This article examines representations of credit instruments in two popular antebellum fictions: Asa Greene's The Perils of Pearl Street and Charles Frederick Briggs's The Adventures of Harry Franco. Drawing on a range of business histories it describes the operation of promissory notes and bills of exchange in the cotton-for-credit system, focussing on the “principle of deferral” and the ways in which these instruments attempted to solve the problem of time in long-distance exchange. By establishing concrete connections between characters, times, and places, these fictions demystify the antebellum financial system, revealing an economy based on new forms of social interdependence.

This article describes the intellectual collaboration and friendship between Charles Eliot Norton and E. L. Godkin as they established one of the most influential American journals of the late nineteenth century, The Nation. Their friendship provides a fascinating case study of an important strain of American political thought at the pivotal moment in its transition from the antebellum to the postbellum eras. In their different ways, Norton and Godkin struggled to reconcile the communal ideal of enlightened self-government with the ideal of liberal individualism, and, at the same time, the promise of egalitarian democracy with the realities of state power and machine politics. No sudden reversal or abrupt change of principle marked their political outlook. Instead there was a gradual loss of confidence in the powerful vision that brought all their contradictory commitments brilliantly together, and made it seem as though all that was best in the old order might be retained undiminished in the new.

Because late nineteenth-century American sport was connected to both immigrant assimilation and cultural prestige, this essay first describes Boston amateur athletics during the later nineteenth century. Ireland-born poet/lecturer/newspaper editor John Boyle O'Reilly (1844–90) provides an important example of social and intellectual class mobility from the perspective of an immigrant writer. We observe through O'Reilly's sporting experiences and literary career how the development of upper-class amateur athletics in Boston and the popularity of boxing among its Irish working classes gave him exceptional influence among both groups. His history of boxing, Ethics of Boxing and Manly Sport (1888), is examined in detail as a key statement on pugilism, masculinity, and American citizenship fame. This view of Boston's intellectual and physical cultures, observed from the standpoint of O'Reilly, a talented writer and a sort of literary counterpart of famed pugilist John L. Sullivan (his friend, occasional sparring partner, and fellow celebrity among the Irish American community), sheds light on newly available pathways to social mobility made possible by simultaneous engagement with literary and athletic cultures.

This article considers the photographic portraits of children reprinted in The Crisis’s “Children's Numbers” and the Brownies’ Book. While the magazines use these images to further their uplift agenda, they also present a sophisticated commentary on the photographic form. The publications present an understanding of the camera as an instrument for interpreting and shaping reality rather than as a truth-telling device. By suggesting parallels between the photographic image and the idea of the child, and exposing the conventions and distortions that produce both, the magazines challenge claims of authenticity and transparency which had helped to naturalize the oppression of black people.

This article interrogates the Creole plantation as a site and sight of memory. It presents a unique case study of Destrehan Plantation, a Creole plantation in St. Charles Parish, Louisiana, which, it argues, represents a crypt replete with occluded Afro-Creole histories. These histories speak not only to experiences of subjection and depredation, however, but to rebellious countercultures (represented by syncretic cultural practices), and to acts of collective insurgency (borne out, most potently, in the 1811 German Coast slave uprising). In its analytic enquiry, it engages in a process of what Derek Alderman and Rachel Campbell call “symbolic excavation” in order to penetrate the silences of the Creole plantation, and rehabilitate occluded unruly Afro-Creole voices. It nevertheless strives to go further by promoting interdisciplinary solutions for what it calls “affective memorialization” through what memory studies scholar Karen Till calls “artistic and activist memory-work.” It looks to the work of Hahnsville folk artist Lorraine Gendron and to Beyoncé Knowles Carter's 2016 visual album Lemonade as exemplars of such praxis. In so doing, it invites conversations about how slaveholding histories might be affectively reimagined, and how Afro-Creole histories can be made to service the needs of their descendants.

Daniel Immerwahr's How to Hide an Empire, recently published to much fanfare, takes as its starting point what Immerwahr calls a “conceptual filing error.” Born from his surprise at visiting the Philippines and encountering streets “named after US colleges” and university students speaking “virtually unaccented English,” the book contends that while most people have heard of the “big wars” the United States has waged, “the actual territory” of US empire “often slips from view.” In response to this alleged invisibility, Immerwahr has produced a new popular history of US empire, one focussed on officially annexed US colonies and military bases, as well as the states that lie beyond the “logo map” whose outlines are the continental United States (14–15). The book's first section quickly sketches the story of US westward expansion, mostly through the story of Daniel Boone, then moves on to more satisfying chapters detailing the annexation of the uninhabited Guano Islands, Puerto Rico and the Philippines, as well as the resistance to annexation in the latter two cases; the section ends by recounting World War II battles over Pacific islands. The second half of the book examines the postwar period, contending that the United States “gave up territory” in this period because it “honed an extraordinary suite of technologies,” from screw threads to synthetic rubber, that allowed it to construct a “pointillist empire” of communication and infrastructural networks (17).