Early in the seventeenth century an English or Scottish buccaneer settled with a few companions at the mouth of a river in a deserted section of the coast of Central America. The man's name was Wallace, called ‘Valis’ or ‘Balis’ by the Spaniards. The river to which he gave his name was the Belize river, and the settlement which he founded ultimately became, in 1862, the colony of British Honduras.

Even before the beginning of the movement which it is our purpose to examine, the position of the government of Lord North had come to be critical. Perhaps never in English history has a ministry known comparable distress and at the same time been compelled to go on existing through it. The difficulties came to a head in a catastrophic manner in October and November 1779, after the government had shown its helplessness in the face of a possible invasion of these islands, and news had come of the development of a semi-revolutionary situation in Ireland. And as Parliament was to reassemble on 25 November the internal condition of the ministry deteriorated—some members resigning, the rest in a state of anarchy, Lord North himself almost a pathological case, often paralysed by his doubts and incapacitated by his moods of depression—and, precisely because of these difficulties, there was the prospect of a union of opposition factions who might well believe that one last desperate endeavour would complete the overthrow of the ministry. On the top of everything, there was the fact that the next general election was beginning to seem imminent, and at this stage in the life of a Parliament the members in an extraordinary manner would begin to be sensitive to opinion in their constituencies. When Parliament re-assembled the political conflict was made more dramatic in that the issue was more clearly set out by the opposition as a matter of the People versus the King. On repeated occasions the dangerous influence of the crown—and especially the closet activity—was made the principal object of opposition attack. Henceforward this is a central theme in parliamentary debate.

Two documents disclosing an incident in the life of the celebrated historian Polydore Vergil, which have hitherto escaped the research of biographers, are to be found in the Memoranda Roll of the King's Remembrancer of the Exchequer, Trinity term, 19 Henry VII., membrane xv and ibidem dorso (A.D. 1504). Of these the first refers to an illegal exchange negotiated on October 19, 1503, with a merchant of Florence; the second to an illegal exchange negotiated on March 8, 1504, with a merchant of Genoa. In both cases an information is laid against Polydore Vergil as defendant.

I must first of all thank the Royal Historical Society for conferring on me the distinguished honour of its Presidency. I am proud to be thus closely associated with its work. Yet I am very conscious that my past discharge of the duties of membership gives me but a modest claim on its suffrages. It is true that I have been a member of the Society since 1891. I vividly remember how at that time I fell, a coy, but not an unwilling, victim to the blandishments of Mr. Oscar Browning, who used to the full the opportunities of a mountain holiday in the Engadine to preach the sound doctrine that no self-respecting historian could discharge the whole duty of his station unless he enlisted under the Society's banner. Between 1894 and 1901 I acted as a member of the Council, until, doubtless for the sufficient reason of non- attendance, I was relegated to the position of an ordinary member. In 1915 the Society was good enough to raise me to the dignity of an Honorary Vice-President, an office the more welcome to a member then dwelling in what are sometimes quaintly called the “provinces,” since it involved neither the obligation nor the privilege of attending meetings. All that I can claim to have done in return for these favours was the contribution in 1894 to the Transactions of a paper on the “Earldoms under Edward I,” and an edition in 1906 of the “State Trials of Edward I” to the Camden Series.

Vernacular poetry of the Anglo-Saxon period survives in considerable bulk—nearly thirty thousand lines. It is certainly a mere fraction of what once existed. What chance has preserved is not always just what one would have chosen, and its historical value is by no means proportional to its extent. It has not been neglected as a source for Anglo-Saxon history, and I do not claim that this paper is about to add to our knowledge of the period. Nevertheless, it may be of some interest to historians to consider both the value and the limitations of Old English verse literature as historical material. I am not concerned to-day with its literary merit, and I propose to narrow my subject by confining myself to English history. The importance of Beowulf and Widsith for the student of Scandinavian history is quite another story.

In rising to address you I cannot but feel that I am occupying the place of one who was illustrious not only by the accomplishment of his great work, the “History of Greece,” but by his extensive learning, his love of liberty, and his reverence for ancient institutions, combined with readiness to embrace truth from whatever quarter it might come. These qualities won him the attachment of the society in which he lived, and the admiration and respect of the nation to which he belonged.

Any attempt to discuss the reign of David II of Scotland is bound to be patchy and unsatisfactory because the evidence itself is so. There is for instance no good chronicle of the period. It is true that John of Fordun left some notes on the reign, through which he had lived; but his history was so largely de-voted to remoter and even mythical periods that he never worked up these notes into the history of his own times that he could have written. Later writers all based their work on his; they embroidered on what he wrote, but could not fill in the gaps. Hence the accounts that have survived of the reign consist of a number of isolated incidents rather than a continuous and intelligible narrative. Many more details can be discovered in the records of government, such as the Register of the Great Seal, the Exchequer Rolls, and the large number of surviving texts of the documents issued by David II; but these are again isolated scraps of evidence. What is missing is the framework into which this evidence needs to be fitted.

The commercial relations of England with Muscovy have been already investigated at various times by the author of this paper, by Professor Scott, by Dr. Gerson, in America, and lately by Miss Mildred Wretts-Smith; but the relations of Holland with Muscovy are, I believe, still little known.

A complaint frequently voiced by historians of Jacobitism is that their subject is plagued by a breed of authors with a passion for secret agents, romantic uprisings, and princes in the heather. It is not so often admitted, however, just how intractable the professionals themselves find the topic and their substantial failure to give any coherent account of it. Jacobitism appears as the major issue in British politics in the early-eighteenth century; it was associated with wide-spread disorder, recurrent national crises, and a series of rebellions and attempted invasions; but its actual organization and the extent of its support remains surprisingly obscure. This is partly so because the source-material is notoriously difficult to handle and ranges from a mass of ciphered correspondence in the Stuart papers to the diplomatic archives of half-a-dozen European states. To study it is to enter a world both of illusion and deliberate misrepresentation. Would-be revolutionaries tended to imagine themselves perpetually on the verge of success, while it often suited the interests of the British government to assert that the nation was threatened with subversion and imminent invasion. But the weakness of Jacobite historiography is more fundamental than a problem with the sources. It lies in an addiction to detailed narrative unsupported by adequate analysis and a fixed assumption that the importance of the movement was its potential for effecting a revolution by armed force. This paper adopts a different approach. It examines the structure of the Jacobite organization and questions whether it was at any time between 1710 and 1715 capable of realising its aims; it argues rather that its activities contributed to a great popular myth, which was to be of critical significance in the struggle of men and parties which preceded the establishment of the Whig oligarchy.

From the beginning of the revolutionary movement in Spanish America, wrote Sir Charles Webster, nearly thirty years ago, the influence of Great Britain was established ‘by two main agencies—her trade and her fleet’.

If study of the university can have any place in the general history of society, it must be understood as a part of a much larger historical phenomenon, of whose vastness and complexity the university's records themselves make us aware. In the sixteenth century we are conscious of powerful currents of social change and energy upon which the universities floated with little or no power of control: a rapidly growing population, geographically and economically on the move; a burgeoning school system; urban wealth growing and changing location, but always under the massive dominance of London; an active land-market; rise in prices; and the work of governments, both national and local, concerned with education and its consequences. This is the setting of Tudor society, and only special optical devices will enable us to pick out the university and set it in the foreground. In the process some distortion is inevitable. An indication of the problems that occur in university history may be found in the view of a recent student of Tudor Cambridge who, while acknowledging that one contribution of the universities to the complex change within English society was ‘the creation of a more refined and integrated cultural and intellectual milieu’ centred upon London and the court, finds the truly significant contribution in a more informed, vigorous and tenacious local solidarity in the ‘country’. Another historian of Elizabethan England tells us that in the universities, ‘the interesting thing, as so often in English life, is the extent and intimacy of the social mixture’.

The most significant feature of the baronial movement of 1258 is that it was the first deliberate and conscious political revolution in English history. The Angevin system of government, essentially a centralised despotism grafted on to the stock of a primitive national monarchy and growing within the framework of a feudal society, was transformed, at the Parliament of Oxford, into a limited monarchy based on written constitution. The entire power and authority of the crown, in every sphere of government, was put into commission and vested in a privy council of fifteen magnates, selected, not by the king, but by a sub-committee appointed by a committee of the great council; and for nearly two years England was successfully governed and reformed by this nominated privy council, which acted throughout in virtue of the mandate expressed in the Provisions of Oxford, regarding itself as representative of and responsible to the great council. In the king's own words, the Council of Fifteen treated him as a minor under their wardship, settling affairs of state without his presence, and without having asked him to attend, issuing orders without awaiting his authorisation, ignoring his views, and merely replying ‘Nous volons qe issy soit’, without any further explanation, when he remonstrated; they passed over his nominees for offices high and low, appointing others against his will; they used his great seal without consulting him, and denied him all use of it; in fact, they so far diminished his royal power and dignity that little or nothing was done at his command, and his orders were neglected as though it were the council that reigned.

The reign of Richard II. is a landmark in the political and constitutional history of England, and in the history of her church and people. At home it was an era of corrupt party politics which led to the crisis of 1399; abroad, there was a lull in the great French war; and already the victories of Edward III. and the Black Prince had initiated the course of events which were to make England an insular power, and her government a limited monarchy. Social and religious discontent joined hands in Wat Tyler's revolt, when the causes of Labour and Nonconformity made their first loud claim to the right of existence in England. In the following pages, however, we are concerned less with the history of the reign as a whole, than with the interesting personality of the boy-King. King and kingdom were closely bound up with one another in the Plantagenet epoch; and the unequal and ill-regulated character of Richard II. has left no uncertain impress upon the events of his reign. And here the historical student is brought face to face with the unsatisfactory condition of the original authorities. The whole reign abounds in political mysteries, and the figure of the young King is shrouded in obscurity.

It is sufficiently well known to the general reader of history that the cause of Wolsey's fall was his failure to obtain for Henry VIII. a divorce from Katharine of Arragon. Wolsey had certainly done his utmost in that bad cause, however unwillingly he engaged himself to it in the first instance; for it was a matter of life or death to him to give the king satisfaction. For years the old nobility of England, who were councillors by right of birth and standing, had resented his monopoly of the king's confidence. Several of them were related to Anne Boleyn, and others who were not personally interested backed the king's wishes in the divorce—unpopular as it was in the country generally—as a means of securing the downfall of the Cardinal. Even the Duke of Suffolk, no less an upstart than Wolsey himself, and whom Wolsey had saved at the outset of his career from the vengeance of the other nobles, now most ungratefully turned against him; and when the Legatine Court was prorogued by Campeggio, gave a great rap on the table and said with haughty mien, ‘It was never merry in England whilst we had Cardinals among us.’

The Order of Preachers was created under the skilled direction of two great men: Dominic of Caleruega and Jordan of Saxony. Whatever else they may have been, both were brilliant organizers; they sketched between them the most sophisticated constitutional organization known to the Middle Ages; for good or ill, they created for us the idea and technique of committee government. Both, it is clear, had tidy and lucid minds. We know that Jordan wrote excellent Latin, was capable of making plain in a few words the nature of the casting vote in general chapter, and equally capable of communicating to his friend Diana Dandalo, and to us, the inwardness of spiritual friendship and the delight of missionary work among the students of Bologna and Paris, many of whom he gathered into the Dominican Order.

On this occasion, last year, when I first had the honour of addressing you from this chair, I deplored the loss of two of our leading historians—the Bishops of Oxford and London—both of whom were Fellows of our Society. Since that date two other great men, to whose illness I then referred, have been removed from us—Lord Acton and Dr. S. R. Gardiner. To my last year's address, as delivered, I ventured subsequently to add some remarks on these notable writers and men of learning, and will therefore on the present occasion do no more than remind you of their deaths, and express the hope that we may, to the best of our powers, follow their example and imitate their high endeavours in the cause of historical science.