Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Steven L. Lamy
University of Southern California
John S. Masker
Temple University
John Baylis
Swansea University
Steve Smith
University of Exeter
Patricia Owens
University of Oxford
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Preface
Introduction
Global Actors
Global Issues
Rival Theories
Research Approaches: Historical, Social Scientific, and Constructivist
Dimensions of Globalization
Conclusion
◼ FEATURES
Introduction
Revolutionary Wars
Cold War
Onset of the Cold War
Conclusion
◼ FEATURES
Introduction
What Is Realism?
Statism
Survival
Self-Help
Classical Realism
What Is Liberalism?
Defining Liberalism
Neoliberalism
Liberalism in Practice
Critical Theories
Feminist Theory
Constructivism
Conclusion
◼ FEATURES
Introduction
Global Factors
Conclusion
◼ FEATURES
Introduction
International Law
Growth in UN Membership
The Secretariat
Country Level
Headquarters Level
Arab League
Multinational Corporations
Information Politics
Symbolic Politics
Leverage Politics
Accountability Politics
Celebrity Diplomacy
Conclusion
◼ FEATURES
Introduction
What Is “Security”?
Hybrid Warfare
Postmodern War
Nuclear Motivations
United States
China
Russia
Cultural Explanations
Economic Explanations
Proselytizing
Mobility
Combating Terrorism
Counterterrorism Activities
Conclusion
◼ FEATURES
Introduction
Subsequent UN Legislation
Common Security
Universalism Challenged
Humanitarian Dimensions
Basic Principles
Conclusion
◼ FEATURES
Introduction
Open-Border Transactions
Transborder Transactions
Global Trade
Transborder Production
Transborder Products
Global Finance
Global Money
Global Banking
Global Securities
Global Derivatives
Irregular Incidence
Conclusion
◼ FEATURES
Introduction
Poverty
Development
Hunger
Conclusion
◼ FEATURES
Introduction
Norm Creation
Scientific Understanding
Environmental Regimes
Climate Change
Conclusion
◼ FEATURES
Glossary
References
Credits
Index
About the Authors
Steven L. Lamy
University of Southern California
John S. Masker
Temple University
John Baylis
Swansea University
Steve Smith
University of Exeter
Patricia Owens
University of Oxford
Steven L. Lamy
University of Southern California
John S. Masker
Temple University
John Baylis
Swansea University
Steve Smith
University of Exeter
Patricia Owens
University of Oxford
A Global Approach
Learning Goals
Organization
This piece, and two smaller pastoral pieces in the same vein, called
Patie and Peggy and Jenny and Meggie, had been so much liked
that Ramsay had been urged by his friends to do something more
extensive in the shape of a pastoral story or drama. He had been
meditating such a thing through the year 1724, while busy with his
two editorial compilations; and in June 1725 the result was given to
the public in The Gentle Shepherd: A Scots Pastoral Comedy.
Here the three pastoral sketches already written were inwoven into a
simply-constructed drama of rustic Scottish life as it might be
imagined among the Pentland Hills, near Edinburgh, at that time,
still within the recollection of very old people then alive, when the
Protectorates of Cromwell and his son had come to an end and Monk
had restored King Charles. The poem was received with enthusiastic
admiration. There had been nothing like it before in Scottish
literature, or in any other; nothing so good of any kind that could be
voted as even similar; and this was at once the critical verdict. It is a
long while ago, and there are many spots in Edinburgh which
compete with one another in the interest of their literary
associations; but one can stand now with particular pleasure for a
few minutes any afternoon opposite that decayed house in the High
Street, visible as one is crossing from the South Bridge to the North
Bridge, where Allan Ramsay once had his shop, and whence the first
copies of The Gentle Shepherd were handed out, some day in June
1725, to eager Edinburgh purchasers.
The tenancy of this house by Ramsay lasted but a year longer.
He had resolved to add to his general business of bookselling and
publishing that of a circulating library, the first institution of the
kind in Edinburgh. For this purpose he had taken new premises, still
in the High Street, but in a position even more central and
conspicuous than that of “The Mercury” opposite Niddry’s Wynd.
They were, in fact, in the easternmost house of the Luckenbooths, or
lower part of that obstructive stack of buildings, already mentioned,
which once ran up the High Street alongside of St. Giles’s Church,
dividing the traffic into two narrow and overcrowded channels. It is
many years since the Luckenbooths and the whole obstruction of
which they formed a part were swept away; but from old prints we
can see that the last house of the Luckenbooths to the east was a tall
tenement of five storeys, with its main face looking straight down the
lower slope of the High Street towards the Canongate. The strange
thing was that, though thus in the very heart of the bustle of the town
as congregated round the Cross, the house commanded from its
higher windows a view beyond the town altogether, away to Aberlady
Bay and the farther reaches of sea and land in that direction. It was
into this house that Ramsay removed in 1726, when he was exactly
forty years of age. The part occupied by him was the flat immediately
above the basement floor, but perhaps with that floor in addition.
The sign he adopted for the new premises was one exhibiting the
heads or effigies of Ben Jonson and Drummond of Hawthornden.
Having introduced Ramsay into this, the last of his Edinburgh
shops, we have reached the point where our present interest in him
all but ends. In 1728, when he had been two years in the new
premises, he published a second volume of his collected poems,
under the title of Poems by Allan Ramsay, Volume II., in a
handsome quarto matching the previous volume of 1721, and
containing all the pieces he had written since the appearance of that
volume; and in 1730 he published A Collection of Thirty Fables.
These were his last substantive publications, and with them his
literary career may be said to have come to a close. Begun in the last
years of the reign of Queen Anne, and continued through the whole
of the reign of George I., it had just touched the beginning of that of
George II., when it suddenly ceased. Twice or thrice afterwards at
long intervals he did scribble a copy of verses; but, in the main, from
his forty-fifth year onwards, he rested on his laurels. Thenceforward
he contented himself with his bookselling, the management of his
circulating library, and the superintendence of the numerous
editions of his Collected Poems, his Gentle Shepherd, and his Tea
Table Miscellany that were required by the public demand, and the
proceeds of which formed a good part of his income. It would be a
great mistake, however, to suppose that, when Allan Ramsay’s time
of literary production ended, the story of his life in Edinburgh also
came to a close, or ceased to be important. For eight-and-twenty
years longer, or almost till George II. gave place to George III.,
Ramsay continued to be a living celebrity in the Scottish capital,
known by figure and physiognomy to all his fellow-citizens, and
Ramsay’s bookshop at the end of the Luckenbooths, just above the
Cross, continued to be one of the chief resorts of the well-to-do
residents, and of chance visitors of distinction. Now and then,
indeed, through the twenty-eight years, there are glimpses of him
still in special connections with the literary, as well as with the social,
history of Edinburgh. When the English poet Gay, a summer or two
before his death in 1732, came to Edinburgh on a visit, in the
company of his noble patrons, the Duke and Duchess of
Queensberry, and resided with them in their mansion of
Queensberry House in the Canongate,—now the gloomiest and
ugliest-looking house in that quarter of the old town, but then
reckoned of palatial grandeur,—whither did he tend daily, in his
saunterings up the Canongate, but to Allan Ramsay’s shop? One
hears of him as standing there with Allan at the window to have the
city notabilities and oddities pointed out to him in the piazza below,
or as taking lessons from Allan in the Scottish words and idioms of
the Gentle Shepherd, that he might explain them better to Mr. Pope
when he went back to London.
Some years later, when Ramsay had reached the age of fifty, and
he and his wife were enjoying the comforts of his ample success, and
rejoicing in the hopes and prospects of their children,—three
daughters, “no ae wally-draggle among them, all fine girls,” as
Ramsay informs us, and one son, a young man of three-and-twenty,
completing his education in Italy for the profession of a painter,—
there came upon the family what threatened to be a ruinous disaster.
Never formally an anti-Presbyterian, and indeed regularly to be seen
on Sundays in his pew in St. Giles’s High Kirk, but always and
systematically opposed to the unnecessary social rigours of the old
Presbyterian system, and of late under a good deal of censure from
clerical and other strict critics on account of the dangerous nature of
much of the literature put in circulation from his library, Ramsay
had ventured at last on a new commercial enterprise, which could
not but be offensive on similar grounds to many worthy people,
though it seems to have been acceptable enough to the Edinburgh
community generally. Edinburgh having been hitherto deficient in
theatrical accommodation, and but fitfully supplied with dramatic
entertainments, he had, in 1736, started a new theatre in Carrubber’s
Close, near to his former High Street shop. He was looking for great
profits from the proprietorship of this theatre and his partnership in
its management. Hardly had he begun operations, however, when
there came the extraordinary statute of 10 George II. (1737),
regulating theatres for the future all over Great Britain. As by this
statute there could be no performance of stage-plays out of London
and Westminster, save when the King chanced to be residing in some
other town, Ramsay’s speculation collapsed, and all the money he
had invested in it was lost. It was a heavy blow; and he was moved by
it to some verses of complaint to his friend Lord President Forbes
and the other judges of the Court of Session. While telling the story
of his own hardship in the case, he suggests that an indignity had
been done by the new Act to the capital of Scotland:—
“Shall London have its houses twa
And we doomed to have nane ava’?
Is our metropolis, ance the place
Where langsyne dwelt the royal race
Of Fergus, this gate dwindled down
To a level with ilk clachan town,
While thus she suffers the subversion
Of her maist rational diversion?”
However severe the loss to Ramsay at the time, it was soon tided
over. Within six years he is found again quite at ease in his worldly
fortunes. His son, for some years back from Italy, was in rapidly
rising repute as a portrait-painter, alternating between London and
Edinburgh in the practice of his profession, and a man of mark in
Edinburgh society on his own account; and, whether by a junction of
the son’s means with the father’s, or by the father’s means alone, it
was now that there reared itself in Edinburgh the edifice which at the
present day most distinctly preserves for the inhabitants the memory
of the Ramsay family in their Edinburgh connections. The
probability is that, since Allan had entered on his business premises
at the end of the Luckenbooths, his dwelling-house had been
somewhere else in the town or suburbs; but in 1743 he built himself a
new dwelling-house on the very choicest site that the venerable old
town afforded. It was that quaint octagon-shaped villa, with an
attached slope of green and pleasure-ground, on the north side of the
Castle Hill, which, as well from its form as from its situation, attracts
the eye as one walks along Princes Street, and which still retains the
name of Ramsay Lodge. The wags of the day, making fun of its
quaint shape, likened the construction to a goose-pie; and something
of that fancied resemblance may be traced even now in its extended
and improved proportions. But envy may have had a good deal to do
with the comparison. It is still a neat and comfortable dwelling
internally, while it commands from its elevation an extent of scenery
unsurpassed anywhere in Europe. The view from it ranges from the
sea-mouth of the Firth of Forth on the east to the first glimpses of the
Stirlingshire Highlands on the west, and again due north across the
levels of the New Town, and the flashing waters of the Firth below
them, to the bounding outline of the Fifeshire hills. When, in 1743,
before there was as yet any New Town at all, Allan Ramsay took up
his abode in this villa, he must have been considered a fortunate and
happy man. His entry into it was saddened, indeed, by the death of
his wife, which occurred just about that time; but for fourteen years
of widowerhood, with two of his daughters for his companions, he
lived in it serenely and hospitably. During the first nine years of
those fourteen he still went daily to his shop in the Luckenbooths,
attending to his various occupations, and especially to his circulating
library, which is said to have contained by this time about 30,000
volumes; but for the last five or six years he had entirely relinquished
business. There are authentic accounts of his habits and demeanour
in his last days, and they concur in representing him as one of the
most charming old gentlemen possible, vivacious and sprightly in
conversation, full of benevolence and good humour, and especially
fond of children and kindly in his ways for their amusement. He died
on the 7th of January 1758, in the seventy-second year of his age, and
was buried in Greyfriars Churchyard.
Ramsay had outlived nearly all the literary celebrities who had
been his contemporaries during his own career of active authorship,
ended nearly thirty years before. Swift and Pope were gone, after
Gay, Steele, Arbuthnot, and others of the London band, who had
died earlier. Of several Scotsmen, his juniors, who had stepped into
the career of literature after he had shown the way, and had attained
to more or less of poetic eminence under his own observation, three,
—Robert Blair, James Thomson, and Hamilton of Bangour,—had
predeceased him. Their finished lives, with all the great radiance of
Thomson’s, are wholly included in the life of Allan Ramsay. David
Malloch, who had been an Edinburgh protégé of Ramsay’s, but had
gone to London and Anglicised himself into “Mallet,” was about the
oldest of his literary survivors into another generation; but in that
generation, as Scotsmen of various ages, from sixty downwards to
one-and-twenty, living, within Scotland or out of it, at the date of
Ramsay’s death, we count Lord Kames, Armstrong, Reid, Hume,
Lord Monboddo, Hugh Blair, George Campbell, Smollett, Wilkie,
Blacklock, Robertson, John Home, Adam Smith, Adam Ferguson,
Lord Hailes, Falconer, Meikle, and Beattie. Such of these as were
residents in Edinburgh had known Allan Ramsay personally; others
of them had felt his influence indirectly; and all must have noted his
death as an event of some consequence.
The time is long past for any exaggeration of Allan Ramsay’s
merits. But, call him only a slipshod little Horace of Auld Reekie,
who wrote odes, epistles, satires, and other miscellanies in Scotch
through twenty years of the earlier part of the eighteenth century,
and was also, by a happy chance, the author of a unique and
delightful Scottish pastoral, it remains true that he was the most
considerable personality in Scottish literary history in order of time
after Drummond of Hawthornden, or, if we think only of the
vernacular, after Sir David Lindsay, and that he did more than any
other man to stir afresh a popular enthusiasm for literature in
Scotland after the Union with England. All in all, therefore, it is with
no small interest that, in one’s walks along the most classic
thoroughfare of the present Edinburgh, one gazes at the white stone
statue of Allan Ramsay, from the chisel of Sir John Steell, which
stands in the Gardens just below the famous “goose-pie villa.” It
looks as if the poet had just stepped down thence in his evening
habiliments to see things thereabouts in their strangely changed
condition. By the tact of the sculptor, he wears, one observes, not a
wig, but the true poetic night-cap or turban.
LADY WARDLAW AND THE BARONESS NAIRNE[6]
Old as he is, he will set out at once, taking his three eldest sons with
him, Robin, Thomas, and Malcolm, and telling his lady in his
farewell to her:—
“My youngest son sall here remain
To guaird these stately towers,
And shoot the silver bolt that keeps
Sae fast your painted bowers.”
And so we take leave of the high castle on the hill, with the lady,
her youngest son, and Fairly fair, in it, and follow the old lord and his
other three sons over the moors and through the glens as they ride to
the rendezvous. On their way they encounter a wounded knight,
lying on the ground and making a heavy moan:—
“‘Here maun I lie, here maun I die,
By treachery’s false guiles;
Witless I was that e’er gave faith
To wicked woman’s smiles.’”
Here the story might seem to end, and here perhaps it was intended
at first that it should end; but in the completer copies there are three
more stanzas, taking us back to Hardyknute’s castle on the high hill.
We are to fancy Hardyknute and his sons returning joyfully thither
after the great victory:—
“Loud and chill blew the westlin wind,
Sair beat the heavy shower;
Mirk grew the nicht ere Hardyknute
Wan near his stately tower:
His tower, that used with torches’ bleeze
To shine sae far at nicht,
Seemed now as black as mourning weed:
Nae marvel sair he sich’d.