The English common law of real property, as S.F.C. Milsom has argued, took shape between 1153 and 1215. The common law gave royal protection to free tenements, replacing feudal relationships as the primary bond structuring society. The law thus constituted the institutional core of the English state. But no Machiavellian monarch constructed the English state. Henry II was, rather, a king who presumed the morality and necessity of feudal relationships. His innovations, though intentional and carefully planned, were directed at narrower and less far-sighted ends. Other changes were the result of bureaucratic action. The complex interplay between present-oriented political or juridical decisions and bureaucratic rigor generated a legal system.

Private individuals and voluntary associations have dominated the creation and direction of institutions of health, education, culture and good works throughout most of American history. Notwithstanding the great increase of government activity in these areas during the last fifty years, the extent to which private decisions structure public endeavors continues to distinguish our experience from that of other western cultures. Indeed, the unprecedented accumulation of large amounts of private capital which marked the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and the desire of the owners of that wealth to devote some part of it to ‘benevolent’ purposes resulted in the formation of philanthropic foundations, so large in scope and so immodest in purpose, that they continue today to play a major role in our society.

The criminals of medieval England are coming under increasing scrutiny. Predictably, the earliest attempts to illustrate criminality in this period have been anecdotal in approach. Predictably, too, the case studies are concentrated at higher levels in society, where criminals or their victims were sufficiently prominent to merit the attention of chroniclers or to leave heavy traces in the more accessible records of central government. Such studies have been useful in reinforcing the impression that organized crime enjoyed distinguished support and participation. For some time Sir John Molyns was able to shelter his persistent offences behind his political connection. Merchants robbed in Cannock Chase in 1341 found prosecution difficult; their assailants were knights from powerful midland families, conducting the robbery from Lapley priory. The Folville gang, led by members of minor landowning families, included various beneficed clergy and the constable of Rockingham castle. The Coterels recruited the sheriff of Nottingham and enjoyed the support of Lichfield chapter. The crimes were also at an exalted level: murdering a baron of the Exchequer, kidnapping a king's bench justice, extortion by threats from a mayor of Nottingham, or from one of the Luttrells. Even William Wawe, an Anglo-Irish thug of indifferent social standing, owes his immortality to the breadth of his operations and his preference for churchmen as victims.

This is an essay about an incident that took place in the Province of Massachusetts Bay during the period 1772–1774, an incident that I will call the Affair of the Royal Salary. Close relative of the Stamp Act Crisis, The Boston Tea Party, even the Boston Massacre, the Affair of the Royal Salary similarly involved a clash between the forces of popular government and those of imperial government; like its better known cousins it is part of the story of the coming of the American Revolution in Massachusetts. In addition, since the Salary around which the Affair developed was intended for judges, the Affair of the Royal Salary is part of the history of judicial independence in Massachusetts.

From David Daube I learned Roman law and many other things: inter alia that accepted doctrines and approaches need continual re-examination, that research in one field may illumine another, that limitations because of one's background or upbringing, or in one's academic skills affect one's judgment, and that the connection between life and law is more complex than is usually supposed. A paper dedicated to a beloved and revered master may properly strike a more personal—though not less scholarly—note than is usual; especially when the theme concerns tyranny and the recipient has experienced tyranny and withstood it mightily.

What is a ‘federal question’? Section two of article three of the Constitution grants jurisdiction to federal courts over, among other items, ‘all cases in law and equity, arising under this Constitution, the laws of the United States, and treaties made … under their authority’. This has become generally known as the grant of ‘federal question’ jurisdiction. The present statute giving such jurisdiction to federal courts dates only from 1875; not only has it been restrictively construed, but existing federal schemes of benefits, rights, and regulations provide us with a familiar, pat, confining notion of the nature of federal questions. What sorts of matters might have been expected to constitute federal questions in 1787, when the Constitution was written, and when such schemes were not contemplated much less established?

Drs. L.R. Poos and R.M. Smith have strongly criticized the uses made of manorial court rolls for demographic analysis. They have argued that the data obtained from the court records are inadequate in measuring the demographic trend and in making observations about replacement rates, expectation of life, marriage and illegitimacy. It seems to me, however, that although their criticism is partly justified, on the whole it is unduly negative. First, the claim that the demographic trend cannot be measured from court rolls will be examined; and thereafter the other issues raised by Poos and Smith will be discussed.