Under the happiest of conditions it is scarcely to be expected that democracy should result in a high degree of efficient government. For the very object of democracy is to give expression to desires and impulses which can only with difficulty be brought into harmony. Whether taken in the sense of the direct government of the people or in the sense of government by representatives of the people, democracy involves the reconciliation of conflicting views, resulting after much discussion and delay in the adoption of a compromise more or less unsatisfactory to both sides. In the formulation of its policies democracy is thus reduced to what is feasible and expedient in view of the present state of public opinion, while in the administration of its laws it must depend upon the executive ability not of its ablest citizens but of those who have succeeded in winning the confidence of their constituents. Moreover, in spite of obvious duplication of functions it is important that government be kept decentralized in order that the individuality of local areas may be preserved where national unity is not essential.

As shown in the struggle recently ended, modern war means “a nation in arms.” The old-time distinction between fighters and workers was almost obliterated, and there was an industrial army as well as an army in the field. The labors of the men and women behind the lines were essential to the effective operations of the men in arms. That this condition was recognized by the governments themselves is shown by the classifications of workers, according to which those whose special skill or ability was essential to the conduct of war industries were taken out or kept out of the army and retained in the factories, mines, workshops, and fields. In various ways the old lines between soldier and civilian, between war operations and the work of production, were broken down. The Germans made no distinction between war vessels and merchantmen. They deliberately destroyed coal mines and factories, growing crops and cattle; this was done with a military purpose, for the sake of lessening the military strength of the enemy. So, too, the former distinction between contraband and free goods was obliterated. Whole nations were in arms, and all their resources were mobilized to carry on the titanic struggle.

This world conflict has taught us that war is not waged altogether by armies in the field. It is a contest between the industrial organization and technique of the opposing nations. It is not carried on by money alone, but by the total resources, material and human, that can be concentrated in a combined, productive effort. The World War gave the first opportunity for a complete application of the modern factory system of production in warfare.

Why should legislative proceedings in the grand duchy of Luxemburg be given consideration? It is a country with an area less than that of Rhode Island and with a population (260,000) which would barely fill a second class city—a mere atom in the world's history. Nor has it played an heroic part in the great crisis. Here is the excuse. The discussions in the chamber of deputies have reflected, not in their depths but in their shallows, nearly all the phases of the seething unrest which agitates larger nations, and therein lies the reason for offering a few pictures drawn from the official records of the grand ducal chamber— the German reports as they are sent out daily, translated from the proceedings in French, and the final French comptes-rendus. They are miniatures of the processes of readjustment in progress across the Atlantic.

The Luxemburg chamber of deputies is a legislative body that has been evolved by a series of still visible leaps and jumps from the simplest feudal conditions to the assembly recently elected by universal adult suffrage on a basis of proportional party representation according to the system of the scrutin de liste. Its modernity is so complete that a Socialist woman has obtained a seat, yet the conservative character of the forbears of the body is not entirely lost to view in the mists of the past.

The old duchy of Luxemburg—a countship until raised to higher dignity by an imperial brother of its count (1354)—lost its early independence in the fifteenth century (1441), and thenceforth shared the political lot of the Belgic provinces under Burgundian, Spanish and Austrian rule.

The work of the Supreme Court during the term concluded last June was quite unusual both in the nature of the problems involved and the importance of certain of the results achieved. The center of interest in constitutional interpretation has swung, for the time being at least, decidedly from questions of state power to those of national power. This is partly the aftermath of the war, partly the corollary of recent amendments to the Constitution. By the same sign, the court has been confronted in recent months with not a few problems of considerable novelty—some indeed being questions of first impression—with the result that it has been called upon to enunciate principles which must guide its interpretation of important provisions of the Constitution for years to come. In preparing this review, the unique quality of the court's work during the period under consideration ought to determine the procedure. Accordingly the greater part of the space is devoted to a few outstanding cases, all of which involve questions of national power, while less striking results have received much briefer consideration, often only cursory mention.

The session of Congress which began on December 1, 1919, adjourned on June 5, 1920, to permit the members to attend the presidential nominating conventions and to participate in the campaign. It came to an end with a remarkable interchange of telegrams between President Wilson and the heads of seventeen railroad workers' unions. The chief executive expressed himself in no uncertain terms. During the nine months that the Sixty-sixth Congress had been in session, he said, no attempt had been made to deal with the cost of living, or to revise the tax laws. The railroad legislation was "so unsatisfactory that I could accept it, if at all, only because I despaired of anything better.”