiaries were a very small minority. The recently published letter of Sir Edward Stanhope to Thomas Viscount Wentworth, advising him to refuse the Deputyship of Ireland in 1631, has cast a flood of light on contemporary attitudes towards the acceptance of at least one high office. Forty-six years before, when Henry Carey, 1st Earl of Hunsdon, was offered the Lord Chamberlainship of the Royal Household, he received a similar letter of warning from a close follower.

In 1855 Sir Francis Baring described the Whigs as ‘a body of men…[who] when the people are roused stand between the constitution and revolution and go with the people, but not to extremities’. The Great Reform Bill and Russell's further franchise proposals from 1852 to 1866 were characteristic attempts to conciliate ‘the people’ by extending timely reforms which would preserve the balance of the British constitution. The Whigs had learned the moral of the story of the Sibylline books and accepted its relevance to the process of constitutional reform. Gladstone's Irish Home Rule bill signalled the passing of their moderating influence in the councils of liberalism. However, during the following six years they influenced the Tory government's response to the demands of the newly emerged Indian National Congress. From 1886 Lord Dufferin, the Whig viceroy, pressed for concessions that would ‘take the wind out of the sails’ of the Congress, and from 1889 his successor, Lord Lansdowne, pursued a similar approach. The Tory Councils Act of 1892 was no large constitutional advance. However, it embodied the principle of representation and the germ of the idea of election. That it went so far is attributable to the exertions of the Whig peers, at Westminster no less than in India. The Unionist Lord Northbrook, son of Sir Francis Baring and a former viceroy, proposed a crucial amendment to the Councils bill, and it was carried with the authoritative support of the earl of Kimberley, thrice Gladstone's secretary of state for India and one whom Morley recalled as ‘at the top of the Whigs that I have known’.

Sir Edward Grey entered the Foreign Office at a time when it was being rapidly transformed. A change in the registration system had freed the junior officials from most routine operations and encouraged the senior men to take a more active part in the actual formation of foreign policy. At the same time, a new group of men took over the most important departmental positions and entered the chief European embassies. For the most part, these men were far more conscious of German power than their predecessors and set the tone of British policy during the first years of Grey's Foreign Secretaryship. Charles Hardinge, Louis Mallet, William Tyrrell and Eyre Crowe in London, Francis Bertie, ambassador in Paris, Arthur Nicolson in St Petersburg and, after 1907, Goschen in Berlin were all to play important roles in shaping the new course.