In the immediate aftermath of the Glorious Revolution, there appeared an anonymous pamphlet, Political aphorisms, which purported to instruct its readers in ‘true maxims of government’. The identity of the author of this bold doctrinal claim is not known, and while it would be useful to have this knowledge, it is not, for reasons which will become clear, the most crucial element of the story. What is important is the historical significance of the role played by Political aphorisms as part of the process by which the ‘revolution principles’ of 1689 gained widespread acceptance in eighteenth-century England. In this essay, we offer one concrete illustration of the complex process by which political ideas are transmitted from one generation to another; and, we shall argue, the example provides a case study of the conscious effort to formulate an ideological defence of specific political principles and practices in order to preserve the historical meaning of a partisan perspective.

Two points may be safely made about biographies of Robert Clive. One is that the first adequately documented biography, by Sir John Malcolm, published in 1836, has never really been superseded, because it was solidly based on family papers made available by Lord Powis. The other is that if the modern general reader has any acquaintance with Malcolm’s work it is likely to derive from the sonorous prose of the oft-reprinted review which Lord Macaulay originally published in the Edinburgh Review in January 1840. This magisterial apportionment of praise and blame does not invite the criticism which H. W. C. Davis levelled at Macaulay’s equally celebrated essay on Warren Hastings; that it was even doubtful whether Macaulay had read with care the biography of Hastings by the Reverend G. R. Gleig which he purported to review.

France has always envied Paris. A popular interpretation of the history of France has been of conflict between the capital and the provinces in which Paris was the victor, at least from the establishment of the system of intendants by Louis XIV in the late seventeenth century. Radical Paris took the lead in the revolutionary upheavals of the 1790s, in 1830, 1848 and 1870–1. The conflict of the 1790s produced civil and foreign war and led to an even greater domination by Paris through the centralizing policies of Napoleon Bonaparte as military dictator. Under his rule and subsequently, all officials - civil, judicial, military, religious and educational - were appointed by the government in Paris. The Council of State was a corner-stone of this policy in the capital, the departmental prefect in the provinces. In 1830 the results of the July Days were acceptable on the whole to the French; but in 1848 provincial France roundly rejected the radical social revolution favoured by intellectuals and artisans in Paris; in 1871 the Commune of Paris was virtually isolated in its decentralizing and social-reforming ambitions and suffered bloody defeat at the hands of the regular army. Apparently, then, 1830 was the last, and perhaps only, time in the nineteenth century that ‘Paris led, France followed.’ Was 1830 so unique, and if so, why? The Revolution of 1830 was unquestionably Parisian, in that events in the capital determined the timing and location of acts of significant revolutionary violence and in that the major political and administrative changes which followed the revolution were enacted in Paris. Should one therefore assume that the provinces were passive, that they had little impact on events? This revolution may neatly illustrate the success with which Louis XIV, Napoleon and others had centralized France, but that conclusion needs to be based on evidence, not assumption. The most recent complete analysis of the revolution concentrated on Paris, but also delineated some aspects of provincial unrest in 1830, making use of the local studies written for the centenary of the revolution. Some provincial and departmental histories describe the events of 1830 and their local impact.

Around the middle of the nineteenth century, the Hungarian conservatives made a number of attempts decisively to influence the course of events in the Austrian empire and in the kingdom of Hungary, but failed on each occasion. What exactly had they wanted, and why did they fail to achieve it? How did they try to appear to others, and how did they see themselves? What political identity, if any, did they have? Was there anything special about the way their political activity and their perception of themselves bore on one another as compared to other nineteenth-century conservatives? What follows is an attempt to give answers to these questions.

In June 1907 Arthur Balfour, the Conservative leader of the opposition, was visited at home by a group of civilian strategists. They were led by Charles Á Court Repington, the military correspondent of The Times, and had come to enlist his support for an official inquiry into the threat of a German attack on Great Britain. Balfour was presented with a lengthy memorandum of ‘Notes on Invasion…’ which explained their case, and described how the situation had changed since the committee of imperial defence had reported to him as prime minister on the French threat in 1903. This document explained that in the new circumstances invasion was not only possible, but could be rendered certain if Germany carried out her preparations in total secrecy and at great speed. Under the heading ‘Chances of a Surprise’, the paper noted that circumstances favoured Germany, because the assembly of an invading force could be explained ‘as part of the normal yearly training, manoeuvres, &c.’, and even the concentration of a strong fleet near Heligoland was no longer considered unusual.

Hitler's foreign policy is still an area of widespread interest - particularly the question of its inner coherence. The present consensus goes back to the early 1950s and 1960s, when the German attack upon Russia was viewed as one stage in Hitler's quest for European hegemony or even world domination. While Alan Bullock viewed Hitler as an opportunist, Hugh Trevor-Roper in his essay on Hitler's war aims interpreted Hitler's invasion of Russia as a systematic step in Hitler's programme. Since then this model has been highly refined and systematized, notably by Andreas Hillgruber, who argues that Hitler's foreign policy programme had already been formulated long before he came to power, particularly in Mein Kampf and Hitler's Second book. On this model National Socialist foreign policy was programmatically fixed and Hillgruber goes as far to say that Hitler's programme ‘alone determined the great line of German policy in general’ and that he devoted all the energies available to him to realizing it. Yet even before Hillgruber had formulated his model, case studies were available which appeared to contradict its inner coherence and logic. Serious objections have also been raised by Martin Broszat, who describes Hitler's idea of an eastern empire as a ‘metaphor and Utopian figure of speech’.

The 1930s, a decade Labour in Scotland could have done without, ended appropriately. On Sunday, 3 September 1939, hours before war was declared, police closed down a Labour party meeting on Glasgow Green. The Glasgow left-wing weekly Forward, reporting this, concluded gloomily: ‘It is doubtful whether any other meeting will be allowed during the war period.’ Labour’s fortunes in 1939 were mixed, and it did not regard the imminent prospect of an election with enthusiasm. In Scotland it had recovered from the nadir of 1932, when after the secession of the Independent Labour party (I.L.P.) it was left with only three M.P.s out of the seven who had survived the 1931 election. But its gains in 1935 still gave it only 20 out of 74 seats, well short of its 1929 level of 37. It later won two by-elections, and acquired George Buchanan M.P. from the I.L.P. in 1938, but by then its municipal successes of 1932—5, when it took over most of the larger Scottish towns, had been checked. In November 1936 it lost Dundee. There was some recovery in 1937, but a net gain of only one seat in 1938. It had yet to take control in a single Scottish county.

In a recent communication to the Historical Journal, Greta Jones submitted a critique that was largely a commentary on my article ‘Eugenics and progressive thought: a study in ideological affinity’. I am taking the liberty of replying not only because my views have been seriously misrepresented by Dr Jones but also because I believe that she has failed to appreciate important questions of methodology that transcend the particular subject of eugenics and are worth further elaboration. I shall relate in turn to the issues she raises.