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good, unless the different clauses can be voted upon separately; and even then, unless confined, in the case of measures of a technical character, to the classes of citizens who are conversant with them. But these modifications would hardly be practicable. A better plan is to publish copies of each bill before it passes into law, and to give the public an opportunity of passing its opinion on its merits.

The Initiative is a much more radical institution than the Referendum. It consists in a right in a prescribed number of citizens to require, by means similar to those employed when demanding the referendum that a statute for a specified purpose shall be framed by the cantonal legislature and submitted to the popular vote; or, that a draft already prepared by those who start the agitation shall be so submitted. But, even in the latter case, the legislature is not wholly passed by. It must prepare a report on the matter, and may present an alternative bill. There is no Initiative for federal legislation in Switzerland, although there is for amendments to the federal constitution. No Initiative exists in the cantons of Berne or Valais and in some of the others it is confined to financial measures.*

If citizens are to possess the privilege of initiating a fully drafted bill it should be required that it be framed by a professional man, in order that clearness of expression and congruity with the existing law may be ensured. A bill so initiated might be submitted to the popular vote without serious risk of the evils otherwise attendant on the use of the Referendum, because the framers would be anxious to avoid any clauses likely to imperil its success.

Yet a more thorough discussion would be secured if, instead of subjecting the measure to the veto of a majority of the citizens, they were required to discuss and vote upon it in local aggregates, such as town-meetings, chambers of commerce, chambers of agriculture, law associations, etc., the aggregates being so constituted as to secure a fair approach to numerical equality, and each aggregate casting one vote. The educational value of such a system would be very great, and it might, perhaps, be

*The number required for a cantonal initiative varies from 400 to 6,000, or from onetenth to one-fifth of all the voters.

possible to devise a method by which each aggregate might be enabled to suggest amendments. The advisability of using local aggregates for purposes of legislation would be well worth a detailed consideration. It rests on the principle that the majority of the members of a small aggregate would be more likely, after discussion, to reach a wise decision than the individuals who compose it would be, if acting separately.

There is, however, an objection to the use of the Initiative in America, and it is this. So vast is this country, and so populous the factions arrayed against one another in it, that the minds of its citizens are apt to be dazzled by heroic measures, some of which are nothing more than crude fancies of cranks. Now, if a few thousand men have power to place any measure, however objectionable, before the whole body of citizens, with the alternative that, unless as great a number vote against it as for it, it must pass into law, the result will be that the citizens will be very often called upon to take active steps, by recording their votes, for the purpose of defeating measures which the majority are known to disapprove. The only remedy for this is to require that the principle of the measure should be approved by a majority of the local aggregates before any further step is taken. Perhaps, if such a system were found to work, the legislatures might eventually become unnecessary.

As a consequence of the right of popular veto the Swiss federal legislation is valid even when it contravenes the constitution; and not Freiburg (where there is no popular veto), but Uri, is the only canton in which cantonal legislation is subordinate to the cantonal constitution, although Uri is one of the few cantons in which the legislature consists of the citizens at large.

That a statute should be invalid if it contravenes an express provision in a constitution is, however, reasonable, else the constitution would be a mere request to the legislature, which that body could disregard. But the courts in this country have created a grave constitutional difficulty by their habit of drawing inferences from the federal constitution, and treating statutes which contravene these inferences as if they contravened the constitution itself. The evil is intensified by the fact that these inferences

are often very far-fetched; and the framers of the Federal Constitution would probably have stood aghast if they had been told that a law for shortening the hours of labor, or for prohibiting the manufacture of cigars in tenement houses, would be held repugnant to the clause which declares that no one may be deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law.* The courts are further thought by Mr. Stimpson† to possess the power of invalidating statutes if they deem them contrary to some ancient and fundamental principle of English law; and, while Mr. Bondy, following Judge Cooley, § states that they have abandoned this claim, it must be confessed that they have gone very near to reviving it under another form by the inferences they draw from vague generalities in the constitution.

A question has been raised whether the courts have not gone beyond all reasonable bounds in this exercise of their power,

whether they have not been biased in favor of a class. A remedy might be found in a modified adoption of the Referendum. It might be provided, by constitutional amendment, that measures suspected of being unconstitutional should be referred to the judges for their opinion, and, if deemed by them unconstitutional, should be submitted to the popular vote, and that a measure approved either by the judges or by the people should override the constitution. A much more sensible remedy would be to have a new constitution drafted, containing no heroic phrases, but stating, in language free from ambiguity, exactly what it really means, and then altogether to prohibit the courts from drawing inferences. Such a work, however, would require a very careful draftsman.

The Federal Executive in Switzerland differs from ours in many important particulars. There the Legislature primarily represents the people for all purposes. The executive is its hand to execute the law, and its eye, not only to supervise the affairs of the nation, but to look ahead, and guide the course of legislation and policy. All the members of the

*F. J. Stimpson, "Handbook of Labor Laws,” p. 43; Ritchie v. Illinois, Eighth Biennial Report of the Bureau of Labor Statistics for Illinois, p. 462, esp. pp. 463, 472.

t Handbook, p. 3; p. 4 (note 4).

Cooley, "Constitutional Limitations," 6th ed. pp. 88, 197, 202, 204.

executive council are therefore appointed by the legislature; as are also the Federal judges, and the general of the Federal army. The President has no more power than any other member of the cabinet, and the executive council always acts as a whole.* The line of demarcation between executive and legislative functions is firmly marked. The power of pardon belongs to the Legislature, that of drafting bills to the Executive, whose members moreover may sit and speak, but not vote, in the legislature, but are not removable by it. Their term, like that of the legislature, is three years. They do not possess a veto power, but their other powers give them greater weight in legislation than a veto power could do. It is doubtful, however, whether the Swiss Executive could discharge these duties efficiently if they were appointed on strictly party lines. The practice there is to appoint men from different political parties; and this ensures a fairer consideration of questions, especially in the drafting of bills. The Swiss practice stands midway between the American and the British. Under the latter the ministers of state are always elected to the House of Commons, unless already members of the House of Lords. They initiate almost all legislation, and carry it by the aid of their party majority. But, while in office, they are continually interrogated in the House as to their policy; and, if a majority of the House disapproves of it, they either resign or dissolve the legislature; in which latter case, they resign if the new House is also hostile, and are then succeeded by ministers in sympathy with its views. H. W. B. MACKAY.

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"Culture," said Matthew Arnold—or what we ordinary people call liberal education — is an acquaintance with the best that has been thought and said." Now, an acquaintance with the best that has been thought and said, even on subjects of general human interest-to say nothing of technical subjects-is impossible in these days. But a man may fall very far short of that, and still have had a liberal training. What is essential is that in some subject he should have been made familiar with the best methods, that he should have come into close contact-as a man does in tackling some great book-with a mind of the highest order. Somehow he should have been made to realize what is meant by the term "first-rate."

* Constitution of 1874, Art. 84, (7) as to Federal matters. See as to Cantonal matters, Vincent, p. 119.

A WINTER IN BERLIN:

AN AMERICAN EXPERIENCE

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or of mushroom growth is the great city of Berlin, but from its first appearance, in 1225, when its charter was granted, it has been steadily increasing in size and importance until it is to-day the imperial city of Germany, and the most progressive one on the continent.

The push and rush that we find in our great cities is unknown here, and the people take life in a more rational way than we do; there is not the feverish haste in business or in pleasure that you find in America, while more time is given to home and its joys. Unlike us, the people act as if there were to be plenty of to-morrows after to-day, and the haste with which we scurry through life gives place to careful, conscientious fulfilment of every duty and comfortable recreation. An American finds the people, as individuals and a nation, methodical to a degree, which is almost maddening at first, but he soon learns not only to adapt himself to the new mode of living, but to enjoy the novel situation of being the master instead of the slave of time.

It is evening the railroad journey in the cramped, uncomfortable cars has seemed much longer than it really is, and the American, inwardly rejoicing that the trip is at an end, alights to find himself in the Anhalt Station, the finest in Berlin, and the one whose departurepavilion has the greatest breadth (two hundred feet) of any in Europe. With true American spirit, the traveller rushes for a cab, but is unable to secure one although there are dozens unemployed standing near. He soon learns that all his haste has been in vain, for he must return to one of the policemen who stand at the exit of each station, and after stating what kind of a vehicle is wanted, receives from him a metal ticket on which is the number of a cab.

Wondering what surprise is in store. for him next, he reaches the hotel, and discovers that it is not the bustling, noisy place to which he is accustomed, but is more like a huge private house, with an army of servants ready to do one's bidding-a man to hold open the dooranother, or perhaps two, to relieve you of your satchels, for everyone travelling

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Just as one is preparing to experiment with the tempting feather beds, for it is rather a feat to be able to balance one of them as a covering, a tap at the door announces the respectful porter who presents you with a slip of paper, pen and ink. The mystery of not having had to register is now explained, for this innocent-looking card demands in the name of the police who you are, how old you are, what is your business in Berlin, where you came from, and how long you intend remaining. American independence quickly rises to the boiling-point, but all in vain, for every landlord is compelled to see that his guests comply with the request, which takes the form of a command if refused.

The next morning, you arise prepared to be astonished at everything, and are rather disappointed if you meet anything familiar. At breakfast, you will order the regular German meal, and are served with only rolls and coffee, after which, if you are going to live in the city some time, you will take a cab to hunt a “pension" or boarding house.

These cabs are a great convenience. It is impossible to go more than a couple of blocks without finding a cab-stand, another regulation of the police, for the thirty thousand cabs are numbered, and each driver is obliged to wait at, and always return to, a certain corner, so that night or day, one is always sure to find cabs in waiting. They can be hired by the course or by the hour, the fare in either case being so very modest that custom gives the driver a small fee as a pour boire, or, as the Germans call it, Trink Geld (drink money). There is no disputing about the price, for each cabman is compelled to show his tariff, and, also, to have in his possession a plan of the city, with the lengths of the streets clearly marked on it. If you wish to feel luxurious, you will take one

of the first-class cabs well-built carriages- the drivers of which, clad in blue coats with white collars and shiny black hats, look down with contempt on the drivers of second-class cabs who wear blue coats with "yellow" collars and shiny white hats. Berlin would indeed be in a pitiable condition if it were not for this system of cabs, for in this city of one million, seven hundred thousand inhabitants, omnibuses and horse-cars are the only other means of transportation, with the exception of the steam tramways to the suburbs, none of which runs oftener, however, than every quarter of an hour, and most of them not more frequently than every half hour.

The first thing to be noticed as one rides about the city is the absence of telegraph poles, — which are relegated to the house tops-the fine asphalt pavements, and the army of street-sweepers, kept constantly employed, for Berlin is one of the three cleanest cities in the world. This sanitary regiment has a costume of its own, for the German government uniforms every man in its service, military or civil. In this case, the suit consists of dark trousers, long, heavy white hunter's coat, belted at the waist, high boots, and low cap. No machines are employed, but the work is done entirely by hand, brushes, made of bundles of little sticks, being used.

If one expects to find here the charm of mediæval and historical edifices, he will be disappointed, for Berlin with all its attractiveness is not picturesque. There are many handsome buildings which have been erected during the last few years, such as the Reichstag, which has recently been opened, but the homes are not homes in our sense of the word, for very few of the inhabitants live in separate houses, the name of "home" being given to the apartments or sets of rooms in the large tenement houses which are finished more or less elegantly.

Amidst all these human nests, it is not difficult to find "a pension," for each is compelled by law to announce its existence by a modest little plate on the front of the house or fence, and happy is that woman who can preface her name with a husband's title, for the German heart pays homage to a General, a Doctor, a Professor, or any other handle of respectability.

Let us stop before one of these houses. Ringing the bell, we are startled to see the door swing back as if moved by ghostly hands, not a living being in sight. Slightly bewildered, we look about for an explanation when the little, old man who opened the entrance by means of a spring pokes his head out of a doorway under the stairs, and asks us whom we want. Woe to you, if you cannot answer his question satisfactorily, for he is the porter of the building, and he will deny you admission if you cannot give the name of one of its inmates. Having satisfied this Cerberus, you proceed rapidly to mount the weary reach of nearly fourscore steps, and, panting, stand in the hall-way at the top of the third flight. After you have been in Berlin longer, you will learn that such haste makes waste. The frau, if you come with a letter of introduction, meets you most kindly, and before you can realize it, you are installed in a nook you can call your own.

The first thing you notice on entering your room is the ever-present German stove, a huge porcelain arrangement, usually placed in a corner extending from the floor to the ceiling, and is as much an abiding part of the house as the wall itself. The day is slightly chilly, and your curiosity is pitched to a high key to know how that great, elephantine stove can be sufficiently fed through its tiny mouth near the floor, so you order a fire. The maid assures you that it is late in the day, eleven o'clock, to build one, but that assertion only acts as a tonic to your desire, so you instruct her to light it immediately. In a few moments she returns with an apronful of kindling and a few small bricks of coal, for Germany is the land of economy, and even the coaldust is carefully saved to be made into these little blocks. These few things, she puts into the same tiny cavity, and then disappears, leaving the stove door open. An hour or more passes the miserable

little handful of fuel has burned itself to ashes and seemingly has wasted its life, for the stove remains as cold as ever. The maid comes again, triumphantly closes the unoffending little door, and declares that it will get warm "by and bye." The stove finally seems to realize that you are casting reflections on its ability, and the more it thinks of it, the warmer it gets until it appears to have

designs on your life, for you have to open the windows in sheer self-defense.

But attention is diverted from the stove by the announcement of dinner. Who will ever forget his first meal in the Fatherland, especially if he does not understand the language?-the boiled red cabbage and sausage, while the absence of butter and tea alone would make him long for "home, sweet home," not to mention the cannonade of German gutturals which surround him on all sides. German to right of him German to left of him - "volleyed and thundered.”

When the meal ends, worn out by your vain attempts to catch one familiar sound, you are about to leave the room when your polite landlady informs you of a German custom, which consists in every one at the table shaking hands with every one else, and saying "Gesegnete mahl zeit," blessed meal-time, after every repast. Hoping the cloak of politeness may cover one of the seven deadly sins, you conform to the habit, although it has been anything but a "blessed mealtime" to you.

In order to clear your mind of the cobwebs of memory, which make you wonder why you ever left dear America, you think you will take a ride on top of one of the omnibuses, just as you have done in Paris and London, for the finest view of a city can be obtained from these seats. But, alas, there is disappointment in store for you if you are a woman, for these, the best places, are reserved for the men and the petticoated part of humanity must be contented with the modest, cooped-up seats inside.

But the beautiful Thiergarten, as you go to walk in it next day, makes you forget all the home-sickness which change of custom has brought upon you. The singing of the many birds, and the leaf-whisperings of the splendid trees, all have a familiar echo. Dotted through the park, which consists of six hundred acres, are many monuments, one of the handsomest being that to Queen Louise, the great-grandmother of the present Emperor, and the woman whom all Germany loves, as well it may, for she had not only beauty of person, but what was still better, beauty of character, since it was she, who, in the midst of a corrupt court, laid the foundation of love of home and family which is perhaps the German's strongest characteristic.

Emerging from the eastern side of the Thiergarten, you find yourself at the Brandenburg Gate, an immense arch in imitation of the Propylæa at Athens; its five different passages being separated by massive Doric columns. Passing through this great structure of sandstone, surmounted by a copper quadriga of Victory, you come into the worldfamous street, Unter den Linden, so named from the rows of lime trees which flank it. It is a grand street, one hundred and ninety-six feet wide, leading from the gate to the palace, a distance of one mile. On a bright afternoon, the scene is a gay one, for it is not only the handsomest and most historical part of Berlin, but is also the fashionable promenade of the city.

Guarding the eastern end of the avenue, where are situated the University of Berlin, the Opera House, Arsenal, and Palace, is the bronze statue of Frederick the Great, undoubtedly the finest equestrian statue in the world.

But we must hurry past the University, with its five thousand students, many of whom bear on their faces and heads the scars received in their student duels, to the Museum, which acts as a magnet to every true lover of art, for this is the school where the greatest living artcritics have been educated. Although it does not own the gems of art to be found in Dresden, Munich, and Florence, its treasures include specimens of every period, arranged chronologically. placed around the rotunda are the famous friezes from the Altar of Zeus on the Acropolis of Pergamus, erected about 180 B.C. Exquisite reliefs they are, colossal in size but showing a dramatic power, knowledge of the human form, richness of drapery, and attention to detail, seen in no other antique remains of such huge size. Or if you are more interested in "münzwesen" than you are in sculpture, you may spend hours studying the long cases of coins, for this collection is one of the rarest, numbering among its priceless treasures some oblong, thick, irregular pieces of metal stamped with a turtle on one side, and a little square cut out with a hammer on the other. These are the oldest coins in the world, from the island of Ægina, relics of the far-away time, a thousand years before Christ. Or, perhaps, you care most for pictures. If you do, you will

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