Among the familiar sights crowding the landscape of English history from the dooms of Ine to that crown plucked from a hawthorn bush at Bosworth, none is more deeply cherished than the crisis of 1297 and the “Confirmation of the Charters” to which it gave rise. For, despite all the sharp differences over detail that the documentation for this crisis has engendered, scholars have shown remarkable agreement in seeing it as the one defeat suffered by Edward I in a long and notably successful reign. And to that defeat they have attributed great constitutional significance. Stubbs set the pattern, calling the “result singularly in harmony with what seems from history and experience to be the natural direction of English progress,” and Wilkinson is only one among the many who have recently elaborated on that theme:

The reign of Richard II has been one of the most popular subjects of attention for medievalists in recent years. As a result of this renewed interest, the ‘tyranny’ of Richard II's final years has been resurrected in the past decade in a new form by R. H. Jones as well as in its more traditional guise which can be found in the pages of T. F. Tout by Caroline Barron. This resurrection has not, however, gone unchallenged. Richard G. Davies has recently demonstrated the inadequacies of such a view in relation to Richard II's ecclesiastical policy, and research is now under way in regard to both Ireland and the Ricardian household which seems to limit still further the confines of the ‘tyranny.’ At the very heart of this concept is the condemnation of the King by both his contemporaries and modern historians for his development of a large military establishment which he employed to enforce his own will. This establishment has been pictured as a praetorian guard composed of the very dregs of society and eager to join Richard in a policy of absolutism. The archers of the crown deserve study in any attempt to examine the royal military establishment and to assess the tyrannical intentions of this ill-fated ruler.

Richard II, confronted with the recurrent efforts of a faction of magnates to control the governance of the realm, responded with an attempt to assert his personal will.

In recent years the interest of English historians in poverty and poor relief during Tudor-Stuart times has grown appreciably. Besides new research on certain cities, towns, and counties, a number of studies, both published and unpublished, focus attention on the vital center of English poor relief operations — the parish. This growing emphasis on parochial responses to the problems associated with poverty and the poor in England reflects the view of a recent student of English poor relief, Geoffrey W. Oxley, who has insisted that there really can be no history of poor relief per se, “only the history of poor relief in particular parishes.”

It is common knowledge that London parish records have enormous value for students of English poor relief. A careful survey of essential documents such as accounts of the churchwardens and overseers of the poor, vestry minutes, and parish registers which survive for London's 108 parishes led to the selection of the seven parishes in this study. Regrettably, the ravages of time and circumstance have destroyed a substantial proportion of the City records of this type which once existed for the period. Almost without exception the larger, densely populated, and generally poverty-stricken parishes outside London's walls suffered the greatest losses. Consequently, the study which follows represents only the range of responses for ameliorating poverty which emerged within a limited sample of smaller, less highly congested, intramural City parishes.

At the same time this group of London parishes provides a fuller awareness of the ways in which England's poor relief regime developed and functioned in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

At the close of the seventeenth century the English House of Lords played an important role in government. It was the highest court in the kingdom as well as the upper house of the legislature; and, as A. S. Turberville observed, the Lords still considered themselves the “hereditary counsellors” of the crown. The prestige of the peerage was such that well into George I's reign most leading ministers were, or sought to become, peers. Although over twice as large as a century earlier, the English House of Lords retained its exclusive character with a total membership of only 165-169 lay peers plus twenty-six bishops. Furthermore, thanks to William III's bipartisan creations, the upper house remained more or less evenly balanced between Whig and Tory sympathizers so that it acted as a counterweight to party fluctuations in the Commons. In addition, a number of peers exerted extensive control over elections to the Commons.

The Irish House of Lords between 1692 and 1727 did not constitute so influential a part of the Irish government, yet in most respects it resembled its English counterpart. It too served as a high court, with all members (as in England) joining the law lords in considering and rendering judicial decisions. As counsellors to the lord lieutenant (viceroy) Irish peers and bishops were, in fact, more active since they provided about half the membership of the Irish privy council. Unlike the English privy council, that in Ireland was a relatively small functioning body, meeting regularly with the lord lieutenant to review all proposed legislation.

The tradition of thought known as civic humanism has recently occupied the attention of a number of commentators. Not only has it been examined in the place of its birth, Renaissance Italy, and more especially Florence, but in a recent work J. G. A. Pocock has traced the influence of the tradition in seventeenth and eighteenth-century England, and finally in the New World. The question considered here is the particular use to which civic modes of thought and argument were put by a group of moderate reformers in the debates on parliamentary reform in the last two decades of the eighteenth century. Although this period has received attention from social and constitutional historians, it has not been discussed by historians of ideas.

Civic humanism is both an analysis of a political problem and a range of recommendations as to how the problem is best to be solved. The problem is defined in terms of the deleterious effects of time on political organization. Human organizations rely on the ordered and rule-governed behavior of individuals. Such behavior exhibits, over time, a constant tendency to disintegrate into selfish action. Political and legal institutions provide the immediate incentives to prevent this happening. Yet how can these institutions themselves be safeguarded or rendered self-regulating?

The solution to the problem of achieving political stability through time is seen essentially as a moral solution, that is to say it is seen to lie in the creation of a particular set of attitudes towards political life amongst the citizens of the polity.

During the decade before the American Revolution, the dissenting schoolmaster, James Burgh, became one of England's foremost propagandists for radical reform. All of the recent works on English radicalism and the ideological origins of the American Revolution recognize the important place of Burgh's magnum opus, the Political Disquisitions, in these movements. Burgh himself, however, has remained a shadowy figure. The process whereby he became a radical has not been explored; important nuances of his political philosophy are unknown; the scope of his radical actions are insufficiently appreciated; and the extent of his influence has not been fully evaluated. In short, there exist some rather incredible gaps in our understanding of the author of a work uniformly agreed to be the “standard source book for reform propagandists in the 1780's,” and “perhaps the most important political treatise which appeared in England in the first half of the reign of George III.” More importantly, in rectifying this situation it becomes obvious that Burgh's career raises some important questions about the character and development of late eighteenth-century English radicalism and suggests the need to qualify or modify certain current perceptions of that movement.

One of eleven children, Burgh was born in late 1714 in the rural Scottish community of Madderty, Perthshire. His father Andrew was minister of the parish Church of Scotland. His mother Margaret was an aunt of the famous Scottish historian William Robertson. Although almost nothing is known of James's youth, his writing indicates that his childhood was happy and the force of his parents' example was considerable.

Strikes are like certain bitter-sweet varities of sin. However frequently and violently they are denounced and however painful the consequences to those who indulge, they continue to flourish. V. L. Allen noted this curious role of strikes in industrial society some time ago. “Strikes,” he wrote,

Strikes have become so common in modern society that they seem to be a normal part of the social landscape. This is perhaps one reason why historians have tended to ignore them and their history. Upon reflection, it is indeed surprising how little attention the history of industrial conflict has received from historians. Of course, certain dramatic events, like the General Strike of 1926 or the London dock strike of 1889, are relatively well chronicled, but even these are sorely under-analyzed. There are not even competent narratives of other episodes, like the explosion of militancy just after the First World War; and we know still less about the persistent dynamics of strikes throughout British industry. In this respect, historians lag well behind other social scientists who have been studying industrial strife for many years, but whose work is unfortunately limited by their frankly ahistorical or even anti-historical approach. It is time for historians to remedy this deficiency, and this essay is intended as a first, very small effort in that direction.