In recent years, the “party history” of William's and Anne's reigns has been the subject of renewed interest and controversy, centering especially on the structure of Augustan politics. But amidst the debate over the usefulness and validity of two-party or multi-party analyses, uncharted regions of the political terrain remain to be mapped. Not least among them is the electoral history of the 1690s, and the general election of 1690 is a leading case in point.

Historians from Boyer and Burnet down to the most recent student of the politics of William's reign, D. A. Rubini in his Court and Country 1688-1702, have commented briefly on this election, describing its conduct and characterizing its results primarily in terms of the rivalry of Whig and Tory. However, in his passing comments on the 1690 election, Rubini does challenge the received notion that the new Commons of March 1690 was “at least moderately Tory” in complexion. Noting that historians have failed hitherto to use the “black lists” published by supporters of the opposing groups during the campaign as a yardstick of its outcome, he goes on to suggest that the Whigs “did considerably better than has generally been supposed and the Tories less well.” His brief, but questioning remarks may perhaps serve, then, as a point of departure for a somewhat fuller account of the campaign and a more detailed analysis of the results of the election which returned the longest lived of William III's parliaments.

The notion that parliamentary politics in the days of William III and Queen Anne revolved around the conflict of the Whig and Tory parties is deeply rooted in the historiography of the later seventeenth century. Nourished by the many contemporary references to the existence and activities of the Whig and Tory parties, the “two-party concept” had its first flowering in the nineteenth century and came to full blossom in the early decades of the twentieth in the works of W. C. Abbott, K. G. Feiling, W. T. Morgan, and G. M. Trevelyan.

The canons of orthodoxy of one generation of historians, however, have often proved to be little more than the cannon fodder of their successors. In this case, it was one of Abbott's own students, Robert Walcott, who has led the way in the task of reinterpretation. As early as 1941, Walcott — remarking upon the obscurity enveloping accounts of party groupings in the period 1689 to 1714 — advanced the hypothesis that “the description of party organization under William and Anne which Trevelyan suggested in his Romanes Lecture on the two-party system is less applicable to our period than the detailed picture of eighteenth-century politics which emerges from Professor Namier's volumes on the Age of Newcastle.”

Walcott's invocation of Sir Lewis's studies of mid-eighteenth-century politics was, of course, a testimony to the advance in historical methodology that had gained prominence with the appearance in 1929 of The Structure of Politics at the Accession of George III.

The war against France was the most potent force for change in English government and politics in William III's reign, but during those same years the contest for control of the lucrative East India trade also set off strong reverberations at Whitehall, in parliament, and even in the constituencies. Ever since its reorganization in the 1650s, the East India Company had been subjected to intermittent attack from a motley array of foes: some questioned the desirability of the bullion-greedy trade to the Far East, others disputed the Company's exclusive commercial privileges held under the royal charters of 1661 and 1683 and argued for a regulated company, and from the early 1680s onwards a number of once prominent Company members (most notably, Thomas Papillon) challenged the directorate of Sir Josiah Child. In turn, the Glorious Revolution ushered in the decisive phases of the dispute between the Company and its enemies — a controversy finally brought to a peaceful conclusion only in the closing months of William's reign.

By 1689, the struggle for control of the East India trade had already developed a “constitutional” dimension and taken on a political tinge. On the one hand, there was the question, first raised by the critics of the early Stuarts, whether any group could be endowed with a commercial monopoly by virtue of royal charter alone. On the other hand, there was the issue of the Child clique's close identification with the Stuart Court during the 1680s — a “Tory” posture Sir Josiah and his associates had adopted in order to ward off challenges to their own predominance and to the Company's privileges.

No reader of Bleak House is likely to forget its scathing portrayal of the excesses of the unreformed Court of Chancery in the handling of Jarndyce v. Jarndyce. From its publication in 1852–53, it has created an indelible image of the Court, so powerfully influencing historians as well as laymen that it is sometimes hard to remember that it is fiction, and polemical fiction at that. The fiction, however, is built on a secure bedrock of fact; the voluminous testimony and submissions made by Dickens's contemporaries to a series of parliamentary inquiries on the legal system furnish ample backing for much of his “bill of complaint” on such scores as delay and expense, procedural technicality, and inconclusiveness of outcome. Thus, John Forster, a partner in one of the biggest firms in Lincoln's Inn, called the Court's delays “heart-sickening” and characterized its “modes of proceedings … as little adapted to the ordinary duration of human life as they are calculated for the determination of differences and the quiet of possessions”; in the same vein, a future master of the rolls averred that “cases have occurred, within my knowledge, in which the whole property to be administered in Chancery, has proved insufficient to pay the costs of the suit.”

As with the early nineteenth-century attacks on the unreformed House of Commons and the traditional electoral system, denunciations of the Court of Chancery's failings have a long history and, often, a repetitive quality.

An exploration of the origins of the Arbitration Act of 1698 and an analysis of court-related arbitration during the next century. Principal conclusions: (1) that the act originated at the board of trade, with John Locke drafting and drawing upon judicial practice of the later 1600s; (2) that use of the act's provisions was limited before the 1770s even though extra-judicial arbitration was proliferating; (3) that thereafter, with the Court of King's Bench under Lord Mansfield taking the lead, rules of court under the act multiplied; and (4) that arbitration under the act was increasingly ‘legalized’ in procedure and in the qualifications of the arbitrators.

The history in the eighteenth century of attorneys and solicitors—those who “practiced the forms or ‘mechanics’ of the law”—was first investigated in depth in Robert Robson's monograph of 1959. More recently, and following upon Geoffrey Holmes's suggestive survey of the lawyers in Augustan England, articles by M. Miles and A. Aylett have enlarged our knowledge of the social origins and geographical distribution of attorneys over the century as a whole and offered detailed analyses of attorneys' business in the West Riding and Cheshire during the latter half of the century.

Restrictions in law upon the power of testators to devise chattels were the norm in the days both of Glanvill and of Bracton. As Holdsworth put it:

If he [the testator] left a wife alone she took a half; if a wife and children they took, the wife a third, and the children who had not received an advancement from their father in his lifetime a third; … it was only the half or the third which remained over that a man was free to dispose of as he pleased.