The importance of voluntary associations is apparent to all who study the development of American society in the nineteenth century. Observations made by the perceptive nineteenth-century traveler Alexis de Tocqueville have become an obligatory cliché in historical writing on the subject:

Americans of all ages, all conditions, and all dispositions constantly form associations. They have not only commercial and manufacturing companies,… but associations of a thousand other kinds, religious, moral, serious, futile, general or restricted, enormous or diminutive. The Americans make associations to give entertainments, to found seminaries, to build inns, to construct churches, to diffuse books, to send missionaries to the antipodes; in this manner they found hospitals, prisons, and schools. If it is proposed to inculcate some truth or to foster some feeling by the encouragement of a great example, they form a society. Wherever at the head of some new undertaking you see the government in France, or a man of rank in England, in the United States you will be sure to find an association.

When Thomas Jefferson assessed the pros and cons of legalizing divorce before the American Revolution, he came out firmly on the side of divorce. “No partnership,” he declared, in a rationale that prefigured the Declaration of Independence, “can oblige continuance in contradiction to its end and design.” Among the few misgivings he had, however, was the problem of dividing marital assets, and while he was convinced a man could get a wife at any age, he was concerned that a woman beyond a certain age would be unable to find a new partner. Yet he envisioned divorce as a remedy for women. A husband, he noted, had “many ways of rendering his domestic affairs agreeable, by Command or desertion,” whereas a wife was “confined & subject.” That he assessed divorce as a woman's remedy while representing a client intent on blocking a wife's separate maintenance is not without irony. Still, in a world where the repudiation of a spouse was a husband's prerogative, he believed that the freedom to divorce would restore “to women their natural right of equality.”

As early as 1848, in the first public meeting on woman's rights, feminists raised the touchy issues of women's marital subjugation and divorce. They complained that the laws of marriage and divorce were framed for the benefit of men and to entrap women within the oppressive institution of marriage. Another controversial claim made at Seneca Falls—that to the ballot—went on to become the great organizing principle for women's campaigns for legal and political reform. But despite the bold beginning, divorce remained a complex and divisive issue for feminists throughout the century. Although legislatures in most states in the mid-nineteenth century were systematically liberalizing divorce laws, they could not lift the social stigma attached to it. Fearful of being branded as anti-marriage or anti-family, or believing in the permanency of marriage, many feminists spoke of divorce reluctantly, and never used their formidable organizing skills to launch a full-scale assault on laws restricting the dissolution of marriage.

Since the last century canon-legal historians and, more recently, social historians have examined a variety of questions concerning the social and legal aspects of marriage in the later medieval period. Particular significance has been given to the synthesis by Alexander III of existing sacramental and legal opinion concerning marriage in the twelfth century. His synthesis produced a doctrine in which marriage was viewed as a purely consensual union. Any two legally entitled adults could contract marriage by words of mutual consent. A twofold distinction existed in the nature and intent of these words. On the one hand, a binding and immediately effective union was created through the exchange of words of present consent (per verba de praesenti). Neither publicity, nor church solemnization, nor indeed consummation added anything to the validity and permanence of such a contract. On the other hand, a promise to marry was expressed by words of future consent (per verba de futuro), which might be terminated by the agreement of the parties or by a subsequent de praesenti contract. If, however, a de futuro contract was followed by intercourse, it took upon itself the legal mantle of a de praesenti contract, and what was initially only a promise to marry was transformed into a binding marriage.

Little scholarly attention has been paid to the role of Scots law in the development of the post-Revolutionary law and legal system of the United States. This neglect stems largely from the fact that Scots law has had little apparent permanent influence on American law. However, during the “formative era of American law” from the Revolution to the Civil War, a notable effort to introduce America to civil law concepts took place. Furthermore, the impact of the Scottish enlightenment on the fledgling United States in higher education, philosophy, and medicine is well documented. Scottish Enlightenment thought arguably had a significant impact on the Declaration of Independence, which was signed by at least two native-born Scots and an American who was a graduate of the University of Edinburgh.

At the December, 1945, annual meeting of the Association of American Law Schools, William Draper Lewis, who had directed the American Law Institute since its founding, made a startling confession about the founding of the ALI. Everett Fraser, then president of the AALS, had enticed Lewis to speak by complimenting the former University of Pennsylvania Law School dean: “People [at the AALS] talked of a Juristic Center. In the American Law Institute you made it a reality.” There was some truth to this—Lewis was the driving force behind the creation of the ALI. Fraser nevertheless mischaracterized Lewis's achievement. According to an unpublished, recently discovered typescript of Lewis's informal remarks, Lewis chided Fraser, “you know that there is not a word of truth in what [you] said… [because in] doing what I could to establish the American Law Institute, I did not create but rather for the time being killed any attempt to establish a legal center.” Lewis conceded many members of the AALS in the early 1920s “desired to start a Judicial Center conceived of as a place where law professors could meet, usually in the summer, discuss law, carry on legal researches and write legal books.” Lewis claimed he had torpedoed that plan; he had something very different in mind for the ALI “Elihu Root and [I] used this [AALS Committee on a Juristic Center] to summon a group of prominent lawyers to meet with the members of the Committee, and that by the work of that larger group grew the American Law Institute and its Restatement of the Law… it is not true that the American Law Institute is a Juristic Center. It is what Mr. Root and I intended it to be: an organization to carry out specific legal projects for the constructive improvement of the law and its administration.”

The legal treatise called Glanvill is proof that by the end of Henry II's reign men capable of shaping the custom of the English curia regis into a systematic law book were present at Westminster. Glanvill is “the first textbook of the English common law.” This treatise was written near the end of Henry II's reign and since the thirteenth century, it has borne the name of his justiciar, Ranulf de Glanvill, although not many scholars today accept his authorship. Why, then, should we raise once more the question: Who was the author of Glanvill? It remains a valid question because it affords an opportunity for reflection on questions concerning schools, learning, and twelfth-century English society. It forces us to consider the connections among the emerging English common law, the schools, the Scholastic method, and the study of Roman and canon law. It requires us to consider the contributions of Roman and eccesiastical law to Henry II's legal reforms.

Three themes crucial to understanding eighteenth-century British history converge when one writes about the country attorney: the professions, which had a remarkable development in Georgian England; the rural practitioner as distinct from his urban, principally London, counterpart about whom much more has been written; and the local economy in which attorneys performed as conveyancers, money lenders, managers of landed properties, copyhold court holders, and clerks—for justices of the peace, at the assizes, on turnpike, enclosure, and drainage commissions, for charities, and for law and order associations. Popular literature notwithstanding, country attorneys were not so often knaves using their skills to cheat unwitting clients as indispensable cogs in the rural economy where they served the interests of the landholding classes.

By the common law rules of inheritance women in English landed society fell into two classes. Some were altogether excluded from inheriting; others were entitled to succeed to the family estate. The woman thus entitled, the heiress-at-law, is clearly a figure due historical attention. Yet she has never been singled out for long-term consideration. Where she has been the main subject, discussion has always been chronologically limited, and her history has not been carried any distance through the course of legal changes that are relevant to it. Usually she has been discussed as but part of the family, and attention has been focussed largely on eldest sons and their relations with younger children, with younger sons or with daughters not heiresses, as the case may be. To focus on the heiress and to follow her history over the long run, from the thirteenth century to the eighteenth, is the purpose of this article.

Giambattista Vico was an eighteenth-century philosopher of history who provided a new and provocative account of the development of human institutions. His influence has been and continues to be significant. Yet, sadly, his work has been largely neglected by legal scholars. This neglect might be explained by the lack in Vico's principal work, Nuova Scienza, of any systematic account of the invention—or discovery—of the idea of justice. Given the scope of Vico's concern with human institutions, this failure is surprising. To be sure there are hints—more than hints—to be found throughout The New Science; nevertheless, his account of this important concept is fragmentary and scattered. This essay intends to demonstrate the value of Vico's work to the study of jurisprudence by tracing the roots and later development of the idea of justice as Vico might have elaborated them. [Bracketed references are to paragraph numbers in T. Bergin and M. Fisch (tr.), The New Science of Giambattista Vico (Cornell Univ. Press, 1968)].

The central institutions of the Florentine criminal law system in the early fifteenth century were still the medieval courts of the three foreign rectors, the Podestà, the Captain of the People, and the Executor of the Ordinances of Justice, just as they had been throughout the fourteenth century. Similarly, criminal trials were conducted using inquisition procedure just as they had been from the late thirteenth century. Important changes, however, had taken place and were continuing to take place in the offices of the rectors and in inquisition procedure that greatly enhanced the effectiveness of this system. The fortuitous confluence of a strong state with improvements in inquisition procedure and the court system led to a strongly self-reliant court system that could, for the first time in the early fifteenth century, fully implement inquisition procedure by arresting criminals in flagranti, initiating cases through public initiation, gathering evidence independently, compelling witnesses, and successfully convicting. Because the political and social atmosphere influenced the effectiveness and the philosophies of prosecution of the criminal law system, a study of this system must include some consideration of political and social influences. Conversely, a study of the judicial system supplies a great deal of evidence about the government and society. When this interrelated sphere is regarded as a whole, the early fifteenth century is seen to be dominated by three closely related developments: the full implementation of inquisition procedure; the continued development of the territorial state, which made this possible; and the struggle between republican institutions and the nascent oligarchy.