Indian historians have tended in the past to explain the origins of nationalism and political activity in the subcontinent in terms of all-India organizations such as the Indian National Congress or in terms of the political thought and background of important national figures. As research on modern India accumulates, however, it is becoming apparent that this limited explanation of Indian political history is no longer adequate. The major regions had their own distinct social and political development which molded the response of local politicians to the larger political movements and which in turn had some effect on the speed and direction of the Indian nationalist movement. A fruitful approach to understanding the Congress would thus be to view it as an assembly of politicians who had regional political ties and who were strongly influenced by regional organizations. The significant role of the Arya Samaj in the politics of North India particularly supports such an interpretation. The revivalist Arya Samaj contributed to Hindu militancy and aggravated Hindu-Muslim relations. Although this aspect of Arya activity has yet to receive systematic treatment, the broad outline of the Samaj's part in hardening divisions between Hindus and Muslims is well known. The role of Aryas in provincial and national politics, on the other hand, has received little or no attention.

A disproportionate amount of scholarly attention has already been lavished upon the provision for communal electorates in the 1909 Morley-Minto reform scheme, imparting to it a significance which it lacked during both John Morley's secretaryship of state for India and his lifetime. Most recently, M. N. Das has stretched the elastic material in the Morley and Minto collections—his only sources—over a prefabricated ideological structure; he portrays Lord Minto as a Machiavellian schemer, who introduced communal electorates in a deliberate attempt to disrupt the forces of Indian nationalism and thereby perpetuate the British Raj, and he assumes that Morley—who chose the Florentine statesman as the subject of his 1897 Romanes Lectures—was unable to recognize a twentieth-century facsimile. Without attempting to absolve two centuries of British rule in India of its Divide and Rule stigma, one may confidently assert that during the first decade of the twentieth century, neither the Viceroy nor the Secretary of State consciously implemented the pernicious theories which allegedly produced two warring nations within the bosom of Mother India.

The Iwakura embassy's encounter with Hamilton Fish at the State Department in 1872 is far more than a quaint but insignificant episode in the relations between Japan and the United States and deserves resurrection from the footnotes of history. The two sides, much to the surprise of both, met in a long, drawn-out series of trying and painful interviews, stretching from mid-March to the end of July, to argue and then attempt to revise the terms of Japan's 1858 treaty of friendship and commerce with the United States. This confrontation marks the proper, though halting, beginning of the treaty revision movement in Meiji diplomatic history and also illustrates the Grant administration's policy, or more accurately, cluster of attitudes toward East Asia during the early period of post-Civil War expansionism.

Studies of the early Khmer empire have so far been inevitably concerned with establishing the chronological structure of its history and with its religious institutions, of which much is now known. Other areas of inquiry have tended to be postponed in order to undertake these basic tasks, and the impression may exist that the inscriptions, which are the principal documents for such research, contain no other types of information. This impression is ill-founded. The extensive library of translated Cambodian inscriptions, available in the Bulletin de l'École Française d'Extrême-Orient and, above all, in Professor Cœdès' Inscriptions du Cambodge, contains a storehouse of material relevant to studies of Khmer social and economic institutions as well as to further work in political and religious affairs. Professor Cœdès himself has called for continuing research in these epigraphic materials. Such studies promise exciting contributions to the scholar's understanding of the Angkor monarchy, and of earlier Southeast Asia in general.

A venerable occupation in North Thailand is the production of miang, a delicacy consumed as a snack or dessert by local people and by those of neighboring regions ranging from Assam to Tonkin and north through Yunnan. The product is prepared from tea leaves fermented by peasants living along the upper slopes of the Northern hills, the natural habitat of the wild tea shrub. The finished product is transported from there to wholesalers located in most sizable towns and villages of the lowlands. Each market place in lowland villages includes the stall of at least one miang vendor, who is supplied with inventory on a credit basis by the wholesaler and who retails the commodity by the bundle or by the chew, each unit, ordinarily laced with a dash of salt, garlic, sugar-water, or shredded coconut, selling for one baht (approximately U. S. $ .05) or less.

Of all the political personalities in the era between 1928 and 1949, Tu Yuehsheng was perhaps the most colorful, certainly the most unusual. Born into the lowest ranks of society, he rose to dazzling heights of power and exercised a political influence no gang leader had ever known before. The intimate relationship between Tu and the Kuomintang regime was a most unusual phenomenon in Chinese politics and deserves careful attention. Even though documentary materials are scarce by the very nature of the case, an investigation may shed important light on contemporary political mechanisms.

The Sung period (960–1279), as is generally recognized, shaped the pattern of China's development for the last millennium. Carrying forward the trends originating in late T'ang, it integrated both the traditional and the new ingredients into a distinctive way of life which gradually permeated the entire society down to the level of the average villager. The result was a broadly based, deeply rooted, stable, but conservative culture. Remarkable economic advancement and social reconstruction took place. The same was generally true, though to a lesser extent, of political institutions and thought: the bureaucratic empire was now thoroughly centralized under a generally attentive and restrained absolutism; great gains were achieved in the number, quality, and especially the status of the nonaristocratic scholar-officials; the enriching variety of theoretical formulations known as neo-Confucianism carried increasing weight. Government administration in particular, the most effective ever to exist in China itself, was probably the best in the world then and for several centuries to come. Improvements made by the Ming and the Ch'ing, after the intervening period of the Mongols, were more or less within this general pattern.

In a recent interview with Edgar Snow, Mao Tse-tung asserted that he did not remember having written “Dialectical Materialism,” and that if he had written it, he surely would have remembered it. There is both internal and external evidence to support Mao's assertion. If the article was published under his name without his approval, then those who undertook this venture may have had the support of Soviet authorities, perhaps even of Stalin himself. There is also the possibility that it was forged and published by intriguers within the CCP who disapproved of the united front policies which Mao had just elaborated in his “New Democracy.” By first weakening his position with a damning forgery, they might then have hoped to overthrow him with Moscow's tacit approval. The Russian returned student leaders, Wang Ming and Po Ku, might well have devised such a plot.