The whole subject of forests, especially forests in the Middle Ages, is overlaid with a great deal of romanticism. The picture of a heavily-wooded England with primeval forests dotted here and there with villages connected by meandering tracks to relieve their isolation is fixed. Only a handful of Robin Hood bands lived within the depths of the forest itself. The present concern for man's destruction of his environment has caused this idyllic picture to be contrasted with the denuded landscape of large areas today, and the pathetic remnants of Sherwood Forest can be used as a cautionary lesson on industrialization since the eighteenth century. In fact, that lesson needs to be extended backward in time and the picture of the untouched medieval forest abandoned, for the reality was that men in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries made heavy use of the forests and encroached upon them just as man had done since he first came to the island or, more emphatically, since the Anglo-Saxon invaders began to make drastic changes in forested areas by their farming practices. However, after the Norman Conquest, the policies adopted for the royal forests did serve as some protection for the trees, even though the Norman kings no more had this as their purpose than had their predecessors. The thesis of this article is that the medieval English kings from the Normans on were conservationists in spite of themselves, even in the face of continuous demands from their own barons for disafforestment. Royal forest regulations enforced within the extensive areas under forest law protected the trees from complete destruction and slowed the inevitable encroachment of field upon forest.

“The Pythagoreans … defined justice unqualifiedly as reciprocity.”

(Aristotle, Eth. Nic. V. 8. 1132b 21)

It is one of time's ironies that Richard II, once troublesome to scholars for its “imperfection,” is now enjoying increasing appreciation for unity and harmony. One modern analysis of imagery even recognizes the play as “a succession of balances” whose theme advances “almost as the proof of a mathematical proposition”(italics mine). Other recent scholarship speaks in terms of a “symphony” of repeated key words and balanced scenes, and still another study defends its “emotional consistency,” and “logical continuity.”

Clearly, in spite of some diminution of quality in later acts, what emerges in the end-product is a well-balanced, well-tuned, completely metrical mechanism, whose major moving parts signify interaction, change, and integration in the realms of personal, political, and cosmic order, with an appropriate counterpoint of Pythagorean imagery, e.g., “heaven,” “soul,” “balance,” “time,” and “music” or “harmony.”

Soon after her husband of thirty-three years died leaving her a wealthy widow of sixty-two with an estate worth some £6,000, Anne Elsdon met Tobias Audley, a widower of twenty-five and keeper of a tobacco shop, whom one witness later described as “a most lewd person, and of no worth.” On July 21, 1624, Audley took the Widow Elsdon and her friend, Martha Jackson, to the Greyhound Tavern in London, where they met Mary Spencer, Margery Terry, Frances Holiday, and Nicholas Cartmell. The first two were common prostitutes, the second two ministers, though, presumably, not of the burning puritan brand. For the next three days all of them plied the Widow Elsdon with some £25 worth of liquor, staggering from tavern to tavern and eventually ending up at the Nags Head in Cheapside. In that appropriately named hostelry Anne consented to marry Tobias Audley. A special license was hurriedly obtained, but not before Widow Elsdon had passed out. So, after trying to revive her with slaps around the face, Mary Spencer, the common whore, said the marriage vows for her. The Reverend Cartmell pronounced Tobias and Anne man and wife, and off the widow was carried to a Blackfriars tavern for her wedding night. After stripping her, Tobias Audley proceeded to strip her estate. He took plate from her house worth £140, and bonds and deeds valued at £3,000, and largely as a result of her traumatic experiences the widow died two years later.

The first half of the seventeenth century in England witnessed the growing strength of Puritanism and even a “Puritan Revolution.” Frequently it is assumed that in the intensely religious atmosphere of that period local, county, and national authorities imprisoned offenders in order to protect “the inferior sort of people,” those of low rank, from bad example, and to avoid incurring God's wrath for allowing sinners to go unpunished. After all, did not officials incarcerate numerous adulterers, fornicators, and unwed parents? A glance through the documents, however, fosters the conclusion that it was an economic and not moral basis upon which many committals were made. This is suggested by the number of debtors incarcerated and the number of persons found innocent of alleged offenses, yet imprisoned for lack of sureties. Ralph Kershaw and his wife from Audenshaw near Manchester, for example, were found innocent of stealing £9 14s. in cash, but both were jailed until they paid 12s. to the clerk of the peace for their fees. A careful review of seventeenth-century legal records refines first impressions, and suggests that authorities imprisoned women for moral reasons and men for economic considerations. Probably everyone in the seventeenth century would have agreed with the justices who committed to the house of correction in Preston (Lanes.) Alice Robinson of Manchester for having four bastards “by maryed men and others,” and Thomas Greenhalgh of Atherton for fathering seven bastards. But they would not have agreed on whether the male and female were equally guilty or whether the unwed father and mother should be punished similarly.

This article has two purposes: to present some of the most basic facts about the Chartist Convention in 1839, and to offer a new structure for interpreting the Convention.

It is necessary to set forth the basic facts because historians have not bothered very much about them. The factual poverty of the historiography of the national Chartist movement was demonstrated recently by the publication of J. T. Ward's Chartism. Although the Convention of 1839 played a crucial role in the movement, Ward cannot tell his readers precisely who attended it or when it met. He states that fifty-four delegates attended it (p. 113), but in fact, seventy-one delegates attended the Convention. He incorrectly dates the adjournment for the simultanous meetings as 16 May (p. 123), and states that the Convention dissolved on 6 September (p. 133) when it met last on 14 September. Another sort of error in Ward's account involves the attendance of delegates. He asserts that Fletcher retired to Bury in March (p. 117), but Fletcher attended the Convention through July and sat in London on the Council in early August. He asserts Joseph Wood “left on 18 April” (p. 118); but no evidence exists that Wood attended the Convention after 18 February, and the evidence is overwhelming that he was not present at any time after 21 February. Ward says that Vincent and M'Douall were arrested in April (p. 121); in fact, Vincent was arrested just past midnight on the morning of 8 May, and M'Douall was taken by the authorities on 8 June. Ward asserts that Rider “led the summer resignations” (p. 125); he resigned on 2 May. Yet another source of error involves the sequence of events in localities as it affected the Convention and the delegates. Ward states that Richardson resigned to be replaced by Christopher Dean (p. 125); Dean was elected on 4 May, and Richardson resigned on 5 July. This dreary catalogue could be extended, but the point is clear.

The origins of the Second Anglo-Burmese War in late 1851 were the subject of a Mid-Victorian bipartisan and bureaucratic coverup throughout 1852-53. The Government of India in Calcutta had successfully maintained a policy of “non-intercourse” following removal in 1840 of its diplomatic representatives from Burma despite frequent uncoordinated calls for remonstrance by merchants, missionaries and military administrators. In 1851, a convergence of factors, most notably the alleged mistreatment of British subjects in Rangoon, captured the President in Council's attention in Calcutta resulting in a policy change which led to armed intervention. Calcutta's renewed interest in Burma occurred while politicans in London prepared to scrutinize the bureaucratic relations between the London-based Cabinet and the East India Company.

Official discussions in Calcutta about Burma occurred while Governor General Dalhousie was “up country on progress” and at the very time that the Council wanted to test its capacity to act independently. The Council resorted to a unit of the Royal Navy then in Calcutta enroute from Acheh to the Persian Gulf. Commodore George Robert Lambert offered to deliver letters to Burmese authorities in Rangoon and negotiate on behalf of the English subjects. Lambert's reputation for moderation recommended him to Calcutta officials. His instructions from Council and private letters from Dalhousie advised caution and the avoidance of confrontation. Yet Lambert, a line officer, ultimately responsible to the Admiralty in London, could conceivably ignore Calcutta's wishes and chart his own course.