Representations of perpetual boyhood came to fascinate the late Victorians, partly because such images could naturalize a new spirit of imperial aggression and new policies of preserving power. This article traces the emergence of this fantasy through a series of stories about the relationship of the boy and the pirate, figures whose opposition in mid-Victorian literature was used to articulate the moral legitimacy of colonialism, but who became doubles rather than antitheses in later novels, such as R.L. Stevenson's "Treasure Island" and Joseph Conrad's "Lord Jim." Masculine worth needed no longer to be measured by reference to transcendent, universal laws, but by a morally flexible ethic of competitive play, one that bound together boyishness and piracy in a satisfying game of international adventure.

This article links Thomas Hardy's exploration of sympathy in "Jude the Obscure" to contemporary scientific debates over moral evolution. Tracing the relationship between pessimism, progressivism, and determinism in Hardy's understanding of sympathy, it also considers Hardy's conception of the author as enlarger of 'social sympathies' - a position, I argue, that was shaped by Leslie Stephen's advocacy of novel writing as moral art. Considering Hardy's engagement with writings by Charles Darwin, T.H. Huxley, Herbert Spencer, and others, I explore the novel's participation in a debate about the evolutionary significance of sympathy and its implications for Hardy's understanding of moral agency. Hardy, I suggest, offered a stronger defence of morality based on biological determinism than Darwin, but this determinism was linked to an unexpected evolutionary optimism.

Drawing on cultural history and opposing the idea that British visual culture in 1848 has nothing interesting to say about class, politics, and revolution, this article examines a depiction of the London dance-hall Laurent's Casino by Guillaume-Sulpice Chevalier, better known as Paul Gavarni, made to accompany as essay by Albert Smith for the collaborative work "Gavarni in London" (1849). The image appeared against the backdrop of revolutions abroad, and just weeks after rioting in Trafalgar Square. Reconstructing the location of the casino, the history of the venue, the entertainments enjoyed there, and description of its patrons - the gent and his female counterpart - reveals the dynamic performance of class enacted there, and contemporary reactions to that performance.

This essay uses Walter Pater's "Marius the Epicurean" (1885) to explore why certain Victorian liberals preferred to see religion as a matter of collective inheritance rather than personal belief. Recent commentators have portrayed the Protestant emphasis on individual conversion as one of the foundations of liberal individualism. Pater's liberalism, however, sees radical breakage with the past as a threat to the humanist ideal of many-sidedness and instead imagines the path of a rich individuality as running precisely through a surrender to the inscriptions of cultural heritage. Indeed, Pater virtually transforms the idea of self-culture into that of ethnographic culture, with the detached aesthete becoming a participant-observer who can both submit to the determinations of history and reflect on them through an anthropological lens.

This essay explores the Victorian debate about the place of pockets in men's and women's clothing. By studying the representation of men as naturally pocketed creatures and the general denial of useful pockets to middle-class women, the essay demonstrates the tenacious cultural logic by which men's and women's pockets were imagined to correspond to sexual differences and to index access, or lack thereof, to public mobility and financial agency. Interconnected readings of visual art, essays, and novels show how the common sense about gendered pockets was utilized and promulgated in Victorian narratives. The question of who gets pockets is thus positioned as part of the history of gendered bodies in public space.

Beginning with a discussion of the sources in Darwin's writing for Freud's theory of the hysterical symptom, this essay proceeds to a symptomatic reading of Darwin himself. With reference to "The Origin of Species," "The Descent of Man," and "The Expression of the Emotions," this essay shows that Darwin's theories of involuntary expressive behavior and of aesthetic preference in sexual selection are linked by their role in his understanding of racial difference and also by their reliance on the idea that learned habits can be inherited as instincts, a view often identified with Lamarck. They are thus at once theories of the foreign body and theories that appear as foreigners within the body of Darwin's work.

This essay examines the cultural representation of women's encounters on the fin-de-siècle street and, in particular, the uncertainties that clustered around the possibilities of mutual, or one-sided, same-sex desire accompanying such meetings. It argues, through an examination of lyric poetry, paintings, and short fiction, for the usefulness of twilight--a time of shadowy ambiguity--as a trope to suggest these uncertainities. More than this, it maintains that the lyric and the developing genre of the short story were modes ideally suited to an invocation of the fluid, the uncertain, and the unnamable. This argument is advanced through a close reading of Charlotte Mew's strange short story "Passed," which is read as representative of a transitional moment in lesbian literary history.

This article explores how Victorian notions of charity translated to evangelical mission projects in the Near East. Focusing on Quaker philanthropist Ann Mary Burgess, it traces the trade networks that she established to serve the Armenian community living in the Ottoman Empire. Burgess's vast network of supporters throughout Britain, Europe, and the Near East enabled her to fund relief projects using profits from goods produced by the orphans and widows served by the Friends' Constantinople Mission. The mapping of these networks reveals the evolving relationship between evangelicalism, the humanitarian movement, and the marketplace in imperial Britain.

This article looks first at how the art of J.W. Waterhouse responds to the classical world: how complex the scene of reception is, triangulated between artist, the ancient past, and his audiences, and extended over time. Second, it looks at how this scene of reception engages with a specific Victorian problematic about male sexuality and self-control. This is not just a question of Waterhouse using classics as an alibi for thinking about desire, but also of the interference of different models of desire and different knowledges of the classical world in the reception of the painting's narrative semantics.

Over the course of the twentieth century, Victorian narrative painting became synonymous with sentimentality, melodrama, and the artificial evocation of emotion. This essay aims to complicate this familiar assessment by examining the role of emotional effect played in aesthetic evaluations of some of the most popular modern life genre paintings of the 1850s to 1870s. I argue that the critical discourse on Victorian narrative painting was marked by a persistent skepticism about the role of feeling in aesthetic response -- as excessively painful or obvious emotional impact marked the limit between artistic success and failure -- and I locate these concerns within the physical and social exhibition culture of the Royal Academy.

Challenging entrenched preconceptions about the supposed escapism and conservatism of Edward Burne-Jones's art, this paper seeks to establish his monumental painted series, "The Legend of the Briar Rose," as a fundamentally radical and confrontational work. Critics have long viewed it as an endorsement of sleepy stasis, antithetical to the political activism espoused by his friend William Morris. By unraveling the intertwining themes of the series -- the transformative dream vision, artistic labor, the decorative mode, and social egalitarianism -- the "Briar Rose" series is revealed instead to be dramatization of the struggle for personal, social, artistic, and even environmental awakening.

James McNeill Whistler's painting "The White Girl (Symphony in White, No. 1)" caused a scandal for depicting a woman dressed all in white, uncontained by any clear framing narrative. Though the painting is usually read into history of modernism for its experimental play with tones of white, in fact the painting was linked by Victorian viewers to the mass-cultural phenomenon surrounding Wilkie Collins's sensation novel "The Woman in White." By examining the two works together, this article shows that the divide between the world of fine arts and that of sensational entertainment is perhaps more entrenched in our own canons than it was for Victorian spectators and consumers.

We currently view extinction with dismay and even horror, but Darwin saw extinction as ordinary and as necessary to evolutionary change. Still, the degree to which extinction is fundamental to his theory is rarely discussed. This essay examines Darwin's linking of the idea of "improvement" with that of natural selection and tracks a cluster of reasons for our changed valuation of extinction now. Those reasons demonstrate how scientific information and ideological preferences have reshaped the concept. The essay challenges the reader to assess some current assumptions about extinction and concludes by considering the shift in Darwin's own understanding from the "Origin" to the late "Autobiography".

This essay examines the complex tangle of emotional and scientific attachments that linked Darwin and botanist Joseph Dalton Hooker. Analyzing their roles as husbands, fathers, and novel readers demonstrates that possessing and expressing sympathy was as important for Victorian naturalists as it was for Victorian husbands. Sympathy was a scientific skill that Victorian naturalists regarded as necessary to fully understand the living world; although sympathy became increasingly gendered as feminine over the course of the century, its importance to male naturalists requires us to rethink the ways gender roles were negotiated in Victorian Britain. Botany was, for men like Darwin and Hooker, an acceptably masculine pursuit that nevertheless allowed--and even required--them to be sensitive and sympathetic.