The campaign to establish a Muslim University at Aligarh is a good example of the confluence of education and politics in modern India. The political motives involved were similar to those that lay behind the founding of the Mahomedan Anglo-Oriental College in 1875: a sense that English education was a prerequisite to enfranchisement. By the turn of the century, the stakes were higher and the interests involved had expanded in number and complexity. The Muslim University movement represented nothing less than an effort to create an all-India Muslim constituency and to carve out for it a decisive piece of political power. It was political both in its attempt to consolidate support to influence specific government policies, and also as a direct challange to British control of the educational access too power.

In this paper I attempt to answer three main questions: the first, who has access to university education? the second, what are the changes in the spread of opportunities for university education between 1950 and 1967? and finally, what employment do university students expect to obtain? and briefly to examine the implications of the answers to these questions in the formulation of educational policy.

This paper explores the relationship between stress patterns of disyllabic constructions in the Peking Dialect of Modern Chinese and their grammatical structure. It suggests that the existing diverse stress patterns represent different stages of stress shift which is the mechanism employed to signal a formative grammatical process leading from loose syntactical to close morphological constructions. It finally proposes that, apart from the well-known effects of stress shift such as the loss of the tone and reduction in the segmental structure of unstressed syllables, the process ultimately results in the fusion of syllables and the appearance of relatively more complex syllabic shapes.

Akbar Ilāhābādī—Akbar of Allahabad— has been the victim of much injustice at the hands of scholars, both in the West and in the Indo-Pakistan subcontinent that was his homeland. The reason is a simple one. Akbar's fame is based—and quite properly based—upon his humorous verse; and scholars tend to be rather solemn people who may enjoy reading humorous verse in the brief periods of recreation which they allow themselves, but to whom the thought simply does not occur that a man may express in humorous verse ideas just as significant, and basically just as serious, as, let us say, a man who writes a voluminous commentary on holy writ.

For Japan and Britain, 1934 was a year when naval policy was a major issue. During that year, decisions had to be made on the future of the Washington and London naval disarmament treaties, and, for both Tokyo and London, the political implications of the abrogation or renewal of these treaties were at least as important as the technical. The Japanese Government could not afford to renew the treaties, the British Government could not afford to see them go. In this situation, the feasibility of an Anglo-Japanese non-aggression pact, one of the purposes of which would be to check the demands of the Japanese navy, was seriously considered by the British.

The Khilafat movement, which took place among Indian Muslims immediately following the First World War, was so called because it was a political agitation designed to pressure the British government to preserve the defeated Ottoman Empire and its ruler, the Caliph of Islam. The Khilafat movement was also, more fundamentally, a campaign to unite Indian Muslims politically by means of religious and cultural symbols meaningful to all strata of the community. The movement gained added significance because it took place simultaneously, and cooperated fully, with Gandhi's first non-violent non-cooperation movement against British rule. Muslim and Hindu were thus engaged in parallel political activity: the broadening of national political participation from the élite to the mass through new techniques of organization and communication.

What were the relationships between agriculture, natural calamity, standards of living, and population growth in India? To what extent were Indian agriculturalists able to raise their standard of living in the nineteenth century under British rule? Why did population grow, or fail to expand, in particular regions and provinces at certain times? Historians have left these questions virtually untouched. Population growth has been at the center of the controversy about the impact of British rule. But only preliminary work has been done on the actual expansion of population, and hardly a page has been written on the economic and medical reasons for change.

The revivalist movements which developed in so many Muslim communities at the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth centuries are well known to students of Islamic history. The Fulani jihād of Usuman dan Fodio, the Sanūsīyah movement in Libya, the rise of the Wahhābīs in Arabia, the reforms instituted among the Volga Tatars, the Mujāhidīn movement in Northern India and the Fara'idis of Bengal have all been the subject of study to a greater or lesser extent. Scholars have pointed out that movements which aimed initially at internal reform in a particular Muslim community often developed the added dimension of attack on what was conceived as an external, generally foreign, threat to that community, this being most clearly the case with the Wahhābīs and the Mujāhidīn. A contemporary movement which has features in common with all those mentioned above, that of the Padisr among the Minangkabau of West Sumatra, has on the contrary received scant scholarly attention. This is all the more surprising since a European state—the Kingdom of the Netherlands—became involved in a war with the Minangkabau while the Padri movement was still in its full vigour; but although Dutch records and memoirs deal more than amply with this war, they have remained ignored for what they can tell us about the Padris themselves. This is not to deny that scholars who have attempted a brief characterization of the Padri movement have recognized that its complexity goes beyond the mere epithet ‘Islamic revivalism’, and the more perceptive have tried to link it to certain changes taking place within Minangkabau society, depicting the movement as ‘a social revolution’, ‘a coup d'étai’ or, by implication, as a revolt of the intellectuals. In the later stages of the movement, after European intervention had gathered momentum, a French scholar has characterized the war fought by the Padris as a ‘war of independence’.

From the legal, political, and ethical points of view, much turns on the precise sequence of events by which a war develops. Regrettably, by the time a conflict begins to attract the attention of scholars, it may be too late to reconstruct its origins. Participants die or disappear, records are lost or destroyed, memories fail, or false information is deliberately circulated. The resulting weakness of scholarly investigation then permits those with a vested interest in some particular view to rewrite history in keeping with their own peculiar demonology.

The subject of magistrates, the local administrative leaders in the hsien, districts, is central to the study of Chinese government and society. The district has always been and still remains the basic administrative unit in China. Magistrates, the ‘offcials close to the people’, in the districts, are the chief administrators, who have always been singly responsible for the direct implementation of governmental policies at the local levels. Although several studies have been published on local administrators of the Ch'ing dynasty and the Communist period, district magistrates of the Republican era have been little studied.

This article expresses some dissatisfaction with the state of interpretation of economic and social trends in Japan during the Tokugawa period from 1603 to 1867. At one time there was a universal view that the Tokugawa economy was stagnant and characterized by extreme oppression of the peasantry. This view has been demolished by the writings of, for example, T. C. Smith, E. S. Crawcour, S. Hanley, Kozo Yamamura and C. D. Sheldon. Yet, it is argued here, much confusion remains after a close examination of these and other works. Crawcour and Yamamura have shown that the financial crisis at the end of the period is closely associated with a sharp deceleration of the spread of commercial transactions, but it is at least arguable that the picture of ‘a happy and prosperous peasantry’ (which is, apparently, derived from T. C. Smith's description of a dynamic, expanding economy in the eighteenth century, with steady growth in agricultural productivity and increased urbanization) has been overdrawn.

Mulk Raj Anand was one of the leading figures among the politically committed Indian novelists writing in English during the nineteen thirties and forties. He published several novels after Independence, but most of his writings appeared before 1947 and dealt with the political choices facing the Indian of that era. The intention of this paper is to examine Mulk Raj Anand's novels in order to gain insight into the politics of the Indian revolutionary elite, and, in particular, into the conflicts between their cultural background and professions of political faith, their image of themselves, and the utopia they sought.

George Sansom once called the history of education in late nine-teenth-century Japan ‘a useful example of a reaction against foreign influence and a return to tradition in the midst of a strenuous process of “modernization”.’ Sansom and others have depicted Japanese education during the first three decades of the Meiji period (1868–1912) as follows: during the 1870s Japanese education was completely dominated by the Western philosophies and principles which were flooding a country newly opened to foreign intercourse after two and one-half centuries of isolation. This extreme Westernization led to a ‘conservative reaction’ in government and education circles during the 1880s. This, in turn, culminated in the Imperial Rescript on Education of 1890 and the emphasis on ‘traditional’ moral education which was the hallmark of schooling in the 1890S. This shift in educational policy on the part of the Meiji government has been seen as ‘part of the general swing during the 1880s away from unnecessarily close imitation of the West and back towards more traditional values.’

In the years 1856–60, Great Britain, France and China were involved in a war, which has been referred to by different names, depending, naturally enough, on the nationality of the historian. Scholars in China, almost without exception, call it the Second Opium War. Historians in England, however, usually prefer to call it the Second Anglo-Chinese War or even the Second China-foreign War. It has been given yet another name, the Arrow War. None of these names is, strictly speaking, entirely appropriate. To begin with, the war was not fought over the question of opium, although in many ways it was a continuation of the Opium War of less than two decades before. In the last analysis, it was a consequence of an ever-expanding British economy. Secondly, although it is true that Great Britain and China were the chiefcontenders, the title Anglo-Chinese War ignores the part played by France in the campaign. Then the name Second China-foreign War, apart from betraying the English desire to forget that part of their past, is misleading because it focuses attention on China herself rather than on British encroachment on that country. Finally, the Arrow incident was, like the burning of opium by Commissioner Lin, an immediate cause of the quarrel; but once London had decided to resort to arms, little further reference was made to it in British diplomatic documents. The name Arrow War is particularly irrelevant for the period after the scene of confrontation had changed from Canton to Tientsin and then Peking. On balance, however, the names Second Anglo-Chinese War and Arrow War seem preferable because they do not carry overtones of nationalist prejudice. The latter title has the additional merit of illustrating how, in the age of European expansion, a small diplomatic incident could be magnified to justify the use of force to press home demands unrelated to it. It reflects the fact that the receiving end—in this case China, and in particular her Imperial Commissioner for Foreign Affairs, Yeh Ming-ch'en—tried throughout to argue the case over the specific casus belli, whereas for the British the whole affair was merely a pretext for wider demands to be made on China. Thus it seems more appropriate to call the conflict the Arrow War; and in order to examine its origins, the first step will be to analyse the documentary evidence related to the Arrow incident. Some papers in the Chinese language have only recently been made available to scholars in the Public Record Office. London, and these provide additional information for a re-investigation of the origins of the war.

The Punjab Boundary Force, which represented the last incarnation of the old British Indian Army, had an operational existence of thirty-two days, from 1 August to 1 September 1947, inclusive. That it failed in its assignment ‘to safeguard the peace in the Punjab’ during the partition of India is evident from the transfer of populations and tens of thousands of deaths. However, the actions of the Force and the circumstances of its failure are of interest to those concerned with the partition process, and have not, it appears, been discussed in any detail.

One hundred and seventy five years ago a shy young Fellow of Jesus College in this University asked a question which still remains just as relevant and just as urgent today. He asked, if I may paraphrase him in the language of today, whether economic development was possible, or whether it would be frustrated by the growth of population.

The main aim of this paper is to trace the changes of syllabus of the Early Ch'ing Provincial Examination, while on the other hand, a rational approach is adopted to account for the changes. The Provincial Examination is chosen for discussion, mainly because its successful candidates (chü-jen) were eligible for office and because the Metropolitan Examination (hui-shih), a more advanced public examination which produced chin-shih, bore a close resemblance to it.