[Transcriber's note: This book is an account by a British journalist ofthe cross-Canada tour, by train, in 1919, of Edward VIII, BritishPrince of Wales. In 1936, Edward abdicated from the British throne tomarry Wallis Simpson, an American divorcee. ]

[Frontispiece: H. R. H. THE PRINCE OF WALES]

WESTWARD WITH

THE PRINCE OF WALES

BY

W. DOUGLAS NEWTON

AUTHORIZED CORRESPONDENT IN AMERICA WITH

H. R. H. THE PRINCE OF WALES

AUTHOR OF "GREEN LADIES, " "THE WAR CACHE, " ETC. 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

NEW YORK LONDON

1920

COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

TO

"A. B. "

AND THE CARGO OF "CARNARVON. "

PREFACE

It was on Friday, August 1, 1919, that "the damned reporters" and the_Times_ correspondent's hatbox went on board the light cruiser_Dauntless_ at Devonport. 

The _Dauntless_ had just arrived from the Baltic to load upcigarettes--at least, that was the first impression. In the Baltic therate of exchange had risen from roubles to packets of Players, and ahandful of cigarettes would buy things that money could not obtain. Into the midst of a ship's company, feverishly accumulating tobacco inthe hope of cornering at least the amber market of the world, wedescended. 

Actually, I suppose, His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had beenthe first interrupter of the _Dauntless'_ schemes. Lying alongsideDevonport quay to refit--in that way were the cigarettes coveredup--word was sent that the _Dauntless_ with her sister ship, _Dragon_, was to act as escort to the battle-cruiser _Renown_ when she carriedthe Prince to Canada. 

Though he came first we could not expect to be as popular as thePrince, and when, therefore, those on board also learnt that the honourof acting as escort was to be considerably mitigated by a cargo fromFleet Street, they were no doubt justified in naming us "damned. "

We did litter them up so. The _Dauntless_ is not merely one of thelatest and fastest of the light cruisers, she is also first among thesmartest. To accommodate us they had to give way to a rash of rivetersfrom the dock-yard who built cabins all over the graceful silhouette. When our telegrams, and ourselves, and our baggage (including the_Times'_ hatbox) arrived piece by piece, each was merely an addition tothe awful mess on deck our coming had meant. 

Actually we could not help ourselves. Dock strikes, ship shortage andthe holiday season had all conspired to make any attempt to get toCanada in a legitimate way a hopeless task. Only the Admiralty's ideato pre-date the carrying of commercial travellers on Britishbattleships could get us to the West at all. The Admiralty, aftermodest hesitation, had agreed to send us in the _Dauntless_, and beforethe cruiser sailed we all realized how fortunate we were to have beenunlucky at the outset. 

We sailed on August 2 from Devonport, three days before _Renown_ and_Dragon_ left Portsmouth, and when one of us suggested that this was ahappy idea to get us to St. John's, Newfoundland, in order to be readyfor the Prince, he was told:

"Not at all, we're out looking for icebergs. "

We were to act as the pilot ship over the course. 

We found icebergs, many of them; even, we nearly rammed an iceberg inthe middle of a foggy night, but we found other things, too. 

We found that we had got onto what the Navy calls a "happy ship, " andif anybody wants to taste what real good fellowship is I advise him togo to sea on what the Navy calls "a happy ship. " However much we haddisturbed them, the officers of the _Dauntless_ did not let that makeany difference in the warmth of their hospitality. We were made freeof the ward-room, and that Baltic tobacco. We were initiated into "TheGrand National, " a muscular sport in which the daring exponent turns aseries of somersaults over the backs of a line of chairs; and we wereadmitted into the raggings and the singing of ragtime. 

We were made splendidly at home. Not only in the ward-room that did ajazz with a disturbing spiral movement when we speeded up from ourcasual 18 knots to something like 28 in a rough sea, but from thebridge down to the boiler room, where we watched the flames of oil fuelmaking steam in the modern manner, we were drawn into the charmedcircle of comradeship and keenness that made up the essential spirit ofthat fine ship's company. 

The "damned reporters, " on a trip in which even the weather wascompanionable, were given the damnedest of good times, and it was withreal regret that, on the evening of Friday, August 8, we saw the high, grim rampart wall of Newfoundland lift from the Western sea to tell usthat our time on the _Dauntless_ would soon be finished. 

Actually we left the _Dauntless_ at St. John's, New Brunswick, where webecame the guests of the Canadian Government which looked after us, asit looked after the whole party, with so great a sense of generosityand care that we could never feel sufficiently grateful to it. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 PREFACE I NEWFOUNDLAND II ST. JOHN, NEW BRUNSWICK III ON THE TRAIN BETWEEN ST. JOHN AND HALIFAX IV HALIFAX, NOVA SCOTIA V CHARLOTTETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND AND HABITANT, CANADA VI QUEBEC VII THE MOBILE HOTEL DE LUXE: THE ROYAL TRAIN VIII THE CITY OF CROWDS: TORONTO: ONTARIO IX OTTAWA X MONTREAL: QUEBEC XI ON THE ROAD TO TROUT XII PICNICS AND PRAIRIES XIII THE CITY OF WHEAT: WINNIPEG, MANITOBA XIV THE FRINGE OF THE GREAT NORTH-WEST: SASKATOON AND EDMONTON XV CALGARY AND THE CATTLE RANCH XVI CHIEF MORNING STAR COMES TO BANFF AND THE ROCKIES XVII THE PACIFIC CITIES: VANCOUVER AND VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA XVIII APPLE LAND: OKANAGAN AND KOOTENAY LAKES XIX THE PRAIRIES AGAIN XX SILVER, GOLD AND COMMERCE XXI NIAGARA AND THE TOWNS OF WESTERN ONTARIO XXII MONTREAL XXIII WASHINGTON XXIV NEW YORK

WESTWARD WITH THE PRINCE OF WALES

CHAPTER I

NEWFOUNDLAND

I

St. John's, Newfoundland, was the first city of the Western continentto see the Prince of Wales. It was also the first to label him withone of the affectionate, if inexplicable sobriquets that the West is sofond of. 

Leaning over the side of the _Dauntless_ on the day of the Prince'svisit, a seaman smiled down, as seamen sometimes do, at a vivid littleNewfoundland Flapper in a sunset-coloured jumper bodice, New York cutskirt, white stockings and white canvas boots. The Flapper looked upfrom her seat in the stern of her "gas" launch (gasolene equalspetrol), and smiled back, as is the Flapper habit, and the seamanpromptly opened conversation by asking if the Flapper had seen thePrince. 

"You bet, " said the Flapper. "He's a dandy boy. He's a plush. "

His Royal Highness became many things in his travels across America, but I think it ought to go down in history that at St. John's, Newfoundland, he became a "plush. "

Newfoundland also introduced another Western phenomenon. It presentedus to the race of false prophets whom we were to see go down inconfusion all the way from St. John's to Victoria and back again to NewYork. 

Members of this race were plentiful in St. John's. As we spent ourdays before the Prince's arrival picking up facts and examining themany beautiful arches of triumph that were being put up in the town, wewere warned not to expect too much from Newfoundland. St. John's hadnot its bump of enthusiasm largely developed, we were told; its peoplewere resolutely dour and we must not be disappointed if the Prince'sreception lacked warmth. In all probability the weather would conformto the general habit and be foggy. 

Here, as elsewhere, the prophets were confounded. St. John's provedsecond to none in the warmth of its affectionate greeting--thatsplendid spontaneous welcome which the whole West gave to the Princeupset all preconceived notions, swept away all sense of set ceremonialand made the tour from the beginning to the end the most happy progressof a sympathetic and responsive youth through a continent of intimatepersonal friends. 

II

The _Dauntless_ went out from St. John's on Sunday, August 10, torendezvous with _Renown_ and _Dragon_, and the three great modernwarships came together on a glorious Western evening. 

There was a touch of drama in the meeting. In the marvellous clear airof gold and blue that only the American Continent can show, we pickedup _Renown_ at a point when she was entering a long avenue of icebergs. There were eleven of these splendid white fellows in view on theskyline when we turned to lead the great battleship back to theanchorage in Conception Bay, north of St. John's, and as the shipsfollowed us it was as though the Prince had entered a processional wayset with great pylons arranged deliberately to mark the last phase ofhis route to the Continent of the West. 

Some of these bergs were as large, as massive and as pinnacled ascathedrals, some were humped mounds that lifted sullenly from theradiant sea, some were treacherous little crags circled by rings ofdetached floes--the "growlers, " those almost wholly submerged masses ofice that the sailor fears most. Most of the bergs in the two irregularlines were distant, and showed as patches of curiously luminantwhiteness against the intense blue of the sky. Some were close enoughfor us to see the wonderful semi-transparent green of the cracks andfissures in their sides and the vivid emerald at the base that thebursting seas seemed to be eternally polishing anew. 

When _Renown_ was sighted, a mere smudge on the horizon, we saw theflash of her guns and heard faintly the thud of the explosions. Shewas getting in some practice with her four-inch guns on the enticingtargets of the bergs. 

We were too far away to see results, but we were told that as aspectacle the effect of the shell-bursts on the ice crags wasremarkable. Under the explosions the immense masses of thesetranslucent fairy islands rocked and changed shape. Faces of icecliffs crumbled under the hits and sent down avalanches of ice into thefurious green seas the shocks of the explosions had raised. 

This was one of the few incidents in a journey made under perfectweather conditions in a vessel that is one of the "wonder ships" of theBritish Navy. The huge _Renown_ had behaved admirably throughout thepassage. She had travelled at a slow speed, for her, most of the time, but there had been a spell of about an hour when she had worked up tothe prodigious rate of thirty-one knots an hour. Under these testconditions she had travelled like an express with no more structuralmovement than is felt in a well-sprung Pullman carriage. 

The Prince had employed his five day's journey by indulging his fancyfor getting to know how things are done. Each day he had spent twohours in a different part of the ship having its function and mechanismexplained to him by the officer in charge. 

As he proved later in Canada when visiting various industrial andagricultural plants, His Royal Highness has the modern curiosity andinterest for the mechanics of things. Indeed, throughout the journeyhe showed a distinct inclination towards people and the work thatordinary people did, rather than in the contemplation of views howeversplendid, and the report that he said at one time, "Oh, Lord, let's cutall this scenery and get back to towns and crowds, " is certainly truein essence if not in fact. 

It was in the beautiful morning of August 11th that the Prince made hisfirst landfall in the West, and saw in the distance the great curtainof high rock that makes the grim coast-line of Newfoundland. 

For reasons of the _Renown's_ tonnage he had to go into Conception Bay, one of the many great sacks of inlets that make the island somethingthat resembles nothing so much as a section of a jig-saw puzzle. Theharbour of St. John's could float _Renown_, but its narrow waters wouldnot permit her to turn, and the Prince had to transfer his Staff andbaggage to _Dragon_ in order to complete the next stage of the voyage. 

Conception Bay is a fjord thrusting its way through the jaws of strong, sharp hills of red sandstone piled up in broken and stratified massesabove grey slate rock. On these hills cling forests of spruce andlarch in woolly masses that march down the combes to the very water'sedge. It is wild scenery, Scandinavian and picturesque. 

In the combes--the "outports" they are called--are the small, scatteredvillages of the fishermen. The wooden frame houses have the look ofthe packing-case, and though they are bright and toy-like when theirgreen or red or cinnamon paint is fresh, they are woefully drab whenthe weather of several years has had its way with them. 

In front of most of the houses are the "flakes, " or drying platformswhere the split cod is exposed to the air. These "flakes" are built upamong the ledges and crevices of the rock, being supported bynumberless legs of thin spruce mast; the effect of these spideryplatforms, the painted houses, the sharp stratified red rock and thegreen massing of the trees is that of a Japanese vignette set down amidinappropriate scenery. 

Cod fishing is, of course, the beginning and the end of the life ofmany of these villages on the bays that indent so deeply theNewfoundland coast. It is not the adventurous fishing of the GrandBanks; there is no need for that. There is all the food and the incomeman needs in the crowded local waters. Men have only to go out inboats with hook and line to be sure of large catches. 

Only a few join the men who live farther to the south, about Cape Race, in their trips to the misty waters of the Grand Banks. Here they putoff from their schooners in dories and make their haul with hook andline. 

A third branch of these fishers, particularly those to the north of St. John's, push up to the Labrador coast, where in the bays, or "fishingrooms, " they catch, split, head, salt and dry the superabundant fish. 

By these methods vast quantities of cod and salmon are caught, and, asin the old days when the hardy fishermen of Devon, Brittany, Normandyand Portugal were the only workers in these little known seas, practically all the catch is shipped to England and France. During thewar the cod fishers of Newfoundland played a very useful part inmitigating the stringency of the British ration-cards, and there arehopes that this good work may be extended, and that by setting up a bigrefrigerating plant Newfoundland may enlarge her market in Britain andthe world. 

With the fishery goes the more dangerous calling of sealing. For thisthe men of Newfoundland set out in the winter and the spring to thefields of flat "pan" ice to hunt the seal schools. 

At times this means a march across the ice deserts for many days andthe danger of being cut off by blizzards; when that happens no morenews is heard of the adventurous hunters. 

Every few years Newfoundland writes down the loss of a ship's companyof her too few young men, for Newfoundland, very little helped byimmigration, exists on her native born. "A crew every six or eightyears, we reckon it that way, " you are told. It is part of the hardlife the Islanders lead, an expected debit to place against the profitsof the rich fur trade. 

Solidly blocking the heart of Conception Bay is a big island, the highand irregular outline of which seems to have been cut down sharply witha knife. This is Bell Island, which is not so much an island as agreat, if accidental, iron mine. 

Years ago, when the island was merely the home of farmers andfishermen, a shipowner in need of easily handled ballast found that thesubsoil contained just the thing he wanted. By turning up the thinsurface he came upon a stratum of small, square slabs of rock ratherlike cakes of soap. These were easily lifted and easily carted to hisship. 

He initiated the habit of taking rock from Bell Island for ballast, andfor years shipmasters loaded it up, to dump it overboard with just asmuch unconcern when they took their cargo inboard. It was some timebefore an inquiring mind saw something to attract it in the rockballast; the rock was analyzed and found to contain iron. 

Turned into a profiteer by this astonishing discovery, the owner of theground where the slabs were found clung tenaciously to his holdinguntil he had forced the price up to the incredible figure of 100dollars. He sold with the joyous satisfaction of a man making a shrewddeal. 

His ground has changed hands several times since, and the prices paidhave advanced somewhat on his optimistic figure; for example, thepresent company bought it for two million dollars. 

The ore is not high grade, but is easily obtained, and so can behandled profitably. In the beginning it was only necessary to turnover the turf and take what was needed, the labour costing less than ashilling a ton. Now the mines strike down through the rock of theisland beneath the sea, and the cost of handling is naturally greater. It is worth noting that prior to 1914 practically all the output ofthis essentially British mine went to Germany; the war has changed thatand now Canada takes the lion's share. 

It was under the cliffs of Bell Island, near the point where the longlattice-steel conveyors bring the ore from the cliff-top to thewater-level, that the three warships dropped anchor. As they swung ontheir cables blasting operations in the iron cliffs sent out the thudof their explosions and big columns of smoke and dust, for all theworld as though a Royal salute was being fired in honour of thePrince's arrival. 

III

During the day His Royal Highness went ashore informally, mainly tosatisfy his craving for walking exercise. Before he did so, hereceived the British correspondents on board the _Renown_, and a fewminutes were spent chatting with him in the charming and spacious suiteof rooms that Navy magic had erected with such efficiency that one hadto convince oneself that one really was on a battleship and not in ahotel _de luxe_. 

We met a young man in a rather light grey lounge suit, whose boyishfigure is thickening into the outlines of manhood. I have heard himdescribed as frail; and a Canadian girl called him "a little bit of afeller" in my hearing. But one has only to note an excellent pair ofshoulders and the strength of his long body to understand how he canput in a twenty-hour day of unresting strenuosity in running, riding, walking and dancing without turning a hair. 

It is the neat, small features, the nose a little inclined to tilt, asoft and almost girlish fairness of complexion, and the smooth andremarkable gold hair that give him the suggestion of extremeboyishness--these things and his nervousness. 

His nervousness is part of his naturalness and lack of poise. Itshowed itself then, and always, in characteristic gestures, a tuggingat the tie, the smoothing-down of the hair with the flat of the hand, the furious digging of fists into pockets, a clutching at coat lapels, and a touch of hesitance before he speaks. 

He comes at you with a sort of impulsive friendliness, his body hitcheda little sideways by the nervous drag of a leg. His grip is a goodone; he meets your eyes squarely in a long glance to which the darknessabout his eyes adds intensity, as though he is getting your featuresinto his memory for all time, in the resolve to keep you as a friend. 

He speaks well, with an attractive manner and a clear enunciation thatnot even acute nervousness can slur or disorganize. He is, in fact, anexcellent public speaker, never missing the value of a sentence, andmanaging his voice so well that even in the open air people are able tofollow what he says at a distance that renders other speakers inaudible. 

In private he is as clear, but more impulsive. He makes little dartinginterjections which seem part of a similar movement of hands, or thewhole of the body, and he speaks with eagerness, as though he foundmost things jolly and worth while, and expects you do too. Obviouslyhe finds zest in ordinary human things, and not a little humour, also, for there is more often than not a twinkle in his eyes that givescharacter to his friendly smile--that extraordinarily ready smile, which comes so spontaneously and delightfully, and which became abyword over the whole continent of the West. 

It is this friendly and unstudied manner that wins him so muchaffection. It makes all feel immediately that he is extraordinarilyhuman and extraordinarily responsive, and that there are no barriers orreticences in intercourse with him. 

He is not an intellectual, and he certainly is not a dullard. Herather fills the average of the youth of modern times, with an extremefondness for modern activities, which include golfing, running andwalking; jazz music and jazz dancing (when the prettiness of partnersis by no means a deterrent), sightseeing and the rest, and my ownimpression is, that he is much more at home in the midst of a heartycrowd--the more democratic the better--than in the most august offormal gatherings. 

The latter, too, means speech-making, and he has, I fancy, a youngman's loathing of making speeches. He makes them--on certain occasionshe had to make them three times and more a day--and he makes good ones, but he would rather, I think, hold an open reception where Tom, Dick, Vera, Phyllis and Harry crowded about him in a democratic mob to shakehis hand. 

Yet though he does not like speech-making, he showed from the beginningthat he meant to master the repugnant art. To read speeches, as he didin the early days of the tour, was not good enough. He schooledhimself steadily to deliver them without manuscript, so that by the endof the trip he was able to deliver a long and important speech--such asthat at Massey Hall, Toronto, on November 4--practically withoutreferring to his notes. 

During his day in Conception Bay, the Prince went ashore and spent sometime amid the beautiful scenery of rocky, spruce-clad hills andvalleys, where the forests and the many rocky streams give earnest ofthe fine sport in game and fish for which Newfoundland is famous. 

The crews of the battleships went ashore, also, to the scattered littlehamlet of Topsail, lured there, perhaps, by the legend that Topsail iscalled the Brighton of Newfoundland. It is certainly a pretty place, with its brightly painted, deep-porched wooden houses set amid thetrees in that rugged country, but the inhabitants were led astray bylocal pride when they dragged in Brighton. The local "Old Ship" is thegrocer's, who also happened to be the Selfridge's of the hamlet, andhis good red wine or brown ale, or whatever is yours, is Root Beer!

For many of the battleships' crews it was the first impact with theCountry of the Dry, and the shock was profound. 

"I was ashore five hours, waiting for the blinkin' liberty boat to comeand take me off, " said one seaman, in disgust. "Five hours! And all Ihad was a water--and that was warm. "

IV

On Tuesday, August 12, the Prince transferred to _Dragon_ and incompany with _Dauntless_ steamed towards St. John's, along the grim, sheer coast of Newfoundland, where squared promontories standing outlike buttresses give the impression that they are bastions set in thewall of a castle built by giants. 

The gateway to St. John's harbour is a mere sally-port in that castlewall. It is an abrupt opening, and is entered through the high andcommanding posts of Signal and the lighthouse hills. 

One can conceive St. John's as the ideal pirate lair of a romance-makerof the Stevensonian tradition, and one can understand it appealing tothe bold, freebooting instincts of the first daring settlers. A ringof rough, stratified hills grips the harbour water about, sheltering itfrom storms and land enemies, while with the strong hills at thewater-gate to command it, and a chain drawn across its Narrows, it wassafe from incursion of water-borne foes. 

It was the fitting stronghold of the reckless Devon, Irish and Scotsfishermen who followed Cabot to the old Norse _Helluland_, the "Land ofNaked Rocks, " and who vied and fought with, and at length ruled withthe rough justice of the "Fishing Admirals" the races of Biscayan andPortuguese men who made the island not a home but a centre of the greatcod fishery that supplied Europe. 

St. John's has laboured under its disadvantages ever since those days. The town has been pinched between the steep hills, and forced tostraggle back for miles along the harbour inlet. On the southern sideof the basin the slope has beaten the builder, and on the dominantgreen hill, through the grass of which thrusts grey and red-brownmasses of the sharp-angled rock stratum, there are very few houses. 

On the north, humanity has made a fight for it, and the white, dustyroads struggle with an almost visible effort up the heavy grade of thehill until they attain the summit. The effect is of a terraced andpiled-up city, straggling in haphazard fashion up to the point wherethe great Roman Catholic cathedral, square-hewn and twin-towered, crowns the mass of the town. 

Plank frame houses, their paint dingy and grey, with stone and brickbuildings, jostle each other on the hill-side streets, innocent ofsidewalks. The main thoroughfare, Water Street, which runs parallelwith the harbour and the rather casual wharves, is badly laid, andgiven to an excess of mud in wet weather, mud that the single-deckelectric trams on their bumpy track distribute lavishly. The blackpine masts that serve as telegraph-poles are set squarely andfrequently in the street, and overhead is the heavy mesh of cables andwires that forms an essential part of all civic scenery in the West. The buildings and shops along this street are not imposing, and thereseems a need for revitalization in the town, either through a keeneroverseas trading and added shipping facilities, or a broader and moreencouraging local policy. 

Most of the goods for sale were American, and some of them not the besttype of American articles at that. It was hard to find indications ofBritish trading, and it seemed to me that here was a field for Britishenterprise, and that with the easing of shipping difficulties, whichwere then tying up Newfoundland's commerce, Britain and Newfoundlandwould both benefit by a vigorous trade policy. Newfoundlanders seemedanxious to get British goods, and, as they pointed out, the rate ofexchange was all in their favour. 

Through Water Street passes a medley of vehicles; the bumpy electrictrams, horse carts that look like those tent poles the Indians trailbehind them put on wheels, spidery buggies, or "rigs, " solid-wheeledcountry carts, and the latest makes in automobiles. 

The automobiles astonish one, both in their inordinate number and theirup-to-dateness. There seemed, if anything, too many cars for the town, but then that was only because we are new to the Western Continent, where the automobile is as everyday a thing as the telephone. All thecars are American, and to the Newfoundlander they are things of pride, since they show how the modern spirit of the Colony triumphs over seafreight and heavy import duty. Motor-cars and electric lighting in alavish fashion that Britain does not know, form the modern features ofSt. John's. 

When the two warships steamed through the Narrows into the harbour, St. John's, within its hills, was looking its best under radiant sunlight. The fishermen's huts clinging to the rocky crevices of the harbourentrance on thousands of spidery legs, let crackers off to the passingships and fluttered a mist of flags. Flags shone with vivid splashesof pigment from the water's edge, where a great five-masted schooner, barques engaged in the South American trade, a liner and a score ofvessels had dressed ships, up all the tiers of houses to where stringsof flags swung between the towers of the cathedral. 

From the wharves a number of gnat-like gasolene launches, gay withflags, pushed off to flutter about both cruisers until they came toanchor. From one of the quays signal guns were fired, and the brazenand inordinate bangings of his Royal salute echoed and re-echoed inuncanny fashion among the hills that hem the town, so that when thewarships joined in, the whole cup of the harbour was filled with thehammerings of explosions overlapping explosions, until the air seemedmade of nothing else. 

On the big stacks of Newfoundland lumber at the harbour-side, on thequays, on the freight sheds and on the roofs of buildings, Newfoundlandpeople, who, like the weather, were giving the lie to the prophets, crowded to see the Prince arrive. He came from _Dragon_ in the Royalbarge in the wake of the _Dauntless'_ launch, which was having aworried moment in "shooing" off the eager gasolene boats, crowding in, in defiance of all regulations, to get a good view. 

There was no doubt about the warmth of the welcome. It was acharacteristic Newfoundland crowd. Teamsters in working overalls, fishermen in great sea boots and oilskins, girls garbed in thesmartness of New York, whose comely faces and beautiful complexionswere of Ireland, though there was here and there a flash of Frenchblood in the grace of their youth, little boys willing to defy the lawand climb railings in order to get a "close up" photograph, youths inbubble-toed boots--all proved that their dourness was not an emotionfor state occasions, and that they could show themselves as they reallywere, as generous and as loyal as any people within the Empire. 

The Prince was received on the jetty by the Governor and the members ofthe legislature. With them was a guard of honour of seamen, all ofthem Newfoundland fishermen who had served in various British warshipsthroughout the war. There was a contingent from the NewfoundlandRegiment also, stocky men who had fought magnificently through the grimbattles in France, and on the Somme had done so excellently that thename of their greatest battle, Gueudecourt, has become part of theColony's everyday history, and is to be found inscribed on the postagestamps under the picture of the caribou which is the national emblem. 

The Prince's passage through the streets was a stirring one. Therewere no soldiers guarding the route through Water Street and up thehigh, steep hills to Government House, and the eager crowd pressedabout the carriage in such ardour that its pace had to be slowed to awalk. At that pace it moved through the streets, a greater portion ofthe active population keeping pace with it, turning themselves into aguard of honour, walking as the horses walked, and, if they did breakinto a trot, trotting with them. 

The route lay under many really beautiful arches, some castles withtowers and machicolations sheafed in the sweet-smelling spruce; othersconstructed entirely from fish boxes and barrels, with men on them, working and packing the cod; others were hung with the splendid fur, feathers and antlers of Newfoundland hunting. 

Through that day and until midday of the next, lively crowds followedevery movement of the "dandy feller, " swopping opinions as to hischarm, and his smile, his youthfulness and his shyness. They comparedhim with his grandfather who had visited St. John's fifty-nine yearsago, and made a point of mentioning that he was to sleep in the verybedroom his grandfather had used. 

There was the usual heavy program, an official lunch, the review of warveterans, a visit to the streets when the lavish electric light hadbeen switched into the beautiful illuminations, when the two cruiserswere mirrored in the harbour waters in an outline of electric lights, and when on the ring of hill-tops red beacons were flaring in hishonour. There was a dance, with his lucky partners sure ofphotographic fame in the local papers of tomorrow, and then in themorning, medal giving, a peep at the annual regatta, famous in localhistory, on lovely Quidividi Lake among the hills, and then, all toosoon for Newfoundland, his departure to New Brunswick. 

There was no doubt at all as to the impression he made. The visit thatmight have been formal was in actuality an affair of spontaneousaffection. There was a friendliness and warmth in the welcome thatquite defies description. His own unaffected pleasure in the greeting;his eagerness to meet everybody, not the few, but the ordinary, everyday people as much as the notabilities, his lack of affectation, and his obvious enjoyment of all that was happening, placed the Princeand the people, welcoming him, immediately on a footing of intimacy. His tour had begun in the air of triumph which we were to findeverywhere in his passage across the Continent. 

CHAPTER II

ST. JOHN, NEW BRUNSWICK

I

When one talks to a citizen of St. John, New Brunswick, one has animpression that his city is burnt down every half century or so inorder that he and his neighbours might build it up very much better. 

This is no doubt an inaccurate impression, but when I had listened tovarious brisk people telling me about the fires--the devastating one of1877, and the minor ones of a variety of dates--and the improvementsSt. John has been able to accomplish after them; and when I had seenthe city itself, I must confess I had a sneaking feeling thatProvidence had deliberately managed these things so that a lively, vigorous and up-to-date folk should have every opportunity ofreconstructing their city according to the modernity of their minds andstatus. 

The vigorousness of St. John is so definite that it got into our bonesthough our visit was but one of hours. St. John, for us, representedan extraordinary hustle. We arrived on the morning of Friday, August15, after the one night when the sea had not been altogether ourfriend; when the going had been "awfully kinky" (as the seasick one ofour party put it), and the spiral motif in the _Dauntless'_ wardroomhad been disturbing at meals. 

CHAPTER III

ON THE TRAIN BETWEEN ST. JOHN AND HALIFAX

I

Next morning in the train we were awakened to an unexpected Sunday. Itwas not an ordinary calm Sunday, but a Sunday with a hustle on, aCanadian Sunday. There was no doubt about the bells, though they wereringing with remarkable earnestness in their efforts to get Canadiansinto church. 

Lying in our sleeping sections, we were bewildered by the bells, and bythe fact that by human calendar the day should be Saturday. Then weraised the little blinds that hung between our modesty and a world ofpassing platforms, and found that we were in a junction (probablyTruro), with a very Saturday air, and that the church bells were onengines. 

It takes some time for the Briton to become accustomed to thestrangeness of bells on engines, and the fact, that, instead ofwhistling, the engines also give a very lifelike imitation of a liner'ssiren. The bells are tolled when entering a station, or approaching alevel crossing, and so on, and the siren note is, I think, a realimprovement on the ear-splitting whistle that harrows us in England. 

Our first night on the Canadian National had been a prophecy of themany comfortable nights we were to spend on Canadian railways. We hadbeen given an ordinary sleeping car of the long-distance service, butas we had it to our masculine selves, the exercise of getting out ofour clothes and into bed, and out of our bed and into clothes, was anordinary human accomplishment, and not an athletic problem tinged withembarrassment. 

The Canadian sleeper is a roomy and attractive Pullman, with wide andcomfortable back to back seats, each internal pair called a section. At night the seats are pulled together, and the padding at their backspulled down, so that a most efficient bed is formed. A section of theroof lets down, resolving itself into an upper bunk, while long greencurtains from roof to floor, and wood panels at foot and head completethe privacy. 

In these sleepers Canadians make the week's journey from the Atlanticto the Pacific. There is no separation of sexes, and a woman may findthat she is sharing a section with a strange male quite as a matter ofcourse, the only distinction being that the chivalrous Canadian alwaysgives up the bottom berth, if it is his, to the lady, and climbs to thetop himself. 

In these circumstances, to remove one's clothes, and particularly thatpart that proclaims one's gender, is a problem. I have tried it. Oneswitches on the little electric reading light, climbs into the bunk, buttons up the green curtains, and then in a space a trifle larger thana coffin endeavours to remove, and place tidily, one's clothes (forarticles scattered on that narrow bunk during the struggle mean thatone ends by becoming simply a tangle of garments). 

At these moments one realizes that hands, arms, legs, and head havebeen given one to complicate things. One jams them against everything. And there are times, too, when the unpractised Briton is simply baffled. 

They tell in every Canadian train the tale of the Englishman who cameface to face with such a crisis. Having removed most of his garments, he came to that point where the ingenuity of human nature seemed tofail. He pondered it. The matter seemed insuperable. And he began towonder if. .. . He put his head through his curtains and shouted alongthe crowded--and mixed--green corridor of the car:

"I say, porter, _does_ one take off one's trousers in this train?"

Most of the railways, the Canadian Pacific certainly, are putting oncompartment cars; that is, a car made up of roomy private sections, holding two berths. On most sleepers, too, there is a drawing-roomcompartment that gives the same privacy. These are both comfortableand convenient, for, apart from privacy, the passenger does not have totake his place in the queue waiting to wash at one of the three basinsprovided in the little section at the end of the car that is also thesmoking-room. 

It must not be thought that the sleepers are anything but comfortable;they are so comfortable as to make travelling in them ideal. Thepassenger, also, has the run of the train, and can go to theobservation car, where he can spend his time in an easy chair, lookingthrough the broad windows at the scenery, or reading one of the manymagazines or papers the train provides; or he can write his letters ontrain paper at a desk; can go out to the broad railed platform at therear of the car, and sit and smoke, and see Canada unrolling behind him. 

And at the appropriate times for breakfast, dinner and supper--that isthe Canadian routine, and there is no tea--the passenger goes to thediner and has a meal from a menu that would make the manager of many aLondon hotel feel anxious for his reputation. 

II

We had some experience of the lavishness and variety of Canadian mealsin St. John, when we had ordered what would have been an ordinarydinner in London, and had had to cry "_Kamerad!_" after the fish. 

The first Canadian breakfast we had on the Canadian National was of thesame order. It began, inevitably, with ice-water. Ice-water is thething that waiters fill up intervals with. Instead of pausing betweencourses for the usual waiter's meditation, they make instinctively forthe silver ice-water jug, and fill every defenceless glass. Ice-wateris universal. It is taken before, during and after every meal, andthere are ice-water tanks (and paper cups) on every railway carriageand every hotel. At first one loathes it, and it seems to create anunnatural thirst, but the habit for it is soon attained. 

The menu for breakfast is always varied and long--and I speak notmerely of the special trains we travelled in, for it was the same onordinary passenger trains. One does not face a _table d'hôte_ mealoutside of which there is no alternative but starvation, but one isgiven the choice of a range of dishes for any of the three meals thatequals the choice offered by the best hotels in London. 

Breakfast begins with fruit; breakfast is not breakfast in the Americancontinent unless it begins with fruit. And at that precise timebreakfast fruit was blueberries. Other fruit was on the menu:raspberries, melon, grape-fruit, canteloupe, orange-slices, orangejuice, and so on; but to avoid blueberries was to be suspected of beingeccentric, and even an alien enemy. 

Blueberries were in season. Blueberries and cream were being eaten atbreakfast with something more than mere satisfaction by the entireCanadian nation. Blueberries were being consumed with a sort ofpatriotic fervour, for blueberries have a significance to the Canadian. It is a fruit peculiarly his own; he treats it as a sort of emblem, hewaxes enthusiastic over it, and the stranger feels that if he does noteat it (with cream, or cooked as "Deep Blueberry Pie"), he has notjustified his journey to the Dominion. Hint that it is merely theEnglish bilberry or blaeberry, or whortleberry and--but no one dareshint that. The blueberry is in season. One eats it with cream, and itis worth eating. 

You may follow with what the Canadian calls "oats, " but which you callporridge, or, being wiser since the dinner at St. John, you go straighton to halibut steak, or Gaspé salmon, or trout, or Jack Frost sausages, or just bacon and eggs. There is a range that would have pleased youin an hotel, but which fills you with wonder on a train. 

And not merely the range, but the prodigality of the portions, surprises. Your halibut or salmon or trout is not a strip that seemslike a sample, it is a solid slice of exquisitely cooked fish thatlooks dangerously near a full pound, and all the portions are on thesame scale, so that you soon come to recognize that, unless you rationyourself severely, you cannot possibly hope to survive against thisDominion of Food. 

When we sat down to that breakfast in the Canadian National diner Ithink we realized more emphatically than we had through the wholecourse of our reading how prodigal and rich a land Canada was. As wesat at our meal we could watch from the windows the unfolding of thestreams and the innumerable lovely lakes, that expand suddenly out ofthe spruce forests that clad the rocky hills and the sharp valleys ofNova Scotia. 

We could see the homestead clearings, the rich land already underservice and the cattle thereon. It was from those numberless pebblyrivers and lakes that this abundance in fish came; in the forests wasgame, caribou and moose and winged game. From the cleared land camethe wheat and the other growing things that crowd the Canadian table, and the herds represented the meat, and the unstinted supply of creamand milk and butter. Even the half-cleared land, where tree stumps andbushes still held sway, there was the blueberry, growing with thejoyous luxuriance of a useful weed. 

To glance out of the window was to realize more than this, it was torealize that in spite of all this luxuriance the land was yet barelyscratched. The homesteads are even now but isolated outposts in theundisciplined wilderness, and when we realized that this was but asection, and a small section at that, of a Dominion stretchingthousands of miles between us and the Pacific, and how many thousandmiles on the line North to South we could not compute, we began to geta glimmer of the immensity and potentiality of the land we had justentered. 

There is nothing like a concrete demonstration to convince the mind, and I recognize it was that heroic breakfast undertaken while Icontemplated the heroic land from whence it had come that brought hometo me with a sense almost of shock an appreciation of Canada'sgreatness. 

By the time I had arrived at Halifax, and had a Canadian NationalRailway lunch (for we remained on the train for the whole of our stayin the city) I knew I was to face immensities. 

CHAPTER IV

HALIFAX, NOVA SCOTIA

I

The first citizen of Halifax to recognize the Prince of Wales was alittle boy: and it was worth a cool twenty cents to him. 

The official entry of His Royal Highness into Halifax was fixed forMonday, August 18th. The _Dragon_ and _Dauntless_, however, arrived onSunday, and the Prince saw in the free day an opportunity for gettingin a few hours' walking. 

He landed quietly, and with his camera spent some time walking throughand snapping the interesting spots in the city. He climbed the hill towhere the massive and slightly melodramatic citadel that his ownancestor, the Duke of Kent, had built on the hill dominates the city, and continued from there his walk through the tree-fringed streets. 

At the very toe of the long peninsula upon which Halifax is built hewalked through Point Pleasant, a park of great, and untrammelled, natural beauty, thicketed with trees through which he could catch manyvivid and beautiful glimpses of the intensely blue harbour waterbeneath the slope. 

It was in this park that the young punter pulled off his coup. 

He was one of a number of kiddies occupied in the national sport ofHalifax--bathing. He and his friends spotted the Prince and his partybefore that party saw them. Being a person of acumen the wise kidimmediately "placed" His Royal Highness, and saw the opportunity forfinancial operations. 

"Betcher ten cents that's the Prince of Wales, " he said, accommodatingthe whole group, whereupon the inevitable sceptic retorted:

"Naw, that ain't no Prince. Anyhow he doesn't come till tomorrow, see. "

"Is the Prince, I tell you, " insisted the plunger. "And see here, betcher another ten cents I goes and asks him. "

The second as well as the first bet was taken. And both were won. 

This is not the only story connected with the Sunday stroll of thePrince. Another, and perhaps a romantic version of the same one, wasthat it was the Prince who made and lost the bet. He was said to havecome upon not boys but girls bathing. Seeing one of them poisedskirted and stockinged, for all the world as though she were theauthentic bathing girl on the cover of an American magazine, ready todive, he bet her a cool twenty that she dare not take her plunge fromthe highest board. 

This story may be true or it may be, well, Canadian. I mean by that itmay be one of the jolly stories that Canadians from the very beginningbegan to weave about the personality of His Royal Highness. It is, indeed, an indication of his popularity that he became the centre of ahost of yarns, true or apocryphal, that followed him and accumulateduntil they became almost a saga by the time the tour was finished. 

II

In this short stroll the Prince saw much of a town that is certainlyworth seeing. 

Halifax on the first impact has a drab air that comes as a shock tothose who sail through the sharp, green hills of the Narrows and seethe hilly peninsula on which the town is built hanging graciously overthe sparkling blue waters of one of the finest and greatest harbours inthe world. 

From the water the multi-coloured massing of the houses is broken upand softened by the vividness of the parks and the green billowing ofthe trees that line most of the streets. Landing, the newcomer is atonce steeped in the depressing air of a seaport town that has nottroubled to keep its houses in the brightest condition. As many ofthose houses are of wood, the youthful sparkle of which vanishes in thematurity of ill-kept paintwork, the first impression of Halifax isactually more melancholy than it deserves to be. 

The long drive through Water Street from the docks, moreover, merelylands one into a business centre where the effect of many goodbuildings is spoilt by the narrowness of the streets. Such a conditionof things is no doubt unavoidable in a town that is both commercial andold, but those who only see this side of Halifax had better appreciatethe fact that the city is Canadian and new also, and that there areresidential districts that are as comely and as up-to-date as anywherein the Western Continent. 

Halifax certainly blends history and business in a way to make it themost English of towns. It is like nothing so much as a seaport in theNorth of England plus a Canadian accent. 

There is the same packed mass movement of a lively polyglot peoplethrough the streets. There is the same keen appetite for living thatsends people out of doors to walk in contact with their fellows underthe light of the many-globed electric standards that line the sidewalk. 

There is the same air of bright prosperity in the glowing and vivaciouslight of the fine and tasteful shops. They are good shops, and theirwindows are displayed with an artistry that one finds is characteristicthroughout Canada. They offer the latest and smartest ideas in blousesand gowns, jewellery and boots and cameras--I should like to find outwhat percentage of the population of the American Continent does notuse a camera--and men's shirtings, shirtings that one views with awe, shirtings of silk with emotional stripes and futuristic designs, andcollars to match the shirts, the sort of shirts that Solomon in all hisglory seems to have designed for festival days. 

At night, certainly, the streets of Halifax are bright and vivid, andthe people in them good-humoured, laughing and sturdy, with thatcontempt of affectation that is characteristic of the English north. 

The bustle and vividness as well as the greyness of Halifax lets oneinto the open secret that it is a great industrial port of Canada, andan all-the-year-round port at that, yet it is the greyness andnarrowness of the streets that tells you that Halifax is also history. In the old buildings, and their straggled frontage, is written the factthat the city grew up before modernity set its mark on Canada in thespacious and broad planning of townships. 

It was, for years, the garrison of Britain in the Americas. Since theday when Cornwallis landed in 1749 with his group of settlers to securethe key harbour on the Eastern seaboard of America until the Canadiansthemselves took over its garrisoning, it was the military and navalbase of our forces. And in that capacity it has formed part of thestage setting for every phase of the Western historical drama. 

It was the rendezvous of Wolfe before Quebec; it played a part in theAmerican War of Independence; it was a refuge for the United EmpireLoyalists; British ships used it as a base in the war of 1812; from itsanchorage the bold and crafty blockade runners slipped south in theAmerican Civil War, and its citizens grew fat through those adventurousvoyages. It has been the host of generations of great seamen fromCook, who navigated Wolfe's fleet up the St. Lawrence, to Nelson. Ithoused the survivors of the _Titanic_, and was the refuge of the_Mauretania_ when the beginning of the Great War found her on the highseas. It has had German submarines lying off the Narrows, so closethat it saw torpedoed crews return to its quays only an hour or soafter their ships had sailed. 

III

The Prince of Wales was himself a link in Halifax's history. Notmerely had his great-great grandfather, the Duke of Kent, commanded atthe Citadel, but when he landed he stepped over the inscribed stonecommemorating the landing on that spot of his grandfather on July 30th, 1860, and his father in 1901. 

His Royal Highness made his official landing in the Naval Dockyard onthe morning of Monday, August 18th. As he landed he was saluted by theguns of three nations, for two French war sloops and the fine Italianbattleship _Cavour_, which had come to Halifax to be present during hisvisit, joined in when the guns on shore and on the British warshipsaluted. 

At the landing stage the reception was a quiet one, only notabilitiesand guards of honour occupying the Navy Yard, but this quietness wasonly the prelude to a day of sheer hustle. 

The crowd thickened steadily until he arrived in the heart of the city, when it resolved itself into a jam of people that the narrow streetsfailed to accommodate. This crowd, as in most towns of Canada, believed in a "close up" view. Even when there is plenty of space theonlookers move up to the centre of the street, allowing a passageway ofvery little more than the breadth of a motor-car. Policemen of broadand indulgent mind are present to keep the crowd in order, and whenpolicemen give out, war veterans in khaki or "civvies" and boy scoutsstring the line, but all--policemen, veterans and scouts--so mixingwith the crowd that they become an indistinguishable part of it, sothat it is all crowd, cheery and friendly and most intimate in itsgreeting. That was the air of the Halifax crowd. 

It always seemed to me that after the roaring greeting of the streetsthe formal civic addresses of welcome were acts of supererogation. Yetthere is no doubt as to the dignity and colour of these functions. 

From the packed street the Prince passed into the great chamber of theProvincial Parliament Building, where there seemed an air of soft, redtwilight compounded from the colour of the walls and the old pictures, as well as from the robes and uniforms of the dignitaries and the gownsof the many ladies. 

As ceremonies these welcomes were always short, though there was alwaysa number of presentations made, and the Prince was soon in the openagain. In the open there were war veterans to inspect, for in whatevertown he entered, large or small or remote, there was always a goodshowing of Canadians who had served and won honours in Europe. 

Everywhere, in great cities or in a hamlet that was no more than ascattering of homesteads round a prairie's siding, His Royal Highnessshowed a particular keenness to meet these soldiers. They were his owncomrades in arms, as he always called them, and when he said that hemeant it, for he never willingly missed an opportunity of getting amongthem and resuming the comradeship he had learned to value at the Front. 

In most towns, as in Halifax, his round of visits always included thehospitals. His car took him through the bright sunshine of the Halifaxstreets to these big and very efficient buildings, where he wentthrough the wards, chatting here and there to a cot or a convalescentpatient, and not forgetting the natty Canadian nurses or the doctors, or even, as in one of the hospitals on this day, a patient lying in atent in the grounds outside the radius of the visit. 

In Halifax, also, there was another grim fact of the war which calledfor special attention; that was the area devastated by the terribleexplosion of a ship in the docks in December, 1917. 

The party left the main streets to climb over the shoulder of thepeninsula to where the ruined area stood. It is to the north of thetown, on the side of the hill that curves largely to the very water'sedge. Down off the docks, and an immense distance away it seems fromthe slope of ruin, a steamer loaded with high explosive collided withanother, caught fire and blew up, and on the entire bosom of that slopecan be seen what that gigantic detonation accomplished. 

The force of the explosion swept up the hill and the wooden houses wentdown like things of card. In the trail of the explosion followed fire. As the plank houses collapsed the fires within them ignited their frailfabric and the entire hillside became a mass of flames. 

The Prince looked upon a hill set with scars in rows, the rockfoundations of houses that had been. Houses had, in the main, disappeared, though here and there there was a crazy structure hangingtogether by nails only. Across the arm of the harbour, on the pretty, wooded Dartmouth side, he could see among the trees the sprawledugliness of the ruin the explosion had spread even there. 

On this bleak slope, where the grass was growing raggedly over theruins, the old inhabitants were showing little inclination to return. Only a few neat houses were in course of erection where, before, therehad been thousands. It was as though the hillside had become evil, andmen feared it. 

Over the hill, and by roads which are best described as corrugated(outside the main town roads of Canada, faith, hope and strong springsare the best companions on a motor ride), he went to where a newdistrict is being built to house the victims of the disaster. 

Modern Canada is having its way in this new area, and broad streets, grass lawns and pretty houses of wood, brick or concrete withcharacteristic porches give these new homes the atmosphere of thegarden city. 

Perched as it is high on the hill, with the sparkling water of theharbour close by, one can easily argue that good has come out of theevil. But as one mutters the platitude the Canadian who drives the carpoints to the long, tramless hill that connects the place with theheart of the city, and tells you curtly:

"That's called Hungry Hill. "

"Why Hungry Hill?"

"It's so long that a man dies of hunger before he can get home from hisoffice. "

IV

The social side of the visit followed. 

The Prince went from the devastated area, and from his visit to some ofthe people who were already housed in their new homes, through theattractive residential streets of Halifax to the Waegwoltic Club. 

This club is altogether charming, and one of the most perfect places ofrecreation I have seen. The club-house is a low, white ramblingbuilding set among trees and the most perfect of lawns. It has reallybeautiful suites of rooms, including a dancing hall and a dining-room. From its broad verandah a steep grass slope drops down to the sea waterof one of the harbour arms. Many trees shade the slope and the idlingpaths on it, and through the trees shines the water, which has anastonishing blueness. 

At the water's edge is a bathing place, with board rafts and a highskeleton diving platform. Here are boys and girls, looking as thoughthey were posing for Harrison Fisher, diving, or lolling in the vividsun on the plank rafts. 

With its bright sea, on which are canoes and scarlet sailed yachts, thevivid green of its grass slopes under the superb trees, the WaegwolticClub is idyllic. It is the dream of the perfect holiday place cometrue. 

Quite close to it is another club of individuality. It is a clubwithout club-house that has existed in that state for over sixty years. 

This is the Studley Quoit Club, which the Prince visited after he hadlunched at the Waegwoltic. Its premises are made up of a quoit field, a fence and some trees, and the good sportsmen, its members, as theyshowed His Royal Highness round, pointed solemnly to a fir to which atelephone was clamped, and said:

"That is our secretary's office. "

A table under a spruce was the dining-room, a book of cuttingsconcerning the club on a desk was the library, while a bench against afence was the smoking lounge. It is a club of humour and pride, thathas held together with a genial and breezy continuity for generations. And it has two privileges, of which it is justly proud: one is theright to fly the British Navy ensign, gained through one of its firstmembers, an admiral; the other is that its rum punch yet survives in adry land. 

The Prince's visit to such a gathering of sportsmen was, naturally, anaffair of delightful informality. There was a certain swopping ofreminiscences of the King, who had also visited the club, and a certaindry attitude of awe in the President, who, in speaking of the honoursthe Prince had accepted just before leaving England, said that thoughthe members of the Studley Club felt competent to entertain His RoyalHighness as a Colonel of the Guards, as the Grand Master of Freemasons, or even, at a pinch, as a King's Counsel, they felt while in theirearthly flesh some trepidation in offering hospitality to a Brother ofthe Trinity--a celestial office which, the President understood, thePrince had accepted prior to his journey. 

It was a happy little gathering, a relief, perhaps, from set functions, and the Prince entered fully into the spirit of the occasion. He drankthe famous punch, and signed the Club roll, showing great amusementwhen some one asked him if he were signing the pledge. 

On leaving this quaint club he came in for a cheery mobbing; men andwomen crowded round him, flappers stormed his car in the hope ofshaking hands, while babies held up by elders won the handclasp withouta struggle. 

A crowded day was closed by a yet more crowded reception. It was anopen reception of the kind which I believe I am right in saying thePrince himself was responsible for initiating on this trip. It was areception not of privileged people bearing invitations, but of thewhole city. 

The whole city came. 

Citizens of all ages and all occupations rolled up at Government Houseto meet His Royal Highness. They filled the broad lawn in front of therather meek stone building, and overflowed into the street. Theywaited wedged tightly together in hot and sunny weather until theycould take their turn in the endless file that was pushing into thehouse where the Prince was waiting to shake hands with them. 

It was a gathering of every conceivable type of citizen. Silks and NewYork frocks had no advantage over gingham and "ready to wear. " Judge'swife and general's took their turn with the girl clerk from the drugstore and their char lady's daughter. Workers still in their overalls, boys in their shirtsleeves, soldiers and dockside workers and teamstersall joined in the crowd that passed for hours before the Prince. 

At St. John he had shaken hands with some 2, 000 people in such areception as this, at Halifax the figure could not have been less, andit was probably more. He shook hands with all who came, and had a wordwith most, even with those admirable but embarrassing old ladies (oneof whom at least appeared at each of these functions) who declaredthat, having lived long enough to see the children of two Britishrulers, they were anxious that he should lose no time in giving themthe chance of seeing the children of a third. 

It was an astonishing spectacle of affable democracy, and in effect itwas perhaps the happiest idea in the tour. The popularity of these"open to all the town" meetings was astonishing. "The Everyday People"whom the Prince had expressed so eager a desire to see and meet came tothese receptions in such overwhelming numbers that in large cities suchas Toronto, Ottawa and the like it was manifestly impossible for him tomeet even a fraction of the numbers. 

Yet this fact did not mar the receptions. The people of Canadaunderstood that he was making a real attempt at meeting as many of themas was humanly possible, and even those who did not get close enough toshake his hand were able to recognize that his desire was genuine ashis happiness in meeting them was unaffected and friendly. 

The public receptions were the result of an unstudied democraticimpulse, and the Canadian people were of all people those able toappreciate that impulse most. 

CHAPTER V

CHARLOTTETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, AND HABITANT, CANADA

The Prince of Wales and his cruiser escort left Halifax on the night ofMonday, August 18th, for Prince Edward Island, in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, arriving at the capital of that province the next morning. 

Owing to the difficulty of getting across country, the Presscorrespondents were unable to be present at this visit, and went directby train to Quebec to await the Prince's arrival. 

We were sorry not to visit this tiny, self-contained province of theDominion, for we had heard much concerning its charm and individualityin character. It is a fertile little island, rich in agriculture, sport and fishing. It is an island of bright red beaches and greendowns set in a clear sea, an Eden for bathers and holiday-makers. 

It is also one of the last rallying-points of the silver fox, which isbred by the islanders for the fur market. This is a pocket industryunique in Canada. The animals are tended with the care given to prizefowls, each having its own kennel and wire run. Such domesticityrenders them neither hardy nor prolific, and the breeding is anexacting pursuit. 

At the capital, Charlottetown, His Royal Highness had a real Canadianwelcome, tinged not a little with excitement. While he was on theracecourse one of the stands took fire, and there was the beginning ofa panic, men and women starting to clamber wildly out of it anddropping from its sides. The Prince, however, kept his place andcontinued to watch the races. His presence on the stand quieted thenervous and checked what might have been an ugly rush, while the firewas very quickly got under. 

Off Charlottetown the Prince transferred again to the battle-cruiser_Renown_, and finished the last section of his sea voyage up the greatSt. Lawrence on her. 

II

Our disappointment at not seeing Prince Edward Island was mitigated bythe glimpses we had from our train of the country of New Brunswick andthe great area of the habitants that surrounds Quebec. 

On the morning of August 19th we woke to the broken country of NewBrunswick. The forests of spruce, pine, maple and poplar made walls onthe very fringe of the single-line railway track for miles, giving wayabruptly to broad and placid lakes, or to sharp narrow valleys, inwhich shallow streams pressed forward over beds of white stone androck. At this time the streams were narrowed down to a slim channel, but the broad area of white shingle--frequently scored by manysubsidiary thin channels of water--gave an idea of what these streamswere like in flood. 

There was a great deal of unfriendly black rock in the land pushingitself boldly up in hills, or cropping out from the thin covering soil. Here and there were the clearings of homesteaders, who lived sometimesin pretty plank houses, sometimes in the low shacks of rough logs thatseemed to be put in the clearings--some of them not yet free of thehigh tree stumps--in order to give the land its authentic local colour. 

On the streams that flow between the walls of trees there were alwayslogs. Logs sometimes jamming the whole fairway with an indescribablejumble, logs collected into river bays with a neatness that made thesurface of the water appear one great raft, and by these "log booms"there was, usually, the piles of squared timber, and the collection ofrough wooden houses that formed the mill. 

The mills have the air of being pit-head workings dealing with acleaner material than coal. About them are lengthy conveyors, built upon high trestle timbers, that carry the logs from the water to the milland from the mill to the dumps, that one instantly compares to theconveyors and winding gear of a coal mine. Beneath the conveyors aregreat ragged mounds of short logs cut into sections for the paper pulptrade, and jumbled heaps of shorter sections that are to serve as thewinter firing for whole districts; these have the contours of coaldumps, while fed from chutes are hillocks of golden sawdust as big andas conspicuous as the ash and slag mounds of the mining areas. 

In the mill yards are stacks and stacks of house planks that the greatsaws have sliced up with an uncanny ease and speed, stacks of squareshingles for roofs and miles of squared beams. 

We passed not a few but a multitude of these "booms" and mills, and ourminds began to grasp the vastness of this natural and nationalindustry. And yet it is not in the main a whole-time industry. For alarge section of its workers it is a side line, an occupation for daysthat would otherwise be idle. It is the winter work of farmers, who, forced to cease their own labours owing to the deep snow and thefrosts, turn to lumbering to keep them busy until the thaw sets in. 

That fact helps the mind to realize the potentialities of Canada. Hereis a business as big as coal mining that is largely the fruit of workin days when there is little else to do. 

We saw this industry at a time when the streams were congested and themills inactive. It was the summer season, but, more than that, thelack of transport, owing to the sinking, or the surrender by Canada forwar purposes, of so much ship space, was having its effect on thelumber trade. The market, even as far as Britain, was in urgent needof timber, and the timber was ready for the market; but the exigencies, or, as some Canadians were inclined to argue, the muddle of shippingconditions, were holding up this, as well as many other of the Dominionindustries. 

In this sporting country there are many likely looking streams forfishermen, as there are likely looking forests for game. At New Castlewe touched the Miramichi, which has the reputation of being the finestsalmon-fishing river in New Brunswick; the Nepisiquit, the mouth ofwhich we skirted at Bathurst, is also a great centre for fishermen, and, indeed, the whole of this country about the shores of the greatBaie de Chaleur--that immense thrust made by the Gulf of St. Lawrencebetween the provinces of New Brunswick and Quebec--is a paradise forholiday-makers and sportsmen, who, besides their fishing, get excellentshooting at brant, geese, duck, and all kinds of game. 

The Canadian of the cities has his country cottage in this splendidlybeautiful area, which he comes to for his recreation, and at othertimes leaves in charge of a local farmer, who fills his wood shed withfire logs from the forest in the summer, and his ice house with icefrom the rivers in winter. 

III

In this district, and long before we reached the Quebec border, we cameto the country of the habitant farmer. As we stopped at sections towater or change engines, we saw that this was a land where man must bemaster of two tongues if he is to make himself understood. It is aland where we read on a shop window the legend: "J. Art Levesque. Barbier. Agent du Lowdnes Co. Habits sur commande. " Here thehabitant does business at La Banque Nationale, and takes his pleasureat the Exposition Provinciale, where his skill can win him PrixPopulaires. 

On the stations we talked with men in British khaki trousers who toldus in a language in which Canadian French and camp English wasstrangely mingled of the service they had seen on the British front. 

It is the district where the clever and painstaking Frenchagriculturist gets every grain out of the soil, a district where wecould see the spire of a parish church every six miles, the land of apeople, sturdy, devout, tenacious and law-abiding, the "true 'Canayen'themselves, "

 "And in their veins the same red stream; The conquering blood of Normandie Flowed strong, and gave America Coureurs de bois and voyageurs Whose trail extends from sea to sea!"

as William Henry Drummond, a true poet who drew from them inspirationfor his delightful dialect verse, describes them. 

The railway passes for hundreds of miles between habitant farms. Theland is beautifully cared for, every fragment of rock, from a boulderto a pebble, having been collected from the soil through generations, and piled in long, thin caches in the centres of the fields. Theeffect of passing for hundreds of miles between these precisely alignedcairns is strange; one cannot get away from the feeling that the rockymounds are there for some barbaric tribal reason, and that presentlyone will see a war dance or a sacrifice taking place about one of them. 

The farms themselves have a strange appearance. They have anabnormally narrow frontage. They are railed in strips of not muchgreater breadth than a London back garden, though they extend away fromthe railway to a depth of a mile and more. At first this grouping ofthe land appears accidental, but the endlessness of the strange designsoon convinces that there is a purpose underlying it. 

Two explanations are offered. One is that the land has been parcelledout in this way, and not on a broad square acreage, because in the oldpioneer days it afforded the best means of grouping the homesteadstogether for defence against the Red Man. The other is that it is theresult of the French-Canadian law which enforces the division of anestate among children in exact proportion, and thus the original bigfarms have been split up into equal strips among the descendants of theoriginal owner. Either of these explanations, or the combination ofthem, can be accepted. 

At Campbellton, a pretty, toy-like town, close up to La Baie deChaleur, there is gathered a remnant of the Micmac Indians, whom thefirst settlers feared. They have a settlement of their own on a peakof the Baie, and one of their chiefs had travelled to Halifax to beamong those who welcomed the son of the Great White Chief. 

Campbellton let us into the lovely valley of the Matapedia, anenchanted spot where the river lolls on a broad bed through a grandcountry of grim hills and forests. Now and then, indeed, its channelis pinched into gorges where its water shines pallidly and angrily amidthe crowded shadows of rock and tree; usually it is the nursemaid ofrich, flat valleys and the friend of the little frame-house hamletsthat are linked across its waters by a spidery bridge of woodentrestles. At times beneath the hills it is swift and combed by athousand stony fingers, and at other times it is an idler in Arcadie, adilettante stream that wanders in half a dozen feckless channels over adesert of white stones, with here and there the green humpback of anisland inviting the camper. 

Beyond Matapedia we got the thrill of the run, an abrupt glimpse of theSt. Lawrence, steel-blue and apparently infinite, its thirty miles ofbreadth yielding not a glimpse of the farther side. A short distanceon, beyond Mont Joli, a place that might have come out of a sample boxof French villages, the railway keeps the immense river company for therest of the journey. 

The valley broadened out into an immense flat plain with but few tracesof the wilder hills of New Brunswick. About the line is a belt ofprosperity forty miles deep, all of it worked by the habitant owners ofthe narrow farms, all of it so rich that in the whole area from theborder to the city of Quebec there is not a poor farmer. 

Before reaching Riviere du Loup we saw the high peaks of the LaurentineMountains on the far side of the St. Lawrence, and on our side of thestream passed a grim little islet called L'Islet au Massacre, where aparty of Micmac Indians, fleeing from the Iroquois in the old days, were caught as they hid in a deep cave, and killed by a great fire thattheir enemies built at the mouth. 

We saw a few seals on the rocks of the river, but not a hint of thenumbers that gave Riviere du Loup its name. It is a cameo of a townwith falls sliding down-hill over a chute of jumbled rocks into alogging pool beneath. 

Riviere du Loup is in the last lap of the journey to Quebec. There area score or so of little hamlets, the names of which--St. Alexandre, St. Andre, St. Pascal, St. Pacome, St. Valier and so on--sound like areading from the Litany of the Saints. And, passing the last of them, we saw across the narrowed St. Lawrence a trail of lace against thedarkness of the Laurentine hills, a mass of filigree that moved andwrithed, so that we understood when some one said:

"The Montmorency Falls. "

A moment later we saw across the stream the city of Quebec, a hangingtown of fairyland, with pinnacle and spire, bastion and citadeldelicate against the quick sky. A city of romance and charm, to whichwe hurried by the very humdrum route of the steam ferry that crosses toit from the Levis side. 

CHAPTER VI

QUEBEC

I

Quebec is not merely historic: it suggests history. It has the grandmanner. One feels in one's bones that it is a city of a splendid past. The first sight of Quebec piled up on its opposite bluff where thewaters of the St. Charles swell the mighty volume of the St. Lawrenceconvinces one that this grave city is the cradle of civilization in theWest, the overlord of the river road to the sea and the heart ofhistory and romance for Canada. 

One does not require prompting to recognize that history has to go backcenturies to reach the day when Cartier first landed here; or thatChamplain figured bravely in its story in a brave and romantic era ofthe world, and that it was he who saw its importance as a commandingpoint of the great waterway that struck deep into the heart of the richdominion--though he did think that dominion was a fragment of thefabulous Indies with a door into the rich realms of China. 

Instinct seems to tell one that on the lifting plain behind the bulldogCitadel, Montcalm lost and died, and Wolfe died and won. 

One knows, too, that from this city thick with spires, streams ofChristianity and civilization flowed west and north and south toquicken the whole barbaric continent; that it was the nucleus thatconcentrated all the energy of the vast New World. 

II

From the decks of the three war vessels, the _Renown_ and the escortingcruisers, Quebec must have seemed like a city of a dream hangingagainst the quiet sky of a glorious evening. 

The piled-up mass of the city on its abrupt cape is romantic, andsuggests the drama of a Rhine castle with a grace and a significancethat is French. On that evening of August 21st, when the strings andblobs of colour from a multitude of flags picked out the clustering ofhouses that climbed Cape Diamond to the grey walls of the Citadel, thecity from the St. Lawrence had an appearance glowing and fantastic. 

From Quebec the three fine ships steaming in line up the blue waters ofthe river were a sight dramatic and beautiful, though from the heightsand against the wall of cliffs on the Levis side, a mile across stream, the cruisers were strangely dwarfed, and even _Renown_ appeared a smallbut desirable toy. 

In keeping with the general atmosphere of the town and toy-like ships, Quebec herself put a touch of the fantastic into the charm of hergreeting. 

As the cruisers dressed ship, and joined with the guns of the Citadelin the salute, there soared from the city itself scores of maroons. From the flash and smoke of their bursts there fluttered down manycoloured things. Caught by the wind, these things opened out intoparachutes, from which were suspended large silk flags. Soon the skywas flecked with the bright, tricoloured bubbles of parachutes, bearingJacks and Navy Ensigns, Tricolours and Royal Standards down the wind. 

The official landing at King's Wharf was full of characteristic colouralso. It was in a wide, open space right under the grey rock uponwhich the Citadel is reared. In this square, tapestried with flags, and in a little canvas pavilion of bright red and white, the Prince metthe leading sons of Quebec, the French-Canadian and theEnglish-Canadian; the Bishop of the English cathedral in gaiters andapron, the Bishops of the Catholics in corded hats, scarlet gloves andlong cassocks. Sailors and soldiers, women in bright and smart gownsgave the reception a glow and vivacity that had a quality true toQuebec. 

From this short ceremony the Prince drove through the quaint streets tothe Citadel. In the lower town under the rock his way led through aquarter that might well stage a Stanley Weyman romance. It is aquarter where, between high-shouldered, straight-faced houses, run thenarrowest of streets, some of them, like Sous le Cap, so cramped thatit is merely practical to use windows as the supports forclothes-lines, and to hang the alleys with banners of drying washing. 

In these cramped streets named with the names of saints, are suddenlittle squares, streets that are mere staircases up to the cliff-top, and others that deserve the name of one of them, The Mountain. Inthese narrow canyons, through which the single-decked electric tramsthunder like mammoths who have lost their way, are most of thecommercial houses and nearly all the mud of the city. 

At the end of this olden quarter, merging from the very air ofantiquity in the streets, Quebec, with a characteristic Canadiangesture, adopts modernity. That is the vivid thing about the city. Itis not merely historical: it is up-to-date. It is not merely the past, but it is the future also. At the end of the old, cramped streetsstands Quebec's future--its docks. 

These great dockyards at the very toe of the cape are the latest thingsof their kind. They have been built to take the traffic of tomorrow aswell as today. Greater ships than those yet built can lie in safewater alongside the huge new concrete quays. Great ships can go intodry dock here, or across the water in the shipyards of Levis. Theyeven build or put together ships of large tonnage, and while we werethere, there were ships in half sections; by themselves too big to befloated down from the lakes through the locks, they had come down fromthe building slips in floatable halves to be riveted together in Quebec. 

A web of railways serves these great harbour basins, and the latestmechanical loading gear can whip cargo out of ships or into them atrecord speed and with infinite ease. Huge elevators--one concretemonster that had been reared in a Canadian hustle of seven days--canstream grain by the million tons into holds, while troops, passengersand the whole mechanics of human transport can be handled with thegreatest facility. 

The Prince went up the steep cobbled street of The Mountain under thegrey, solid old masonry of the Battery that hangs over the town infront of Laval University, that with the Archbishop's palace looks likea piece of old France translated bodily to Canada. 

So he came to the big, green Place des Armes, not now a place of arms, and at that particular moment not green, but as thick as a giganticflower-bed with the pretty dresses of pretty women--and there is allthe French charm in the beauty of the women of Quebec--and with thekhaki and commonplace of soldiers and civilians. A mighty andenthusiastic crowd that did not allow its French accent to hinder theshout of welcome it had caught up from the throng that lined the slopesof The Mountain. 

From this point the route twisted to the right along the Grande Allée, going first between tall and upright houses, jalousied and severefaced, to where a strip of side road swung it left again, and up hillto the Citadel, where His Royal Highness lived during his stay. 

From the Place des Armes the profile of the town pushes back along theheights to the peak on which is the Citadel, a squat and massivestructure that seems to have grown rather than to have been built fromthe living rock upon which it is based. 

Between the Citadel and the Place des Armes there is a long, grey stonewall above the green glacis of the cliff. It has the look of amilitary wall, and it is not a military wall. It supports merely asuperb promenade, Dufferin Terrace, a great plank walk poised sheerabove the river, the like of which would be hard to equal anywhere. Onthis the homely people of Quebec take the air in a manner moresumptuous than many of the most aristocratic resorts in Europe. 

At the eastern end of this terrace, and forming the wing of the Placedes Armes, is the medieval structure of the Château Frontenac, abuilding not really more antique than the area of hotels _de luxe_, ofwhich it is an extremely fine example, but so planned by its designersas to fit delightfully into the antique texture of the town. 

Below and shelving away eastward again is the congested old town, through which the Prince had come, and behind Citadel and promenade, and stretching over the plateau of the cape, is a town of broad andcomely streets, many trees and great parks as modern as anything inCanada. 

That night the big Dufferin Terrace was thronged by people out to seethe firework display from the Citadel, and to watch the illuminationsof the city and of the ships down on the calm surface of the water. Itwas rather an unexpected crowd. There were the sexes by the thousandspacked together on that big esplanade, listening to the band, lookingat the fireworks and lights, the whole town was there in a holidaymood, and there was not the slightest hint of horseplay or disorder. 

The crowd enjoyed itself calmly and gracefully; there were none ofthose syncopated sounds or movements which in an English crowd showthat youth is being served with pleasure. The quiet enjoyment of thisgood-tempered and vivacious throng is the marked attitude of suchCanadian gatherings. I saw in other towns big crowds gathered at thedances held in the street to celebrate the Prince's visit. Althoughthousands of people of all grades and tempers came together to dance orto watch the dancing, there was never the slightest sign of rowdyism ordisorder. 

On this and the next two nights Quebec added to its beauty. All thepublic buildings were outlined in electric light, so that it lookedmore than ever a fairy city hanging in the air. The cruisers in thestream were outlined, deck and spar and stack, in light, and _Renown_had poised between her masts a bright set of the Prince of Wales'sfeathers, the lights of the whole group of ships being mirrored in theriver. On Friday _Renown_ gave a display of fireworks andsearchlights, the beauty of which was doubled by the reflections in thewater. 

III

Friday and Saturday (August 22 and 23) were strenuous days for thePrince. He visited every notable spot in the brilliant and curioustown where one spoke first in French, and English only as anafterthought; where even the blind beggar appeals to the charitable intwo languages; where the citizens ride in up-to-date motor-cars and thevisitors in the high-slung, swing-shaped horse calache; where thetraffic takes the French side of the road; where the shovel hats andcassocks of priests are as commonplace as everyday; where the vivacityof France is fused into the homely good-fellowship of the Colonial in amanner quite irresistible. 

He began Friday in a wonderful crimson room in the ProvincialParliament building, where he received addresses in French, andanswered them in the same tongue. 

It was a remarkable room, this glowing chamber set in the handsomeParliament house that looks down over a sweep of grass, the hippedroofs and the pinnacles of the town to the St. Lawrence. It was agreat room with a floor of crimson and walls of crimson and white. Over the mellow oak that made a backing to the Prince's daïs was astriking picture of Champlain looking out from the deck of his tinysloop _The Gift of God_ to the shore upon which Quebec was to rise. 

The people in that chamber were not less colourful than the roomitself. Bright dresses, the antique robes of Les Membres du ConseilExécutif, the violet and red of clerics, with the blue, red and khakiof fighting men were on the floor and in the mellow oak gallery. 

Two addresses were read to His Royal Highness, twice, first in Frenchand then in English, and each address in each language was prefaced byhis list of titles--a long list, sonorous enough in French, but with anair of thirdly and lastly when oft repeated. One could imagine hisrelief when the fourth Earl of Carrick had been negotiated, and he wassteering safely for the Lord of the Isles. A strain on any man, especially when one of the readers' pince-nez began to contract some ofthe deep feeling of its master, and to slide off at every comma, to bethrust back with his ever-deepening emotion. 

The Prince answered in one language, and that French, and the surpriseand delight of his hearers was profound. They felt that he had paidthem the most graceful of compliments, and his fluency as well as hishappiness of expression filled them with enthusiasm. He showed, too, that he recognized what French Canada had done in the war by hisreference to the Vingtdeuxième Battalion, whose "conduite intrépide" hehad witnessed in France. It was a touch of knowledge that wascertainly well chosen, for the province of Quebec, which sent fortythousand men by direct enlistment to the war, has, thanks to theobscurantism of politics, received rather less than its due. 

From the atmosphere of governance the Prince passed to the atmosphereof the seminary, driving down the broad Grand Allée to the Universityof Laval, called after the first Bishop of Quebec and Canada. It hasbeen since its foundation not merely the fountain head of Christianityon the American continent, but the armoury of science, in which all thearts of forestry, agriculture, medicine and the like were put at theservice of the settler in his fight against the primitive wilds. 

In the bleached and severe corridors of this great building the Princeexamined many historic pictures of Canada's past, including a set ofphotographs of his own father's visit to the city and university. Healso went from Laval to the Archbishop's Palace, where the Cardinal, ahumorous, wise, virile old prelate in scarlet, showed him pictures ofQueen Victoria and others of his ancestors, and stood by his side inthe Grand Saloon while he held a reception of many clerics, professorsand visitors. 

The afternoon was given to the battlefield, where he unfurled a UnionJack to inaugurate the beautiful park that extends over the whole area. 

The beauty of this park is a very real thing. It hangs over the St. Lawrence with a sumptuous air of spaciousness. Leaning over thegranite balustrade, one can look down on the tiny Wolfe's cove, wherethree thousand British crept up in the blackness of the night todisconcert the French commander. 

It is not a very imposing slope, and a modern army might take it in itsstride. Across the formal grass of the park itself the learned tracethe lines of England and of France. 

At the town end there is a slight hill above a dip. The British werein the dip, France was on the hill. That hill lost the battle. Itplaced the French between the British and the guns of the Citadel indays when there was neither aerial observation nor indirect fire. 

A wind, as on the day of the battle, was blowing while the Prince wason the field. The British fired one volley, and the smoke from theirblack powder was blown into the faces of the French. Bewildered by thedense cloud, uncertain of what was in the heart of it, the French brokeand fled. In twenty minutes Canada was won. 

There is a plain monument to mark the exact spot where Wolfe fell; thePrince placed a wreath upon it, as he had placed wreaths on themonuments of Champlain and Montcalm earlier, and as he did later at themonument Aux Braves on the field of Foye, which commemorates the deadof both races who fell in the battle when Murray, a year after Wolfe'svictory, endeavoured to loosen the grip the French besiegers weretightening round Quebec, and was defeated, though he held the city. 

On the Plains of Abraham--it has no romantic significance, Abraham wasmerely a farmer who owned the land at the time of the battle--Frenchand English were again gathered in force, but in a different manner. 

It was a bright and friendly gathering of Canadians, who no longerpermitted a difference of tongue to interfere with their amity. It wasalso a gathering of men and women and children (Quebec is the provinceof the quiverful), notably vigorous, well-dressed and prosperous. 

The thing to remark here, as well as in all the gatherings of thepeople of this city, was the absence of dinginess and dowdiness thatgoes with poverty. In the great mass of stone houses, pretty brick andwood villas, and apartment "houses, " the upper flats of which arereached by curving iron Jacob stairways, that make habitable Quebecthere are patches of cramped wooden houses, each built under thearchitectural stimulus of the packing-case, though rococo littleporches and scalloped roofs add a wedding-cake charm to the poverty ofsize and design. But though there are these small but not mean houses, there appear to be no poor people. 

All those on the Plains had an independent and self-supporting air (as, indeed, every person has in Canada), and they gave the Prince areception of a hearty and affable kind, as he declared this fine parkthe property of the city, and made the citizens free of its historicacreage for all time. 

From the Plains His Royal Highness went by car to the huge new railwaybridge that spans the St. Lawrence a few miles above the town. It wasa long ride through comely lanes, by quiet farmsteads and smallhabitant villages. At all places where there was a nucleus of humanlife, men and women, but particularly the children, came out to theirfences with flags to shout and wave a greeting. 

At the bridge station were two open cars, and on to the raised platformof one of these the Prince mounted, while "movie" men stormed the othercar, and a number of ordinary human beings joined them. This specialtrain was then passed slowly under the giant steel girders and over thecentral span, which is longer than any span the Forth Bridge can boast. As the train travelled forward the Prince showed his eagerness fortechnical detail, and kept the engineers by his side busy with a streamof questions. 

The bridge is not only a superb example of the art of the engineer, perhaps the greatest example the twentieth century can yet show, but itis a monument to the courage and tenacity of man. Twice the greatcentral span was floated up-stream from the building yards, only tocollapse and sink into the St. Lawrence at the moment it was beinglifted into place. Though these failures caused loss of life, thedesigners persisted, and the third attempt brought success. 

There was, one supposes, a ceremonial idea connected with thisfunction. His Royal Highness certainly unveiled two tablets at eitherend of the bridge by jerking cords that released the covering UnionJack. But this ritual was second to the ceremonial of the "movies. "

The "movies" went over the top in a grand attack. They put down a boxbarrage close up against the Prince's platform, and at a distance oftwo feet, not an inflection of his face, nor a movement of his head, escaped the unwinking and merciless eye of the camera. 

The "movie" men declare that the Prince is the best "fil-lm" actorliving, since he is absolutely unstudied in manner; but it would havetaken a Douglas Fairbanks of a super-breed to remain unembarrassed inthe face of that cold line of lenses thrust close up to his medalribbons. And in the film he shows his feelings in characteristicmovements of lips and hands. 

The men who did not take movies, the men with plain cameras, the"still" men, were also active. Not to be outdone by their comradeswith the machine-gun action, they sprang from the car at intervals, ranalong the footway, and snapped the party as the train drew level withthem. 

It was a field day for cameras, but enthusiastic people also counted. Men and women had clambered up the hard, stratified rock of thecuttings that carry the line to the bridge, and they were also standingunder the bridge on the slopes, and on the flats by the river. Theywere cheering, and--yes, they were busy with their camerasalso--cameras cannot be evaded in Canada, even in the wilds. 

One had the impression, from the difficult perches on which people wereto be found, that wherever the Prince would go in Canada, to whateverlonely or difficult spot his travels would lead him, he would alwaysfind a Canadian man, and possibly a Canadian woman standing waiting orclinging to precarious holds, glad to be there, so long as he (or she)had breath to cheer and a free hand to wave a flag. And thisimpression was confirmed by the story of the next months. 

IV

Saturday, August 23, was supposed to give His Royal Highness thehalf-day holiday which is the due of any worker. That half day waspeculiarly Canadian. 

The business of the morning was one of singular charm. The Princevisited the Convent of the Ursulines, to which in the old days woundedMontcalm was taken, and in whose quiet chapel his body lies. 

The nuns are cloistered and do not open their doors to visitors, but onthis day they welcomed the Prince with an eagerness that was altogetherdelightful. They showed him through their serene yet bare receptionrooms, and with pride placed before him the skull of Montcalm, whichthey keep in their recreation room, together with a host of historicdocuments dealing with the struggles of those distant days. 

The party was taken through the nuns' chapel, and sent on with smilesto the public chapel to look on Montcalm's tomb, originally a hole inthe chapel fabric torn by British shells. The nuns could not go intothat chapel. "We are cloistered, " they told us. 

These child-like nuns, with their serene and smiling faces, wereoverjoyed to receive His Royal Highness and anxious to convey to himtheir good will. 

"We cannot go to England--we cannot leave our house--but our hearts arealways with you, and there are none more loyal than us, and none moreearnest in teaching loyalty to all the girls who come to us to study. Yes, we teach it in French, but what does that matter? We can expressthe Canadian spirit just as well in that language. " So said a veryvivid and practical little nun to me, and she was anxious that Englandshould realize how dear they felt the bond. 

The Prince's afternoon "off" was spent out of Quebec at the beautifulvillage of St. Anne's Beaupré, where, set in lovely surroundings, thereis a miraculous shrine to St. Anne. The Prince visited the beautifulbasilica, and saw the forest of sticks and crutches left behind astokens of their cure by generations of sufferers. 

News of his visit had got abroad, and when he left the shrine incompany of the clergy, he was surrounded by a big crowd who restrictedall movement by their cheerful importunity. A local photographer, rising to the occasion, refused to let His Royal Highness escape untilhe had taken an historic snap. Not merely a snap of the Prince and thepriests with him, but of as many of the citizens of Beaupré as he couldget into a wide angle lense. This was a tremendous occasion, and heyelled at the top of his voice to the people to:

"Come and be photographed with the Prince. Come and be taken with yourfuture King. "

Taken with their future King, the people of Beaupré were entirelydisinclined to let him go. They crowded round him so that it was onlyforce that enabled his entourage to clear a tactful way to his car. Even in the car the driver found himself faced with all theopportunities of the chauffeur of the Juggernaut with none of hisconvictions. The car was hemmed in by the crowd, and the crowd wouldnot give way. 

It is possible that at this jolly crisis somebody mentioned thePrince's need for tea, and at the mention of this solemn andinexplicable British rite the crowd gave way, and the car got free. 

CHAPTER VII

THE MOBILE HOTEL DE LUXE: THE ROYAL TRAIN

I

On Sunday, August 24th, His Royal Highness came under the sway of thatbenevolent despot in the Kingdom of Efficiency, the Canadian PacificRailway. 

He motored out along a road that Quebec is proud of, because it has areputable surface for automobiles in a world of natural earth tracks, through delightful country to a small station which [had?] a Gallicair, Three Rivers. Here he boarded the Royal Train. 

It was a remarkable train. Not merely did its construction, length, tonnage and ultimate mileage set up new records, but in it theidealist's dream of perfection in travelling came true. 

It might be truer to say the Royal Party did not take the train, ittook them. As each member of the party mounted into his compartment, or Pullman car, he at once ceased to concern himself with his ownwell-being. To think of oneself was unnecessary. The C. P. R. Had notonly arranged to do the thinking, but had also arranged to do it better. 

The external facts concerning the train were but a part of its wonder. And the minor part. It was the largest train of its kind to accomplishso great a single run--it weighed over a thousand tons, and travellednearly ten thousand miles. It was a fifth of a mile in length. Itsten splendid cars were all steel. Some of them were ordinary sleepers, some were compartment and drawing-room cars. Those for the Prince andhis Staff were sumptuous private cars with state-rooms, dining-rooms, kitchens, bathrooms, and cosy observation rooms and platforms, beautifully fitted and appointed. 

The train was a modern hotel strayed accidentally on to wheels. It hadits telephone system; its own electricity; its own individuallycontrolled central heat. It had a laundry service for its passengers, and its valets always on the spot to renew the crease of youth in alltrousers. It had its own newspaper, or, rather, bulletin, by which allon board learnt the news of the external world twice a day, no matterin what wild spot the train happened to be. It had its dark-room forphotographers, its dispensary for the doctor and its untiring telegraphexpert to handle all wired messages, including the correspondents'cables. It had its dining-rooms and kitchens and its staff offirst-class chefs, who worked miracles of cuisine in the small space oftheir kitchen, giving over a hundred people three meals a day that nohotel in London could exceed in style, and no hotel in England couldhope to equal in abundance. It carried baggage, and transferred it toGovernment Houses or hotels, and transferred it back to its cars andbaggage vans in a manner so perfect that one came to look upon thematter almost as a process of nature, and not as a breathlessphenomenon. 

It was the train _de luxe_, but it was really more than that. It was atrain handled by experts from Mr. A. B. Calder, who represented thePresident of the Company, down to the cleaning boy, who swept up thecars, and they were experts of a curious quality of their own. 

Whatever the Canadian Pacific Railway is (and it has its critics), there can be no doubt that, as an organization, it captures theloyalty, as it calls forth all the keenness and ability of itsservants. It is something that quickens their imagination andstimulates their enthusiasm. There was something warm and invigoratingabout the way each man set up within himself a counsel ofperfection--which he intended to exceed. Waiters, negro car porters, brakemen, secretaries--every man on that staff of sixty odd determinedthat _his_ department was going to be a living example, not of what hecould do, but of what the C. P. R. Could do. 

The _esprit de corps_ was remarkable. Mr. Calder told us at the end ofthe trip that as far as the staff working of the train was concerned heneed not have been in control. He had not issued a single order, nor asingle reprimand in the three months. The men knew their workperfectly; they did it perfectly. 

When one thinks of a great organization animated from the lowest workerto the President by so lively and extraordinarily human a spirit ofloyalty that each worker finds delight in improving on instructions, one must admit that it has the elements of greatness in it. 

My own impression after seeing it working and the work it has done, after seeing the difficulties it has conquered, the districts it hasopened up, the towns it has brought into being, is that, as anorganization, the Canadian Pacific Railway is great, not merely as atrading concern, but as an Empire-building factor. Its vision has beenbig beyond its own needs, and the Dominion today owes not a little tothe great men of the C. P. R. , who were big-minded enough to plan, notonly for themselves, but also for all Canada. 

And the big men are still alive. In Quebec we had the good fortune tomeet Lord Shaughnessy, whose acute mind was the very soul of the C. P. R. Until he retired from the Presidency a short time ago, and Mr. EdwardW. Beatty, who has succeeded him. 

Lord Shaughnessy may be a retired lion, but he is by no means a deadone. A quiet man of powerful silences, whose eyes can be ruthless, andhis lips wise. A man who appears disembodied on first introduction, for one overlooks the rest of him under the domination of his head andeyes. 

The best description of Mr. Beatty lies in the first question one wantsto ask him, which is, "Are you any relation to the Admiral?"

The likeness is so remarkable that one is sure it cannot be accidental. It is accidental, and therefore more remarkable. It is the Admiral'sface down to the least detail of feature, though it is a trifleyounger. There is the same neat, jaunty air--there is even the samecock of the hat over the same eye. There is the same sense of compactpower concealed by the same spirit of whimsical dare-devilry. There isthe same capacity, the same nattiness, the same humanness. There isthe same sense of abnormality that a man looking so young shouldcommand an organization so enormous, and the same recognition that heis just the man to do it. 

Both these men are impressive. They are big men, but then so are allthe men who have control in the C. P. R. They are more than that, theycan inspire other men with their own big spirit. We met many heads ofdepartments in the C. P. R. , and we felt that in all was the samequality. Mr. Calder, as he began, "A. B. " as he soon became, was theone we came in contact with most, and he was typical of his service. 

"A. B. " was not merely our good angel, but our good friend from thefirst. Not merely did he smooth the way for us, but he made it thejolliest and most cheery way in the world. He is a bundle of strangequalities, all good. He is Puck, with the brain of an administrator. The king of story tellers, with an unfaltering instinct fororganization. A poet, and a mimic and a born comedian, plus a willthat is never flurried, a diplomacy that never rasps, and a capacityfor the routine of railway work that is--C. P. R. A man of big heart, big humanness, and big ability, whom we all loved and valued from thefirst meeting. 

And, over all, he is a C. P. R. Man, the type of man that organizationfinds service for, and is best served by them; an example that did mostto impress us with a sense of the organization's greatness. 

II

If I have written much concerning the C. P. R. , it is because I feelthat, under the personality of His Royal Highness himself, the successof the tour owes much to the care and efficiency that organizationexerted throughout its course, and also because for three months theC. P. R. Train was our home and the backbone of everything we did. Ifyou like, that is the chief tribute to the organization. We spentthree months confined more or less to a single carriage; we travelledover all kinds of line and country, and under all manner of conditions;and after those three long months we left the train still impressed bythe C. P. R. , still warm in our friendship for it--perhaps, indeed, warmer in our regard. 

There are not many railways that could stand that continuous test. 

Of the ten cars in the train, the Prince of Wales occupied the last, "Killarney, " a beautiful car, eighty-two feet long, its interiorfinished in satinwood, and beautifully lighted by the indirect system. The Prince had his bedroom, with an ordinary bed, dining-room andbathroom. There was a kitchen and pantry for his special chef. Theobservation compartment was a drawing-room with settees, and arm-chairsand a gramophone, while in addition to the broad windows there was alarge, brass-railed platform at the rear, upon which he could sit andwatch the scenery (search-lights helped him at night), and from whichhe held a multitude of impromptu receptions. 

"Cromarty, " another beautiful car, was occupied by the personal Staff;"Empire, " "Chinook" and "Chester" by personal and C. P. R. Staff. Thenext car, "Canada, " was the beautiful dining car; "Carnarvon, " thenext, a sleeping car, was occupied by the correspondents andphotographers; "_Renown_" belonged to the particularly efficient C. P. R. Police, who went everywhere with the train, and patrolled the track ifit stopped at night. In front of "Renown" were two baggage cars withthe 225 pieces of baggage the retinue carried. 

At Three Rivers a very cheery crowd wished His Royal Highness _bonvoyage_. The whole town turned out, and over-ran the pretty grass plotthat is a feature in every Canadian station, in order to see the Prince. 

We ran steadily down the St. Lawrence through pretty country towardsToronto. All the stations we passed were crowded, and though the traininvariably went through at a good pace that did not seem to matter tothe people, though they had come a long distance in order to catch justthis fleeting glimpse of the train that carried him. 

Sometimes the train stopped for water, or to change engines at the endof the section of 133 miles. The people then gathered about the rearof the train, and the Prince had an opportunity of chatting with themand shaking hands with many. 

At some halts he left the train to stroll on the platform, and on theseoccasions he invariably talked with the crowd, and gave "candles" tothe children. There was no difficulty at all in approaching him. Atone tiny place, Outremont, one woman came to him, and said that shefelt she already knew him, because her husband had met him in France. That fact immediately moved the Prince to sympathy. Not only did hespend some minutes talking with her, but he made a point of referringto the incident in his speech at Toronto the next day, to emphasize thefeeling he was experiencing of having come to a land that was almosthis own, thanks to his comradeship with Canadians overseas. 

Not only during the day was the whole route of the train marked bycrowds at stations, and individual groups in the countryside, but evenduring the night these crowds and groups were there. 

As we swept along there came through the windows of our sleeping-carthe ghosts of cheers, as a crowd on a station or a gathering at acrossing saluted the train. The cheer was gone in the distance as soonas it came, but to hear these cheers through the night was to beimpressed by the generosity and loyalty of these people. They hadstayed up late, they had even travelled far to give one cheer only. But they had thought it worth while. Montreal, which we passed throughin the dark, woke us with a hearty salute that ran throughout thelength of our passing through that great city, and so it went onthrough the night and into the morning, when we woke to find ourselvesslipping along the shores of Lake Ontario and into the outskirts ofToronto. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE CITY OF CROWDS. TORONTO: ONTARIO

I

Toronto is a city of many names. You can call it "The Boston ofCanada, " because of its aspiration to literature, the theatre and thearts. You can call it "The Second City of Canada, " because the fact isincontestable. You can call it "The Queen City, " because others do, though, like the writer, you are unable to find the reason why youshould. You can say of it, as the Westerners do, "Oh--_Toronto_!" withvery much the same accent that the British dramatist reserves for thecensor of plays. But though it already had its host of names, Toronto, to us, was the City of Crowds. 

Toronto has interests and beauties. It has its big, natural High Park. It has its charming residential quarters in Rosedale and on The Hill. It has its beautiful lagoon on the lakeside. It has its Yonge Street, forty miles straight. It has the tallest building in the Empire, andsome of the largest stores in the Empire. It is busy and bright andbrisk. But we found we could not see it for crowds. Or, rather, atfirst we could not see it for crowds. Later a good Samaritan took usfor a pell-mell tour in a motor-car, and we saw a chauffeur's eye viewof it. Even then we saw much of it over the massed soft hats of Canada. 

We had become inured to crowds. We had seen big, bustling, eager, hearty, good-humoured throngs from St. John's to Quebec. But even thathardening had not proofed us against the mass and enthusiastic violenceof the crowd that Toronto turned out to greet the Prince, and continuedto turn out to meet him during the days he was there. 

On the early morning of Monday, August 25th, in that weather that wasalready being called "Prince of Wales' weather, " the Prince stepped"ashore" at the Government House siding, outside Toronto. There was askirmishing line of the waiting city flung out to this distantstation--including some go-ahead flappers with autograph books to sign. It was, however, one of those occasions when the Prince was consideredto be wrapped in a robe of invisibility until he had been to GovernmentHouse and started from there to drive inland to the city and itsreceptions. 

A quick automobile rush--and, by the way, it will be noticed that theContinent of Hustle always uses the long word for the short, "automobile" for "car, " "elevator" for "lift, " and so on--to theGovernment House, placed the Prince on a legal footing, and he wasready to enter the city. 

Government House is remarkable for the fact that it grew a garden in asingle night. It is a comely building of rough-dressed stone, standingin the park-like surroundings of the Rosedale suburb, but in theabsence of princes its forecourt is merely a desert of grey stonegranules. When His Royal Highness arrived it was a garden of an almostbrilliant abundance. There were green lawns, great beds packedwantonly with the brightest flowers, while trees, palms and floweringshrubs crowded the square in luxuriance. A marvel of a garden. Arealist policeman, after his first gasp, bent down to examine the greenof the lawn, and rose with a Kipps expression on his face and with thesingle word "Fake" on his lips. 

The vivid lawn was green cocoanut matting, the beds were cunningarrangements of flowers in pots, and from pots the trees and shrubsflourished. It was a garden artificial and even more marvellous thanwe had thought. 

The Prince rode through Rosedale to the town. The crowd began outsideGovernment House gates. It was a polite and brightly dressed crowd, for it was drawn from the delightful houses that made islands in theuninterrupted lawns that, with the graceful trees, formed the bordersof the winding roads through which he went. Rosedale was once foreston the shores of the old Ontario Lake; the lake has receded three milesand more, but the builders of the city have dealt kindly with theforest, and have touched it as little as they could, so that the oldtrees blend with the modern lawns to give the new homes an air ofinfinite charm. 

As the Prince drove deeper into the city the crowds thickened, so thatwhen he arrived in the virile, purposeful commercial streets, thesidewalks could no longer contain the mass. They are broad andefficient streets, striking through the town arrow-straight, and givingto the eye superb vistas. But broad though they were, they could notaccommodate sightseeing Toronto, and the crowd encroached upon thedriveway, much to the disgust of many little boys, who, with theirrace's contempt for death by automobile, were running or cycling besidethe Royal car in their determination to get the maximum of Prince outof a short visit. 

The crowd went upward from the roadway also. We had come into ourfirst city of sky-climbing buildings. One of these shoots up sometwenty stories, but though this is the tallest "yet, " it is surroundedby some considerable neighbours that give the streets great rangesupwards as well as forward. The windows of these great buildings werepacked with people, and through the canopy of flags that fluttered onall the route they sent down their cheers to join the welcome on theground floor. 

It was through such crowds that the Prince drove to a greater crowdthat was gathered about the Parliament Buildings. 

II

The site of the Provincial Parliament Buildings is, as with all theseWestern cities, very beautifully planned. It is set in the graciousQueen's Park, that forms an avenue of green in the very heart of thetown. About the park are the buildings of Toronto University, and theavenue leads down to the dignified old law schools at Osgoode Hall. The Canadians show a sense of appropriate artistry always in thegrouping of their public buildings--although, of course, they have hadthe advantage of beginning before ground-rents and other interests grewtoo strong for public endeavour. 

The Parliament Buildings are of a ruddy sandstone, in a style slightlyrailway-station Renaissance. They were draped with flags down to thevivid striped platform before the building upon which the reception washeld. Great masses of people and many ranks of soldiers filled thelawns before the platform, while to the right was a great flower-bed ofinfants. A grand-stand was brimming over with school-kiddies ready tocheer at the slightest hint, to sing at command, and to wave flags atall times. 

It was a bustling reception from Toronto as parliamentary capital ofOntario, and from Toronto the town. It was packed full of speeches andsinging from the children and from a Welsh choir--and Canada flowersWelsh choirs--and presentations from many societies, whose members, wearing the long silk buttonhole tabs stamped with the gold title ofthe guild or committee to which they belonged, came forward to augmentthe press on the platform. 

These silk tabs are an insignia of Canadian life. The Canadians havean infinite capacity for forming themselves into committees, and clubs, and orders of stout fellows, and all manner of gregarious associations. And when any association shows itself in the sunlight, it distinguishesitself by tagging its members with long, coloured silk tabs. We neverwent out of sight of tabs on the whole of our trip. 

From the Parliament Buildings the Prince drove through the packed townto the Exhibition ground. We passed practically through the whole ofthe city in these two journeys, travelling miles of streets, yet allthe way the mass of people was dense to a remarkable degree. Toronto, we knew, was supposed to have a population of 500, 000 people, but longbefore we reached the end of the drive we began to wonder how the citycould possibly keep up the strength on the pavements without runningout of inhabitants. It not only kept it up, but it sprang upon us theamazing sight of the Exhibition ground. 

In this long and wonderful drive there was but one stop. This was atthe City Hall, a big, rough stone building with a soaring campanile. On the broad steps of the hall a host of wounded men in blue weregrouped, as though in a grand-stand. The string of cars swerved asideso that the Prince could stop for a few minutes and chat with the men. 

His reception here was of overwhelming warmth; men with all manner ofhurts, men on crutches and in chairs stood up, or tried to stand up, tocheer him. It was in the truest sense a meeting of comrades, and whena one-legged soldier asked the Prince to pose for a photograph, he didit not merely willingly, but with a jolly and personal friendliness. 

The long road to the Exhibition passed through the busy manufacturingcentre that has made Toronto famous and rich as a trading city, particularly as a trading city from which agricultural machinery isproduced. The Exhibition itself is part of its great commercialenterprise. It is the focus for the whole of Ontario, and perhaps forthe whole of Eastern Canada, of all that is up-to-date in the scienceof production. In the beautiful grounds that lie along the fringe ofthe inland sea that men have, for convenience' sake, called LakeOntario, and in fine buildings in those grounds are gathered togetherexhibits of machinery, textiles, timber, seeds, cattle, and in facteverything concerned with the work of men in cities or on prairies, inoffices or factories, farms or orchards. 

The Exhibition was breaking records for its visitors already, and thepresence of the Prince enabled it to break more. The vastness of thecrowd in the grounds was aweing. The gathering of people simplyobliterated the grass of the lawns and clogged the roads. 

When His Royal Highness had lunched with the administrators of theExhibition, he came out to a bandstand and publicly declared thegrounds opened. The crowd was not merely thick about the stand, butits more venturesome members climbed up among the committee and thecamera-men, the latter working so strenuously and in such numbers thatthey gave the impression that they not only photographed everymovement, but also every word the Prince uttered. 

The density of the crowd made retreat a problem. Police and Staff hadto resolve themselves into human Tanks, and press a way by inchesthrough the enthusiastic throng to the car. The car itself wassurrounded, and could only move at a crawl along the roads, and so slowwas the going and so lively was the friendliness of the people, thatHis Royal Highness once and for all threw saluting overboard as agesture entirely inadequate, and gave his response with a waving hand. The infection of goodwill, too, had caught hold of him, and notsatisfied with his attitude, he sprang up in the car and wavedstanding. In this manner, and with one of his Staff holding him by thebelt, he drove through and out of the grounds. 

It was a day so packed with extraordinary crowds, that wecorrespondents grew hopeless before them. We despaired of being ableto convey adequately a sense of what was happening; "enthusiasm" was ahard-driven word that day and during the next two, and we would havegiven the world to find another for a change. 

Since I returned I have heard sceptical people say that the stories ofthese "great receptions" were vamped-up affairs, mere newspapermanufacture. I would like to have had some of those sceptics inToronto with us on August 25th, 26th and 27th. It would have taughtthem a very convincing and stirring lesson. 

The crowds of the Exhibition ground were followed by crowds at thePublic Reception, an "extra" which the Prince himself had added to hisprogram. This was held at the City Hall. It had all thecharacteristics of these democratic and popular receptions, only it wasbigger. Policemen had been drawn about the City Hall, but when thepeople decided to go in, the police mattered very little. They weresubmerged by a sea of men and women that swept over them, swept up thebig flight of steps and engulfed the Prince in a torrent, everyindividual particle of which was bent on shaking hands. It was asplendidly-tempered crowd, but it was determined upon that handshake. And it had it. It was at Toronto that, as the Prince phrased it, "Myright hand was 'done in. '" This was how Toronto did it in. 

III

The visit was not all strenuous affection. There were quiet backwatersin which His Royal Highness obtained some rest, golfing and dancing. One such moment was when on this day he crossed to the Yacht Club, anidyllic place, on the sandspit that encloses the lagoon. 

This club, set in the vividly blue waters of the great lake, is alittle gem of beauty with its smooth lawns, pretty buildings and finetrees. It is even something more, for every handful of loam on whichthe lawns and trees grow was transported from the mainland to makefruitful the arid sand of the spit. The Prince had tea on the lawn, while he watched the scores of brisk little boats that had followed himout and hung about awaiting his return like a genial guard of honour. 

There was always dancing in honour of the Prince, and always a greatdeal of expectation as to who would be the lucky partners. Hispartners, as I have said, had their photographs published in the papersthe next day. Even those who were not so lucky urged their cavaliersto keep as close to him as possible on the ball-room floor, so everyinflexion of the Prince could be watched, though not all were so fargone as an adoring young thing in one town (NOT Toronto), who hung onevery movement, and who cried to her partner in accents of awe:

"I've heard him speak! I've heard him speak! He says 'Yes' just likean ordinary man. Isn't it wonderful!"

On Tuesday, the 25th, the Yacht Club was the scene of one of thebrightest of dances, following a very happy reunion between the Princeand his comrades of the war. Some hundreds of officers of all gradeswere gathered together by General Gunn, the C. O. Of the District, fromthe many thousands in Ontario, and these entertained the Prince atdinner at the Club. It was a gathering both significant andimpressive. Every one of the officers wore not merely the medals ofOverseas service, but every one wore a distinction gained on the field. 

It was an epitome of Canada's effort in the war. It was a collectionof virile young men drawn from the lawyer's office and the farm, fromthe desk indoors and avocations in the open, from the very law schoolsand even the University campus. In the big dining-hall, hung withscores of boards in German lettering, trench-signs, directing posts tobillets, drinking water and the like, that had been captured by thevery men who were then dining, one got a sense of the vivid capacityand alertness that made Canada's contribution to the Empire fightingforces so notable, and more, that will make Canada's contribution tothe future of the world so notable. 

There was no doubt, too, that, though these self-assured young men areperfectly competent to stand on their own feet in all circumstances, their visit to the Old Country--or, as even the Canadian-born call it, "Home"--has, even apart from the lessons of fighting, been useful tothem, and, through them, will be useful to Canada. 

"Leaves in England were worth while, " one said. "I've come back herewith a new sense of values. Canada's a great country, but we _are_ alittle in the rough. We can teach you people a good many things, butthere are a good many we can learn from you. We haven't any tradition. Oh, not all your traditions are good ones, but many are worth while. You have a more dignified social sense than we have, and a politicalsense too. And you have a culture we haven't attained yet. You'vegiven us not a standard--we could read that up--but a liking for sociallife, bigger politics, books and pictures and music, and all that sortof thing that we had missed here--and been quite unaware that we hadmissed. "

And another chimed in:

"That's what we miss in Canada, the theatres and the concerts and thelectures, and the whole boiling of a good time we had in London--thebig sense of being Metropolitan that you get in England, and not here. Well, not yet. We were rather prone to the parish-pump attitude beforethe war, but going over there has given us a bigger outlook. We cansee the whole world now, you know. London's a great place--it's aneducation in the citizenship of the universe. "

That's a point, too. London and Britain have been revealed to them asfriendly places and the homes of good friends--though I must make anexception of one seaport town in England which is a byword amongCanadians for bad treatment. England was the place where a multitudeof people conspired to give the Canadians a good time, and they havereturned with a practical knowledge of the good feeling of the English, and that is bound to make for mutual understanding. 

It must not be thought that Toronto, --or other cities in Canada--iswithout theatres or places of recreation. There are several goodtheatres and music-halls in Toronto--more in this city than in anyother. These theatres are served by American companies of the No. 1touring kind. English actors touring America usually pay the city avisit, while quite frequently new plays are "tried out" here beforeopening in New York. 

But apart from a repertory company, which plays drawing-room comedieswith an occasional dash of high-brow, Toronto and Canada depend onoutside, that is American, sources for the theatre, and though thestandard of touring companies may be high in the big Eastern towns, itis not as high as it should be, and in towns further West the shows areof that rather streaky nature that one connects with theatricalentertainment at the British seaside resorts. 

The immense distances are against theatrical enterprises, of course, but in spite of them one has a feeling that the potentialities of thetheatre, as with everything in the Dominion, are great for the rightman. 

Toronto is better off musically than other cities, but even Torontodepends very much for its symphony and its vocal concerts, as for itsopera, on America. Music is intensely popular, and gramophones, pianosand mechanical piano-players have a great sale. 

The "movie" show is the great industry of amusement all over theDominion. Even the smallest town has its picture palace, the largertowns have theatres which are palaces indeed in their appointments, anda multitude of them. In many the "movie" show is judiciously blendedwith vaudeville turns, a mixture which seems popular. 

Book shops are rarities. In a great town such as Toronto I was onlyable to find one definite book shop, and that not within easy walk ofmy hotel. Even that shop dealt in stationery and the like to helpthings along, though its books were very much up to date, many of them(by both English and American authors) published by the excellentToronto publishing houses. All the recognized leaders among Englishand American writers, and even Admirals and Generals turned writers, were on sale, though the popular market is the Zane Grey type of book. 

The reason there are few book shops is that the great stores--likeEaton's and Simpson's--have book departments, and very fine ones too, and that for general reading the Canadians are addicted to newspapersand magazines, practically all the latter American, which are on saleeverywhere, in tobacconists, drug stores, hotel loggias, and on specialstreet stands generally run by a returned soldier. English papers ofany sort are rarely seen on sale, though all the big American dailiesare commonplace, while only occasionally the _Windsor_, _Strand_, _London_, and the new _Hutchinson's Magazines_ shyly rear British headsover their clamorous American brothers. 

IV

Tuesday, August 26th, was a day dedicated to quieter functions. ThePrince's first visits were to the hospitals. 

Toronto, which likes to do things with a big gesture, has attacked theproblem of hospital building in a spacious manner. The great GeneralHospital is planned throughout to give an air of roominess and breadth. 

The Canadians certainly show a sense of architecture, and in buildingthe General Hospital they refused to follow the Morgue School, whichseems to be responsible for so many hospital and primary schooldesigns. The Toronto Hospital is a fine building of many blocks setabout green lawns, and with lawns and trees in the quadrangles. Theappointments are as nearly perfect as men can make them, and everyscientific novelty is employed in the fight against wounds andsickness. Hospitals appear most generally used in Canada, people ofall classes being treated there for illnesses that in Britain aretreated at home. 

His Royal Highness visited and explored the whole of the great GeneralHospital, stopping and chatting with as many of the wounded soldierswho were then housed in it, as time allowed. He also paid a visit tothe Children's Hospital close by. This was an item on the programentirely his own. Hearing of the hospital, he determined to visit it, having first paved the way for his visit by sending the kiddies a largeassortment of toys. This hospital, with its essentially modern clinic, was thoroughly explored before the Prince left in a mist of cheers fromthe kiddies, whose enormous awe had melted during the acquaintance. 

The afternoon was given over to the colourful ceremony in theUniversity Hall, when the LL. D. Degree of the University was bestowedupon His Royal Highness. In a great, grey-stone hall that stands onthe edge of the delightful Queen's Park, where was gathered an audienceof dons in robes, and ladies in bright dresses, with naval men andkhaki men to bring up the glowing scheme, the Prince in rose-colouredrobes received the degree and signed the roll of the University. Underthe clear light of the glass roof the scene had a dignity and charmthat placed it high among the striking pictures of the tour. 

It was a quieter day, but, nevertheless, it was a day of crowds also, the people thronging all the routes in their unabatable numbers, showing that _crescendo_ of friendliness which was to reach itsgreatest strength on the next day. 

V

The crowds of Toronto, already astonishing, went beyond mere describingon Wednesday, August 27th. 

There were several functions set down for this day; only two matter:the review of the War Veterans in the Exhibition grounds, and the longdrive through the residential areas of the city. 

Some hint of what the crowd in the Exhibition grounds was like wasgiven to us as we endeavoured to wriggle our car through the masses ofother automobiles, mobile or parked, that crowded the way to thegrounds. We had already been impressed by the almost inordinate numberof motor-cars in Canada: the number of cars in Toronto terrified us. 

When we looked on the thousands of cars in the city we knew why thestreets _had_ to be broad and straight and long. In no other way couldthey accommodate all that rushing traffic of the swift cars and thelean, torpedo-like trams that with a splendid service link up the heartof the town with the far outlying suburbs. And even though the streetsare broad the automobile is becoming too much for them. The habit ofparking cars on the slant and by scores on both sides of the roadway(as well as down side roads and on vacant "lots") is alreadyrestricting the carriage-way in certain areas. 

From the cars themselves there is less danger than in the Londonstreets, for the rules of the road are strict, and the citizens keepthem strictly. No car is allowed to pass a standing tram on the sameside, for example, and that rule with others is obeyed by all drivers. 

The multitude of cars, mainly open touring cars of the Buick andOverland type, though there are many Fords, or "flivvers, " and anoccasional Rolls-Royce, Napier or Panhard, thickened as we neared theExhibition gates; and about them, in the side streets outside and inthe avenues inside, they were parked by thousands. 

They gave the meanest indication of the numbers of people in thegrounds. The lawns were covered with people. The halls of exhibitswere full of people. The Joy City, where one can adventure intostrange thrills from Coney Island, was full; the booths sellingbuttered corn cob, toasted pea-nuts, ice cream soda, and the rest, hadhundreds of customers--and all these, we found, were the overflow. They had been crowded out from the real show, and were waiting outsidein the hope of catching sight of the Prince as he made his round of theExhibition. 

The show ground of the Exhibition is a huge arena. It is faced by amighty grandstand, seating ten thousand people. Ten thousand peoplewere sitting: the imagination boggles at the computation of the numberof those standing; they filled every foothold and clung to every stepand projection. There were some--men in khaki, of course--who wererisking their necks high up on the iron roof of the stand. 

In front of the stand is a great open space, backed by patrioticscenery, that acts as the stage for performances of the pageant kind. It was packed so tightly with people that the movement of individualswas impossible. On this ground the war veterans should have been drawnup in ranks. In the beginning they were drawn up in ranks, butcivilians, having filled up every gangway and passage, overflowed on tothe field and filled that also. They were even clinging to the sceneryand perched in the trees. The minimum figure for that crowd was givenas fifty thousand. 

The reception given to the Prince was overwhelming; that is thesoberest word one can use. As he rode into the arena he wasimmediately surrounded by a cheering and cheery mass of people, who cuthim off completely from his Staff. From the big stand there came anoutburst of non-stop Canadian cheering, an affair of whistles, rattles, cheering and extempore noises, with the occasional bang of a firework, that was kept alive during the whole of the ceremony, one section ofpeople taking it up when the first had tired itself out. 

With the crowd thick about him, His Royal Highness strove to force hisway to the platform on which he was to speak and to give medals, butmovement could only be accomplished at a slow pace. As he neared theplatform, indeed, movement ceased altogether, and Prince and crowd werewedged tight in a solid mass. The pressure of the crowd seems to havebeen too much for him, for there was a moment when it seemed he wouldbe thrown from his horse. A "movie" man on the platform came to hisrescue, and catching him round the shoulders pulled him into safetyover the heads of the crowd. 

On this platform and in a setting of enthusiasm that cannot bedescribed adequately, he spoke and gave medals to what seemed anendless stream of brave Canadians. 

It was in the evening that he drove through the streets of the town, and I believe I am right in saying that he gave up other more restfulengagements in order to undertake this ride that took several hours andwas not less than twenty miles in length. 

Toronto is a city in which the civic ideal is very strong, and theconcern not merely of the municipality but of all the citizens. Itbelieves in beautiful and up-to-date town planning, and the eliminationof slums, of which it now has not a single example. On his ride thePrince saw every facet of the city's activity. 

He drove through the beautiful avenues of Rosedale, and through the notso beautiful but more eclectic area of The Hill. He went through thesuburbs of charming, well-designed houses where the professionalclasses have their homes, and into the big, comely residential areaswhere the working people live. These areas are places of attractivehomes. The instinct for good building which is the gift of the wholeof America makes each house distinctive. There is never the hint ofslum ugliness or slum congestion about them. The houses merely differfrom the houses of the better-to-do in size, but, though they aresmaller, they have the same pleasant features, neat colonial-stylearchitecture, broad porches, unrailed lawns, and the rest. Inside theyhave central heating, electric light (the Niagara hydro-power makeslighting ridiculously cheap), baths, hardwood floors, and the otherlabour-saving devices of modern construction. Most of the houses areowned by the people who live in them, for the impulse towards purchaseby deferred payments is very strong in the Canadian. 

One of the brightest of the suburbs was built up almost entirelythrough the energy of the British emigrant. These men working in thecity did not mind the "long hike" out into the country, to an areawhere the street cars were not known. From farming lots they built upa charming district where, now that street cars are more reasonable, the Canadian is also anxious to live--when he can find a householderwilling to sell. 

The Prince's route also lay through the big shopping streets such asYonge ("street" is dropped in the West) and King. Here are the greatand brilliant stores, and here the thrusting, purposeful Canadian crowddoes its trading. There is a touch of determination in the Canadian onthe sidewalk which seems ruthlessness to the more easy-going Britisher, yet it is not rudeness, and the Canadian is an extraordinarily orderlyperson, with a discipline that springs from self rather than fromobedience to by-laws. It may be this that makes a Canadian crowd sodecorous, even at the moment when it seems defying the policemen. 

The Prince began his ride in the wonderful High Park, where Nature hashad very little coddling from man, and the results of suchnon-interference are admirable, and in that park he at once enteredinto the avenue of people that was to border the way for twenty miles. 

Again this crowd thickened at certain focal points. At the entrancesof different districts, in the streets of heavily populated areas, about the cemetery where he planted a tree, it gathered in astonishingmass, but the amazing thing was that no place on that twenty-mile runwas without a crowd. 

The whole of the city appeared to have come in to the street to cheerand wave flags or handkerchiefs as he passed, just as the whole of thelittle boy population appeared to have made up its mind to run or cyclebeside him for the whole of the journey despite all risks of carsbehind. 

The automobileocracy of the wealthy districts made grandstands of theircars at every cross-road (and the Correspondents don't thank them forthis, for they tried to cut into the procession of cars after thePrince had passed). The suburbans made their lawns into vantagepoints, and grouped themselves on the curb edge, and the workingclasses simply overflowed the road in solid masses of attractivelydressed women and children and Canadianly-dressed men. "Attractivelydressed" is a phrase to note; there are no rags or dowdiness in Canada. 

There was a carnival air in the greeting of that multitude on that longride, and the laughing and cheering affection of the crowds would havecalled forth a like response even in a personality less sympatheticthan the Prince. It captured him completely. The formal salute neverhad a chance. First his answer to the cheering was an affectionateflag-waving, then the flag was not good enough and his hat came intoplay, then he was standing up and waving, and finally he again climbedon to the seat, and half standing, half sitting on the folded hood, rode through the delighted crowds. With members of his Staff holdingon to him, he did practically the whole of the journey in this manner, sitting reasonably only at quiet spots, only changing his hat fromright to left hand when one arm had become utterly exhausted. And allthe way the crowds lined the route and cheered. 

It was an astonishing spectacle, an amazing experience. It was thejust culmination of the three full days of profound and moving emotionin which Toronto had shown how intense was its affection. 

The effect of such a demonstration on the Prince himself was equallyprofound. One of the Canadian Generals who had been driving with HisRoyal Highness on one of these occasions, told us that in the midst ofsuch a scene as this the Prince had turned to him and said, "Can youwonder that my heart is full?"

CHAPTER IX

OTTAWA

I

The run from Toronto to Ottawa, the city that is a province by itselfand the capital of Canada, was a night run, but there was, in the earlymorning, a halt by the wayside so that the train should not arrivebefore "skedule. " The halt was utilized by the Prince as anopportunity for a stroll, and by the more alert of the country peopleas an opportunity for a private audience. 

At a tiny station called Manotick farming families who believe inshaming the early bird, came and had a look at that royal-red monsterof all-steel coaches, the train, while the youngest of them introducedthe Prince to themselves. 

They came out across the fields in twos and threes. One little boy, ina brimless hat, working overalls, and with a fair amount of his workingmedium, plough land, liberally distributed over him--Huckleberry Finncome to life, as somebody observed--worked hard to break down hisshyness and talk like a boy of the world to the Prince. A little girl, with the acumen of her sex, glanced once at the train, legged it to herfather's homestead, and came back with a basket of apples, which shepresented with all the solemnity of an illuminated address on vellum. 

It was always a strange sight to watch people coming across the fieldsfrom nowhere to gather round the observation platform of the train forthese impromptu audiences. Every part of Canada is well served bynewspapers, yet to see people drift to the right place at the righttime in the midst of loneliness had a touch of wonder about it. Thesecasual gatherings were, indeed, as significant and as interesting asthe great crowds of the cities. There was always an air of laughingfriendliness in them, too, that gave charm to their utter informality, for which both the Prince and the people were responsible. 

From this apple-garnished pause the train pushed on, and passingthrough the garden approach, where pleasant lawns and trees make aboulevard along a canal which runs parallel with the railway, thePrince entered Ottawa. 

We had been warned against Ottawa, mainly by Ottawa men. We had beentold not to expect too much from the Capital. As the Prince passedfrom crowded moment to crowded moment in Toronto, the stock of Ottawaslumped steadily in the minds of Ottawa's sons. They became insistentthat we must not expect great things from Ottawa. Ottawa was not likethat. Ottawa was the taciturn "burg. "

It was a city of people given over to the meditative, if sympathetic, silence. It was an artificial city sprung from the sterile seeds oflegislature, and thriving on the arid food of Bills. It was a merehabitation of governments. It was a freak city created coldly by anact of Solomonic wisdom. Before 1858 it was a drowsy French portagevillage, sitting inertly at the fork of the Ottawa and Rideau rivers, concerning itself only with the lumber trade, almost inattentive to thebattle which Montreal and Quebec, Toronto and Kingston were fightingfor the political supremacy of the Dominion. Appealed to, to settlethis dispute, Queen Victoria decided all feuds by selecting what hadbeen the old Bytown, but which was now Ottawa, as the official capitalof the Dominion. 

Ottawa men pointed all this out to us, and declared that a town of suchartificial beginnings, and whose present population was made up ofcivil servants and mixed Parliamentarians, could not be expected toshow real, red-blood enthusiasm. 

A day later those Ottawa men met us in the high and handsome walls ofthe Château Laurier, and they were entirely unrepentant. They wereeven proud of their false prophecy, and asked us to join them in agrape-juice and soda--the limit of the emotion of good fellowship inCanada (anyhow publicly) is grape-juice and soda--in order that theymight explain to us how they never for a moment doubted that Ottawawould show the enthusiasm it had shown. 

"This is the Capital of Canada, sir. The home of our Parliament andthe Governor-General. It is the hub of loyalty and law. Of course itwould beat the band. "

II

I don't know that I want to quarrel with Ottawa's joke, for I am awedby the way it brought it off. Perhaps it brought it off on the Princealso. If so he must have had a shock, and a delightful one. For thetaciturnity of Ottawa is a myth. When the Prince entered it on themorning of Thursday, August 28th, it was as silent as a whirlwindbombardment, and as reticent as a cyclone. 

There were crowds, inevitably vast and cheering, with the invinciblegood-humour of Canada. They captured him with a rush after he wasthrough with the formalities of being greeted by the Governor-Generaland other notabilities, and had mounted a carriage behind the scarletoutriders of Royalty. That carriage may have been more decorative butit was no more purposeful than an automobile would be under thecircumstance. Even as the automobile, it went at a walking pace, withthe crowd pressing close around it. 

It passed up from the swinging, open triangle that fronts the ChâteauLaurier Hotel and the station, over the bridge that spans the RideauCanal, and along the broad road lined with administration buildings andclubs, to the spacious grass quadrangle about which the massiveParliament buildings group themselves. 

This quadrangle is a fit place to stage a pageant. It crowns a slowhill that is actually a sharp bluff clothed in shrubs that hangs overthe startling blue waters of the Ottawa river. From the river the massof buildings poised dramatically on that individual bluff is a sharpnote of beauty. On the quadrangle, that is the city side, this note islost, and the rough stone buildings, though dignified, have a tough, square-bodied look. Yet the massiveness of the whole grouping aboutthe great space of grass and gravel terraces certainly gives a largeair. They form the adequate wings and backcloth for pageants. 

And what happened that morning in the quadrangle was certainly apageant of democracy. 

There was a formal program, but on the whole the crowd eliminated thatfor one of its own liking. It listened to addresses; it heard SirRobert Borden, and General Currie, only just returned to Canada, express the Dominion's sense of welcome. Then it expressed it itselfby sweeping the police completely away, and surrounding the Prince inan excited throng. 

In the midst of that crowd the Prince stood laughing and cheerful, endeavouring to accommodate all the hands that were thrust towards him. A review of Boy Scouts was timed to take place, but the crowd"scratched" it. The neat wooden barricades and the neat ropes thatlinked them up about a neat parade ground on the green were reduced bythe scientific process of bringing an irresistible force against amovable body. Boy Scouts ceased to figure in the program and becamemere atoms in a mass that surrounded the Prince once more, andexpressed itself in the usual way now it had him to itself. 

As usual the Prince himself showed not the slightest disinclination forfitting in with such an impromptu ceremony. He was as happy and in hiselement as he always was when meeting everyday people in the closestintimacy. It was a carnival of democracy, but one in which he playedas democratic a part as any among that throng. 

Yet though the Prince himself was the direct incentive to thedemocratic exchanges that happened throughout the tour, there was nodoubt that the strain of them was exhausting. 

He possesses an extraordinary vitality. He is so full of life andenergy that it was difficult to give him enough to do, and this and thefact that Canada's wonderful welcome had called into play a powerfulsympathetic response, led him to throw himself into everything with atireless zest. Nevertheless, the strenuous days at Toronto, followedby this strenuous welcome at Ottawa, had made great demands upon him, and it was decided to cut down his program that day to a Garden Partyin the charming grounds of Government House, and to shelve allengagements for the next day, Friday, August 29th. 

The Prince agreed to the dropping of all engagements save one, and thatwas the Public Reception at the City Hall on the 29th. It was the mostexacting of the events on the program, but he would not hear of itselimination; the only alteration in detail that he made was that hisright hand, damaged at Toronto, should be allowed to rest, and that allshaking should be done with the left. 

The Public Reception took place. The only invitation issued was one inthe newspapers. The newspapers said "The Prince will meet the City. "He did. The whole City came. It was again the most popular, as wellas the most stimulating of functions. And it followed the inevitablelines. All manner of people, all grades of people in all conditions ofcostume attended. Old ladies again asked him when he was going to getmarried. Lumbermen in calf-high boots grinned "How do, Prince?"Mothers brought babies in arms, most of them of the inarticulate age, and of awful and solemn dignity of under one--it was as though theseOttawa mothers had been inspired by the fine and homely loyalty of apast age, and had brought their babies to be "touched" by a Prince, who, like the Princes of old, was one with as well as being at the headof the great British family. 

And with all the people were the little boys, eager, full of initiativeand cunning. Shut out by the Olympians, one group of little boys founda strategic way into the Hall by means of a fire-escape staircase. They had already shaken hands with the Prince before their flankmovement had been discovered and the flaw in the endless queuerepaired. That queue was never finished. Although, on the testimonyof the experts, the Prince shook hands at the rate of forty-five to theminute, the time set aside for the reception only allowed of some 2, 500filing before him. 

But those outside that number were not forgotten. The Prince came outto the front of the hall to express his regret that Nature had provedniggardly in the matter of hands. He had only one hand, and thatlimited greetings, but he could not let them go without expressing hisdelight to them for their warm and personal welcome. 

The disappointed ones recognized the limits of human endeavour. Hispopularity was in no way lessened. They were content with having seen"the cute little feller" as some of them called him, and made the mostof that experience by listening to, and swopping anecdotes about, him. 

Most of these centred round his accessibility. One typical story wasabout a soldier, who, having met him in France, stepped out from thecrowd and hopped on to the footboard of his car to say "How d'y' do?"The Prince gripped the khaki man's hand at once, and shaking it andholding the soldier safely on the car with his other hand, he talkedwhile they went along. Then both men saluted, and the soldier hoppedoff again and returned to the crowd. 

"It was just as if you saw me in an automobile and came along to tellme something, " said the man who told me the story. "There was noking-stuff about it. And that's why he gets us. There isn't a sheetof ice between us and him. "

Another man said to me:

"If you'd told me a month ago that anybody was going to get this sortof a reception I should have smiled and called you an innocent. Iwould have told you the Canadians aren't built that way. We're ahard-bitten, independent, irreverent breed. We don't go about shoutingover anybody. .. . But now we've gone wild over him. And I can'tunderstand it. He's our sort. He has no side. We like to treat menas men, and that's the way he meets us. "

III

The long week-end, so strenuously begun, did, however, give the Princehis opportunity for rest and recreation. He had a quiet time in thehome of the Governor-General at the beautiful Rideau Hall, theattractive and spacious grounds of which are part of the untrammelledexpanses of the lovely Rockhill Park which hangs on a cliff and keepscompany with the shining Ottawa river for miles to the east of thecity. Apart from sightseeing, and golfing and dancing at the prettyCounty Club across the Ottawa on the Hull side, he attempted no programuntil Monday morning. 

Ottawa is not so virile in atmosphere as other of the Canadian cities. Its artificial heart, the Parliament area, seems to absorb most of itsvitality. Its architecture is massed very effectively on the hillwhose steep cliffs in a spray of shrubs, rise at the knee of the tworivers, the Ottawa and the Rideau, but outside the radius of theParliament buildings and the few, fine, brisk, lively streets thatserve them, the town fades disappointingly eastward, westward andnorthward into spiritless streets of residences. 

The shores of the river are its chiefest attraction. Below theParliament bluff, there lies to the left a silver white spit in theblue of the stream, that humps itself into a green and habitual mass onwhich are a huddle of picturesque houses. These hide the spray of theChaudière Falls, which stretch between this island and the Hull side. Below the Falls is the picturesque mass of a lumber "boom, " thatstretches down the river. 

To the extreme right beyond the locks of Rideau Canal, is the dramaticlattice-work of a fine bridge, a bridge where railroad tracks, tram-roads, automobile and footways dive under and over each other atthe entrances in order to find their different levels for crossing. Beyond the bridge, and close against it is the jutting cliff that makesthe point of Major Hill Park. 

Between these two extremes, right and left, one faces a broad plain, wooded and gemmed with painted houses, and ending in a smoke-bluerampart of distant hills--all of it luminant with the curiouslyclarified light of Canada. 

From Major Hill Park the riverside avenue goes east over the Rideau, whose Falls are famous, but now obscured by a lumber mill; past RideauHall to Rockhill Park. Rockhill Park is a delight. It has all thejoys of the primitive wilderness plus a service of street-cars. Itspromenade under the fine and scattered trees follows the lip of thecliff along the Ottawa, and across the blue stream can be seen thefillet of gold beach of the far side, and on the stream are red-sailedboats, canoes, and natty gasolene launches. How far Rockhill Parkkeeps company with the Ottawa, I do not know. A stroll of nearly twohours brought me to a region of comely country houses, set in broadgardens--but there was still park, and it seemed to go on for ever. 

There are two or three Golf Clubs (every town in Canada has a golfcourse, or two, and sometimes they are municipal) over the river on theHull side--a side that was at the time of our visit a place ofpilgrimage from Ottawa proper. For it is in Quebec, where the "dry"law is not implacable as that of Ottawa and Ontario. Hull is alsonoted for its match factory and other manufactures that make up a verygood go-ahead industrial town, as well as for the fact that in mattersof contributions to Victory Loans, and that sort of thing, it can holdits own with any city, though that city be five times its size. 

The chief of the Ottawa clubs on the Hull side is the County Club, anidyllic place that has made the very best out of the rather roughplain, and stands looking through the trees to the rapids of the Ottawariver. It is a delightful club, built with the usual Western instinctfor apposite design, and, as with most clubs on the American Continent, it is a revelation of comfort. Its dining-room is extraordinarilyattractive, for it is actually the spacious verandah of the building, screened by trellis work into which is woven the leaves and flowers ofclimbers. The ceiling is a canopy of flowers and green leaves, and todine here overlooking the lawns is to know an hour of the greatestcharm. 

The Prince was the guest here on several occasions, and dances weregiven in his honour. For this purpose the lawn in front of theverandah was squared off with a high arcadian trellis, and between thepillars of this trellis were hung flowers and flags and lights, and allthe trees about had coloured bulbs amid their leaves, so that at nightit was an impression of Arcady as a modern Watteau might see it, withthe crispness and the beauty of the women and the vivid dresses of thewomen giving the scene a quality peculiarly and vivaciously Canadian. 

IV

The circumstances of Monday, September 1st, made it an unforgettableday. 

The chief ceremonies on the Prince's program were the laying of thecorner-stone of the new Parliament Buildings, and the inauguration ofthe Victory Loan. But something else happened which made it momentous. It happened to be Labour Day. 

It was the day when the whole of Labour in Canada--and indeed inAmerica--gave itself over to demonstrations. Labour held streetparades, field sports, and, I daresay, made speeches. It was the dayof days for the workers. 

There were some who thought that the program of Labour would clash withthe program of the Prince. That, to put it at its mildest, Labour on aholiday would ignore the Royal ceremonials and emasculate them asfunctions. The men who put forward these opinions were Canadians, butthey did not know Canada. It was Labour Day, and Labour made the dayfor the Prince. 

When the Prince had learnt that it was the People's day, and that therewas to be a big sports meeting and gala in one of the Ottawa parks, hehad specially added another item to his full list of events, and madeit known that he would visit the park. 

Labour promptly returned the courtesy, and of its own free will turnedits parade into a guard of honour, which lined the fine Rideau andWellington streets for his progress between Government House andParliament Square. 

As far as I could gather Labour decided upon and carried this outwithout consulting anybody. Streets were taken over without anywarning, and certainly without any fuss. There seemed to be few policeabout, and there was no need for them. Labour took command of the showin the interest of its friend the Prince, and would not permit theslightest disorderliness. 

It was a remarkable sight. Early in the morning the Labour Paradeappeared along Rideau Street, mounting the hill to the ParliamentHouse. The processionists, each group in the costume of its calling, walked in long, thin files on each side of the road, the line broken atintervals by the trade floats. Floats are an essential part of everyAmerican parade; they are what British people call "set-pieces, "tableaux built up on wagons or on automobiles; all of them areingenious and most of them are beautiful. 

These floats represented the various trades, a boiler-maker's shop infull (and noisy) action; a stone-worker's bench in operation; theframework of a wooden house on an auto, to show Ottawa what itscarpenters and joiners could do, and so on. With these marched theworkers, distinctively clothed, as though the old guilds had neverceased. 

When the head of the procession reached the entrance of ParliamentSquare it halted, and the line, turning left and right, walked towardsthe curb, pressing back the thousands of sightseers to the pavement ina most effective manner. They lined and kept the route in this fashionuntil the Prince had passed. 

It was thus that the Prince drove, not between the ranks of an army ofsoldiers, but through the ranks of the army of labour. Not khaki, butthe many uniforms of labour marked the route. There were firemen inpeaked caps, with bright steel grappling-hooks at their waists;butchers in white blouses, white trousers, and white peaked caps; therewere tram-conductors, and railway-men, hotel porters, teamsters inoveralls, lumbermen in calf-high boots of tan, with their rough socksshowing above them on their blue jumper trousers, barbers, drug-storeclerks and men of all the trades. 

Above this guard of workers were the banners of the Unions, some inEnglish, some proclaiming in French that here was "La Fraternité UnieCharpentiers et Menuisiers, " and so on. 

It was a real demonstration of democracy. It was the spontaneous andaffectionate action of the everyday people, determined to show howpersonal was its regard for a Prince who knew how to be one with theeveryday people. As a demonstration it was immensely more significantthan the most august item of a formal program. 

As the Prince rode through those hearty and friendly ranks in a Statecarriage, and behind mounted troopers, the troopers and the trappingsseemed to matter very little indeed. The crowd that cheered and wavedflags--and sometimes spanners and kitchen pans--and the youth who wavedhis gloves back and forth with all their own freedom from ceremony, were the things that mattered. 

When, at the laying of the corner-stone a few minutes later, Sir RobertBorden declared that, in repeating the act of his grandfather, who laidthe original corner-stone of Canada's Parliament buildings, as Princeof Wales, in 1860, His Royal Highness was inaugurating a new era, thehappenings of just now seemed to lend conviction that indeed a newphase of history had come into being. It was a phase in which throneand people had been woven into a strong and sane democracy, begot ofthe intimate personal sympathy, understanding and reliance the war hadbrought about between rulers and people. 

The new buildings replace the old Parliament Houses burnt down in thebeginning of the war. The fire was attended by sad loss of life, andone of those killed was a lady, who, having got out of the burningbuilding in safety, was suddenly overcome by a feminine desire to saveher furs. She re-entered the blazing building and was lost. 

The new building follows the design of the old, rather rigid structure, though it has not the campanile. The porch where the stone was laidwas draped in huge hangings descending in grave folds from a sheaf offlags; this with the façade of the grey stone building made a superbbacking to the great stage of terrace upon which the ceremony wasenacted. It had all the dignity, colour and braveness of a Durbar. 

The Victory Loan was inaugurated by the unfurling of a flag by thePrince. He promised to give to each of the cities and villages (by theway, I don't think the villages are villages in Canada; they are alltowns) who subscribed a certain percentage a replica of this specialflag. There was keen competition throughout the Dominion for theseflags, Canadians responding to the pictures on the hoardings with agood will, in order to win a "Prince of Wales' Flag. "

Although the Prince was down to visit Hull at a specific time thatafternoon, he set aside an hour in order to pay his promised visit tothe Labour fête in Lansdowne Park. There was only time for him todrive through the park, but the warm reception given to him made it anaction really worth while. 

Hull, which is inclined to sprawl as a town, was transformed by sun, flags and people into a place of great attraction when the Princearrived. And if there was not any high pomp about the visit, there wascertainly prettiness. The pretty girls of Hull had transformedthemselves into representatives of all the races of the Entente, and asthe Prince stood on the scarlet steps of a daïs outside the Town Hall, each one of these came forward and made him a curtsy. 

Following them were four tiny girls, each holding a large bouquet, eachbouquet being linked to the others by broad red ribbons. They were thejolliest little girls, but nervous, and after negotiating the terrorsof the scarlet stairs with discretion, the broad desert of the daïsundid them--or rather it didn't. At the moment of presentation, fourlittle girls, as well as four bouquets, were linked together by broadred ribbons, until it was difficult to tell which was little girl andwhich was bouquet. There were many untanglers present, but the chiefof them was the Prince of Wales himself. 

The Hull ceremonials were certainly as happy as any could be. Thelittle girls gave a homely touch, so did the people--match-factorygirls, brown-habited Franciscan friars, and the rest--who joined in thepublic reception, but the crowning touch of this atmosphere was thereview of the war veterans. 

There were so many war veterans that Hull had no open space largeenough to parade them. Hull, therefore, had the happy idea ofreviewing them in the main street. Thus the everyday street was packedwith everyday men who had fought for the very homes about them. Thatseemed to bring out the real purpose of the great war more than anyeffort in propaganda could. 

It was in the main street, too, after receiving a loving cup from theGreat War Veterans, that the Prince spoke to these comrades of the war. He stood up in his car and addressed them simply and directly, thankingthem and wishing them good luck, and there was something infinitelysuggestive in his standing up there so simply amid that pack of men, and women wedged tightly between the houses of that homely street. 

Wedged is assuredly the right term, for it was with difficulty, andonly by infinite care, that the car was driven through the crowd andaway. 

CHAPTER X

MONTREAL: QUEBEC

I

Montreal was not actually in the schedule. In the program of thePrince's tour it was put down as the last place he should visit. This, in a sense, was fitting. It was proper that the greatest city inCanada should wind up the visit in a befitting week. 

All the same, as the Prince himself said, he could not possibly startfor the West without making at least a call on Montreal, so he roundedoff his travels among the big cities of the Canadian East by spendingthe inside of a day there. 

I wonder whether there was ever an inside of a day so crowded? I waspresent when Manchester rushed President Wilson through a headlongmorning of events, and the Manchester effort was pedestrian besideMontreal's. Even the Prince, who himself can put any amount of vigourinto life, must have found nothing in his experience to equal anon-stop series of ceremonies carried on, at times, at a pace offorty-miles an hour. 

That is what happened. Montreal was given about four hours of thePrince. Montreal is a progressive city; it has an up-to-date and"Do-It-Now" sense. Confronted at very short notice with those fourhours, it promptly set itself to make the most of them. It packedabout four days' program into them. 

It managed this, of course, by using motor-cars. The whole of theAmerican Continent, I have come to see, has a motor-car method ofthinking out and accomplishing things. Montreal certainly has. Montreal met the Prince in an automobile mood, whipped him from thetrain and entertained him on the top gear for every moment of his stay. 

II

He arrived at the handsome Windsor Station of the C. P. R. On the morningof Tuesday, September 2nd, and was at once taken to a big, grey motor. His guide, the Mayor of the city, then began to show him how time couldbe annihilated and days compressed into hours. 

In those few hours he was shown not a section of the great commercialcity, not merely the City Hall, and a street or two, and a placewherein to lunch. He was shown all Montreal. He was shown the city ofMontreal and the suburbs of Montreal, and verily I believe he was shownevery man, woman, and certainly every child of flag-wagging age, inMontreal. 

And when he had seen the high, fine business blocks of Montreal, andthe pretty residential districts, where the well-designed homes seem tostand on terrace over terrace of the smoothest, greenest grass, he wasshown the country-side about Montreal, the comely little habitantparishes and holiday places that make outlying Montreal, and theconvents and the colleges where Montreal educates itself, theUniversities where that education is rounded off, and the long, wide, straight speedways over which Montreal citizens get the best out oftheir motor-car moments--and he was shown how it was done. 

And after showing him the rivers that make the hilly country aboutMontreal beautiful, and the little pocket villages, he was swung backout of the green of the summer country and shown more business blocks, and just a hint of the great wharves and docks that fringe the St. Lawrence and give the city its great industrial power and fame. Thenwhen they had shown him all the things that man usually sees only afterweeks of tenacious exploration, they spun him up a corkscrew drive thatgoes first among charming houses, then among beautiful deep trees andgrass, and sat him down in a glowing pavilion on the top of this hill, Mount Royal--the Montreal that gives the city its name--and gave himlunch. 

There, as he ate, he looked down over one of the great views of theworld. Below him was the splendid vista of a splendid city; the massof tall offices, factories and the high fret of derricks and elevatorsalong the quays that covered the site of the Indian lodges of Hochelagathat Jacques Cartier first found; the mass of spires from a thousandchurches, the swelling domes and hipped roofs of basilica and collegethat had grown up from the old religious outpost, the nucleus ofChristianity in the wilds that was to convert the wilds, the VilleMarie de Montreal that Maisonneuve had founded nearly three centuriesago. 

And beyond this swinging breadth of city that was modernity, as well ashistory, the Prince saw the grey, misty bosom of the St. Lawrence, winding broad and significant beneath the distant hills. 

III

Truly it had been a mighty day, worthy of a mighty city. And a day notmerely big in achievement, but big in meaning also. In his drive thePrince had covered no less than thirty-six miles in and about the city, and on practically the whole of that great sweep there had been crowds, and at times big crowds, all friendly and with an enthusiasm that wasFrench as well as Canadian. 

There were naturally tracts of road in the country where people did notgather in force, but almost everywhere there were some. Sometimes itwas a family gathered by a pretty house draped with flags. Sometimesit was a village, making up with the flags in their hands for thehanging flags short notice had prevented their sporting. 

On an open stretch of road the Prince would come abreast of a conventin the fields. By the fence of the convent all the little girls wouldbe ranked, dressed, sometimes, in national ribbons, and anyhow carryingflags, and with them would be the nuns. Or if the convent was not ateaching order, the nuns would be by themselves, forming a delightfulpicture of quiet respect on the porch or along the garden wall. 

Boys' schools had the inmates gathered at the road-edge in jolly mobs, though some of these had a semi-military dignity, because of the quaintand kepi-ed uniform of the school, that made the boys look like cadetsout of a picture by Detaille. 

The seminaries had their flocks of black fledglings drawn up under theprofessor-priests, and the sober black of these embryo priests had notthe slightest restriction on their enthusiasm. 

There were crowds everywhere on that extraordinary ride, but it was inMontreal itself that the throngs reached immense proportions. From thefirst moment of arrival, when the Prince in mufti rode out from underthe clangour of "God Bless the Prince of Wales" played on the bells ofSt. George's Church, that hob-nobs with the station, crowds were thickabout the route. As he swung from Dominion Square (in which thestation stands) into the Regent Street of Montreal, St. CatherineStreet, crowds of employés crowded the windows of the big and finestores, and added their welcome to the mass on the sidewalks. 

Short notice had curtailed decoration, but the enthusiastic employés(mainly feminine) of one tall store strove to rectify the lack byarming themselves with flags and stationing themselves at every window. Balancing perilously, they waited until the Prince came level, and thenset the whole face of the tall building fluttering with Union Jacks. 

From these streets, impressive in their sense of vigour and industry, the procession of cars mounted through the residential quarter to MountRoyal Park. Here in the presence of a big crowd that surrounded himand got to close quarters at once, the Prince alighted and stayed a fewminutes at the statue of Georges Etienne Cartier, the father ofCanadian unity, whose centenary was then being celebrated, since thewar forbade rejoicing on the real anniversary in 1914. 

Cartier's daughter, Hortense Cartier, was present at this littleceremony, and she was, as it were, a personal link between her fatherand the Prince, who is himself helping to inaugurate a new phase ofunity, that of the Empire. 

From this point the Prince's route struck out into the countrydistricts that I have described, but the crowds had accumulated ratherthan diminished when he returned to the streets of the city, about oneo'clock, and he drove through lanes of people so dense that at timesthe pace of his car was retarded to a walk. 

The crowd was a suggestive one. All ranks and conditions were init--and conditions rather than ranks were apparent in the dock-sidearea, which is a dingy one for Canada. But in all the crowds the thingthat struck me most was their proportion of children. Montreal seemeda veritable hive of children. There were thousands and thousands ofthem. 

The streets were bursting with kiddies. And not merely were theremultitudes of girls and boys of that thoroughly vociferous age ofsomewhere under twelve, but there were ranked battalions of boys andmaids, all of an age obviously under twenty. 

Quebec is the province of large families. Ten children to a marriageis a commonplace, and twenty is not a rarity. A man is not thought tobe worth his salt unless he has his quiver full. And the result ofthis as I saw it in the streets gives food for thought. 

That huge marshalling of the citizens of tomorrow gives one not merelya sense of Canada's potentiality, but of the potentiality of Quebec inthe future of Canada. With a new race of such a healthy standardgrowing up, the future of Montreal has a look of greatness. Montrealis now the biggest and most vigorous city in Canada, it plays a largepart in the life of Canada. What part will it play tomorrow?

A good as well as great part, surely. Discriminating Canadians tellyou that the French-Canadian makes the best type of citizen. He isindustrious, go-ahead, sane, practical; he is law-abiding and he isloyal. His history shows that he is loyal; indeed, Canada as it standstoday owes not a little to French-Canadian loyalty and willingness totake up arms in support of British institutions. 

French-Canada took up arms in the Great War to good purpose, sending40, 000 men to the Front, though its good work has been obscured by thepolitical propaganda made out of the Anti-Conscription campaign. Soberpoliticians--by no means on the side of the French-Canadians--told methat there was rather more smoke in that matter than circumstancescreated, and in Britain particularly the business was over-exaggerated. There was a good deal of politics mixed up in the attitude of Quebec, "And in any case, " said my informant, "Quebec was not the first tooppose conscription, nor yet the bitterest, though she was, perhaps, the most candid. "

The language difficulty is a difficulty, yet that has been the subjectof exaggeration, also. Those who find it a grave problem seem to bethose who have never come in contact with it, but are anxious about itat a distance. Those who are in contact with the French-speaking racessay that French and English-speaking peoples get on well on the whole, and have an esteem for each other that makes nothing of the languagebarrier. 

Concerning the Roman Catholic Church, which is certainly in a verypowerful position in Quebec, I have heard from non-Catholics quite asmuch said in favour of the good it does, as I have heard to thecontrary, so I concluded that on its human side it is as human as anyother concern, doing good and making mistakes in the ordinary humanway. As far as its spiritual side is concerned there is no doubt atall that it holds its people. Its huge churches are packed with hugecongregations at every service on Sunday. 

On the whole, then, I fancy that that part of Canada's future whichlies in the hands of the children of Montreal, and the Province ofQuebec generally, will be for the good of the Dominion. Certainly theattitude of the people as shown in the packed and ecstatic streets ofMontreal was a very good omen. 

The welcome had had its usual effect on the Prince. The formal salutenever had a chance, and from the outset of the ride he had stood up inhis car and waved back in answer to the cheering of the crowd. Whenstanding for so many miles tired him, he sat high up on the foldedhood, with one of his suite to hold him, and he did not stop waving hishat. In this way he accomplished the thirty-six miles ride, onlyslipping down into his seat as the car mounted the stiff zig-zag thatled up Mount Royal to the luncheon pavilion. 

The slowness of this climb was, in a sense, his undoing. As his carneared the top of the hill, two Montreal flappers, whose extreme youthwas only exceeded by their extreme daring, sprang on to the footboardand held him up with autograph books. He immediately produced afountain pen, and sitting once more on the back of the car, wrote hisname as the car went along, and the young ladies from Montreal clung onto it. 

This delightful act was too much for one of the maidens, for, ongetting her book back, she kissed the Prince impulsively, and then in asudden attack of deferred modesty, sprang from the car and ran for herblushes' sake. 

From the luncheon pavilion the Prince was whirled to the Royal train, and in that, after a recuperative round of golf at a course justoutside Montreal, he set out for the comparative calm of the great West. 

CHAPTER XI

ON THE ROAD TO TROUT

I

The run on the days following the packed moments of Montreal was one ofluxurious indolence. The Royal train was heading for the almost fabledtrout of Nipigon, where, among the beauties of lake and stream, thePrince was to take a long week-end fishing and preparing for morecrowds and more strenuosity in the Canadian West. 

Through those two days the train seemed to meander in a leisurelyfashion through varied and attractive country, only stopping now andthen as though it had to work off a ceremonial occasionally as anexcuse for existing at all. 

The route ran through pleasant, farmed land between Montreal and NorthBay and Sudbury, and then switched downward through the bleak nickeland copper country to the beautiful coast of Lake Huron on its way toSault Ste. Marie. From this town, which the whole Continent knows as"Soo, " it plunged north through the magnificent scenery of the Algomaarea to Oba, and, turning west again (and in the night), it ran on toNipigon Lake. 

It was a genial and attractive run. We sat, as it were, lapped in theserenity of the C. P. R. , and studied the view. Wherever there werehouses there were people, to wave something at the Prince's car. Atone homestead a man and his wife stood alone near the split-rail fence, the woman curtsying, the man, who had obviously been a soldier, flag-wagging some message we could not catch, with a big red ensign; aninfinitely touching sight, that couple getting their greeting to thePrince in spite of difficulties. On the stations the local schoolchildren were always drawn up in ranks, most of them holding flags, many having a broad red-white-and-blue ribbon across their front rankto show their patriotism. 

At North Bay, a purposeful little town that lets the traveller eitherinto the scenic and sporting delights of Lake Nipissing, or into themining districts of the Timiskaming country, there was a bright littlereception. North Bay is a characteristic Canadian town. It was bornin a night, so to speak, and its growth outstrips editions of guidebooks. Outside the neat station there is a big grass oblong, and aboutthis green the frame houses and the shops extend. Behind it is thetown so keen on growing up about the big railway repair shops, that ithas no time yet to give to road-making. 

The ceremonial was in the green oblong, and all North Bay left theirhouses and shops to attend. The visit had more the air of a familyparty than aught else, for, after a mere pretence of keeping ranks, thepeople broke in upon the function, and Prince and Staff and peoplebecame inextricably mixed. When His Royal Highness took car to drivearound the town, the crowd cut off the cars in the procession, and forhalf an hour North Bay was full of orderlies and committee-menautomobiling about speculative streets in search of a missing Prince, plus one Mayor. 

Sudbury, the same type of town, growing at a distracting pace becauseof its railway connection and its smelting plants, had the same sort ofceremony. From here we passed through a land of almost sinisterbleakness. There were tracts livid and stark, entirely withoutvegetation, and with the livid white and naked surface cut into wildchannels and gullies by rains that must have been as pitiless as theland. It was as though we had steamed out of a human land into thedrear valleys of the moon, and one expected to catch glimpses ofcreatures as terrifying as any Mr. Wells has imagined. So cadaverous arealm could breed little else. 

It was the country of nickel and copper. We saw occasionally thebuildings and workings (scarce less grim than the land) through theagency of which came the grey slime that had rendered the country sobleak. They are particularly rich mines, and rank high among thenickel workings in the world. They were also, let it be said, ofimmense value to the Allies during the war. 

Pushing south, the line soon redeems itself in the beauty of the lakes. It bends to skirt the shore of Lake Huron, a great blue sea, and yetbut a link in the chain of great lakes that lead from Superior throughit to Erie and Ontario lakes, and on to the St. Lawrence. 

We arrived on a beautiful evening at Algoma, a spot as delightful as aCornish village, on the beach of that inlet of Lake Huron calledGeorgian Bay. We walked in the astonishing quiet of the eveningthrough the tiny place, and along the deep, sandy road that has not yetbeen won from the primitive forests, to where but a tiny fillet ofbeach stood between the spruce woods and the vast silence of the water. From that serene and quiet spot we looked through the still evening tothe far and beautiful Islands. 

In the wonderful clear air, and with all the soft colours of the sunsetglowing in the still water, the beauty of the place was almost toopoignant. We might have been the discoverers of an uninhabited bay inthe Islands of the Blessed. I have never known any place so remote, sostill and so beautiful. But it was far from being uninhabited. Therewere rustic picnic tables under the spruce trees, and there was adiving-board standing over the clear water. The inhabitants of Algomaknew the worth of this place, and we felt them to be among the luckiestpeople on the earth. 

The islands we saw far away in the soft beauty of the sunset, andbetween which the enigmatic light of a lake steamer was moving, aresaid to be Hiawatha's Islands. In any case, it was here that thepageant of Hiawatha was held some years back, and across the still lakein that pageant, Hiawatha in his canoe went out to be lost in theglories of the sunset. 

II

On the morning of Tuesday, September 4th, the train skirted GeorgianBay, passing many small villages given over to lumber and fishing, andall having, with their tiny jetties, motor launches and sailing boats, something of the perfection of scenes viewed in a clear mirror. Bymid-morning the train reached Sault Ste. Marie. 

"Soo" is a vivid place. It is a young city on the rise. A handful ofyears ago it was a French mission, beginning to turn its eyes languidlytowards lumber. It is on the neck that joins the waters of Superiorand Huron, but the only through traffic was that of the voyageurs, whomade the portage round the stiff St. Mary's Rapids, that, with a dropof eighteen feet in their length, forbade any vessel but that of thecanoe of the adventurer to pass their troubled waters. 

Then America and Canada began to build canals and locks to link thegreat lakes, in spite of the Rapids, and "Soo" woke. It has been awakeand living since that moment. It has been playing lock against lockwith the Michigan men across the river, each planning cunningly toestablish a system that will carry the long lake vessels not only inlocks befitting their size, but in locks that can be handled moreswiftly than those of the rival. 

At the moment the prize is with Canada. It has a lock nine hundredfeet long, and can do the business of lowering a great vessel fromSuperior to Huron with one action, where America uses four locks. TheAmericans have a larger lock than the Canadian, but the Canadians arequicker. 

And this means something. The traffic on these lakes is greater thanthe traffic on many seas. Down this vast water highway come the narrowpencils of lake-boats carrying grain and ore and lumber in hulls thatare all hold. They come and go incessantly. "Soo, " indeed, handlesabout three times the tonnage of Suez yearly, and there is the Americanside to add to that. 

With this brisk movement of commercial life within her, "Soo" hasthrived like a cold. Where, in the old days, the local inhabitantscould be reckoned on the fingers of two hands, there is now a city ofabout twenty thousand, and it is still growing. It is a city ofgraceful streets and neat houses climbing over the Laurentine Hillsthat make the site. It is breezy and self-assured, and draws itscomfortable affluence from its shipping, its paper-mills, its steelworks, as well as from lumber, agriculture and other industries. 

It met the Prince as becomes a youth of promise. Crowds massed on thelawns before the red sandstone station, and in all the streets therewere crowds. And crowds followed his every movement, however swift itwas, for "Soo" has the automobile fever as badly as any other town inCanada, and car owners packed their families, even to the youngest inarms, into tonneaux and joined a procession a mile long, that followedthe Prince about the town. 

It is true that some of the crowd was America out to look at Royalty. Americans were not slow to make the most of the fact that they were tohave a Prince across the river. From early morning the ferry that runsfrom Michigan to the British Empire was packed with Republican autosand Republicans on foot, all eager to be there when Royalty arrived. They gathered in the streets and joined in the procession. They gavethe Prince the hearty greeting of good-fellows. They were as goodfriends of his as anybody there. They did, in fact, give us aforetaste of what we were to expect when the Prince went to the UnitedStates. 

There were the usual functions. They took place high on a hill, fromwhich the Prince could look down upon the blue waters of the linkedlakes, the many factory chimneys, the smoke of which threw a quickeningsense of human endeavour athwart the scene, and the great jack-knifegirder bridge, that is the railway connection between Canada andAmerica, but above the usual functions the visit to "Soo" had itemsthat made it particularly interesting. 

He went to the great lock that carries the interlake traffic. Hecrossed from one side of it to the other, and then stood out on thelock gate, while it was opened to allow the passage of several smallvessels. From here he went to the Algoma Railway, at the head of thecanal, and in a special car was taken to the rapids that tumble down infoam between the two countries. 

The train was brought to a standstill at the international boundary, where two sentries, Canadian and American, face each other, and wherethere was another big crowd, this time all American, to give him acheer. 

He then spent some time visiting the paper mill that helps to make"Soo" rich. He went over it department by department, asking manyquestions and showing that the processes fascinated him intensely. Inthe same way he went through the steel works, and was again intriguedby the sight of "things doing. " It was, as he said himself, one of themost interesting days he had spent in the Dominion. 

III

"Soo" let us into a wonderful tract of country. 

Still in the sumptuous C. P. R. Train, we swung north over the AlgomaRailway track into a land so wildly magnificent and yet so lonely, thatone felt that the railway line must have been built by poets forpoets--we could not imagine it thriving on anything else. 

As a matter of fact, it does link up rich mining and other territory, and, in time, will open a land of equal value, but just now its chiefasset is scenery. 

The scenery is superb. Its hills are huge and battlemented. They leapup sheer above the train, menacing it; they drop down starkly, leavingthe line clinging to a ledge above a white, angry stream on a whiterock bed. They crowd the line into gorges, from which the sun isbanished, and where the moveless firs look like lost souls chained inthe gloom of Eblis. They expand abruptly, suddenly, into swingingvalleys, on whose great flanks the spruce forests look like toydecorations hanging above floors of shining sapphire--lakes, of course, but one could not think that any lake could be so blue. 

Lakes fretted into lagoons by thin white slivers of shingle; riversfull of tumbled and dishevelled logs; forests in green, in which thecrimson maple leaf burns brightly; vast amphitheatres of cliff-likehills; mounds of the stark Laurentine rock pushing up through treeslike bald heads through the sparse covering of departing hair; miles ofblanched trees and black trees standing like skeletons or strewnall-whither, like billets of stick--acres of murdered stumps, whereevil forest fires have swept along; and we had even an occasionalglimpse of that scourge of Canada seen smoking sullenly in thedistance--all this heaped together, piled together in a recklessluxuriance makes up the scenery of the Algoma country. 

Only rarely does one see the hut of rough logs and clay that denotesthe settler, only occasionally is there a station, or a mill or alogging camp in this womb of loneliness. Only occasionally does onecross one of those lengthy and rakish spider bridges that give a hintof man and his works. 

On a long bridge, over the Montreal river, we made the most of man andhis works. It is a lengthy, curving bridge, built giddily on stiltsabove the boulder-strewn bed of a wicked stream. We were admiring itas a desperate work of engineering, when the train stopped with adisconcerting bump. It stopped with violence. And when we had pickedourselves up we looked out of the train and saw nothing--only thatparticularly vicious river and those unpleasantly jagged rocks. 

When one is on a Canadian bridge this is all one sees--the depth one isgoing to drop, and what one is going to drop on. The top of the bridgeis wide enough for the rails only, and the sides of the carriages hangbeyond the rails. And there are no parapets. One just looks plumbdown. We looked down, and back and forward. The struts and girders ofthe bridge seemed made of pack-thread and spider's web. We wonderedwhy we should have stopped in the middle of such a place of all places. And the train looked so enormous. We asked the superintendent if thebridge could hold it. 

He said he thought so, but it had never been tested by such a weightbefore. 

From the way he said "thought, " we gathered he meant "hoped. "

Somebody had wanted to show the Prince the view. It was a fine view, but we were not sorry it wasn't permanent. With the view, the Princetook in a little shooting at clay pigeons in view of the days he was tospend in sporting Nipigon. 

We ran straight on to Nipigon, only stopping at Oba, and that in thenight. But before the night came Canada and Algoma gave us anexquisite sunset. We saw the light of the sun on a vast stretch ofhummocks and hills of bald rock. They had been clothed with forestbefore the fires had passed over them. As the sun set, an exquisitethin cherry light shone evenly on the hills and bluffs, and on the thinand naked trees that stood up like wands in this eerie and clarifiedlight. In the distance there was a faint vermilion in the sky, andwhere the tree stumps fringed the bare hills, they gave the suggestionof a band of violet edging the land. And all this in an air as clearand shining as still water. It seemed to me that Canada was waitingthere for a painter of a new vision to catch its wonder. 

Even in the loneliness we were never far away from the human equation. During the afternoon we had a touch of it. It was discovered by thePrince that his train was being driven by a V. C. , or, rather, one ofthe men on the engine, the fireman, was a V. C. This man, Staff-Sergeant Meryfield, had won the distinction at Cambrai, and hadreturned to his calling in the ordinary way. He came back from theengine cab through the train, a very modest fellow, to be presented tothe Prince, who spent a few minutes chatting with him. 

CHAPTER XII

PICNICS AND PRAIRIES

I

Early on the morning of Friday, September 5th, the train passed throughthe second tunnel it had encountered in Canada, and came to a smallstopping-place amid trees. 

It was a lady's pocket handkerchief of a station, made up of a toolshed, a few houses and a road leading away from it. Its significancelay in the road leading away from it. That road leads to Nipigon riverand lake, one of the finest trout waters in Canada. Even at that it isonly famous half the year, for it hibernates in winter like any otherthing in Canada that finds snow and remoteness too much for it. 

At this station--Nipigon Lodge--the Prince, in shooting knickers and agreat anxiety to be off and away, left the train at 8. 30, and walkingalong the road, came to the launch that was to take him down river tothe fishing camp where he was to spend a week-end of sport. 

Leaving this little waterside village of neglected fishermen's huts, for the season was late and the tourists that usually fill them had allgone, he went down the beautiful stream to the more than beautifulVirgin Falls. Here he met his outfit, thirty-eight Indian guides, allof them experts in camp life and cunning in the secrets of stream andwood. 

In the care of these high priests of sport, he left civilization, inthe shape of the launch, behind him, and in a canoe fished down streamuntil the lovely reaches of Split-rock were attained; here, on thebanks of the stream, amid the thick ranks of spruce, the camp waspitched. 

At first it had been the intention to push on after a day's sport toother camping-places, but the situation and the comfort of this campwas so satisfactory that the Prince decided to stay, and made it hisheadquarters during the week-end. 

It was no camp of amateur sportsmen playing at the game. It was not, perhaps, "roughing" it as the woodsman knows it, for he lies hard in afloorless tent (if he has one), as well as lives laboriously, but itwas certainly a rough and ready life, as near that of the woodsman aspossible. 

The Prince slept in a tent, rose early, bathed in the river and shavedin the open in exactly the same manner as every one else in the party. He took his place in the "grub queue, " carrying his plate to thecook-house and demanding his particular choice in bacon and eggs, broiled trout, flapjacks, or the wonderful white flatbread, which thecook, an Indian, Jimmy Bouchard, celebrated for open-fire cooking, knewhow to prepare. 

Sometimes before breakfast the Prince indulged his passion for running;always after breakfast he set out on foot, or in canoe for the day'sfishing, returning late at night hungry and tired with the healthyweariness of hard exertion to the camp meal. There were spells roundthe big camp fire burning vividly amid the trees, and then sleep in thetent. 

The fishing was usually done from the bass canoe, two Indian guidesbeing always the ship's company. And fishing was not the onlyattraction of the stream and lake. There is always the thrilling, placid beauty of the scenery, the deep forests, the lake valleys, andthe austere, forest-clad hills that rise abruptly from the enigmaticpools. And there is the active beauty of the many rapids, thosepiled-up and rushing masses of angry water, tossing and foaming inpent-up force through rock gates and over rocks. 

He tried the adventure of these rapids, shooting through the torturedwaters that look so beautiful from the shore and so terrible from thefrail structure of a canoe, until it seemed to him as though not eventhe skill of his guides could steer through safely. He got throughsafely, but only after an experience which he described as the mostexciting in his life. 

The fishing itself proved disappointing. The famous speckled trout ofNipigon did not rise to the occasion, and the sport was fair, but notextraordinary. The best day brought in twenty-seven fish, the largestbeing three and a half pounds, not a good specimen of the lake's trout, which go to six and eight pounds in the ordinary course of things. 

And the disappointment had an irony of its own. The man who caught themost fish was the man who couldn't fish at all. The officialphotographer, who had gone solely to take snapshots, also took themaximum of fish out of the river. Indeed, he was so much of an amateurthat the first fish he caught placed him in such a predicament that hedid not play it, but landed it with so vigorous a jerk that it flewover his head and caught high in a fir. An Indian guide had to climbthe tree to "land" it. 

Nevertheless, he caught the most fish, and when he returned with hisspoil, the Prince said to him:

"Look here, don't you realize I'm the one to do that? You're taking myplace in the program. "

The reason for the indifferent sport was probably the lateness of theseason--it was practically finished when the Prince arrived--and thefact that Nipigon had had a record summer, with large parties ofsportsmen working its reaches steadily all the time. The fish werecertainly shy, particularly, it seemed, of fly, and the best catcheswere made with a small fish, a sort of bull-headed minnow calledcocatoose, that creeps about close to the rocks. 

Of course, trout, even if famous, are naturally temperamental. Theywill rise in dozens at unexpected times, just as they will refuse alltemptations for weeks on end. An Englishman, and no mean fisherman, once went to Nipigon to show the local inhabitants how fishing shouldbe done. A master in British waters, he considered the speckledmonsters of the lakes fit victims for his rod and fly. He went outwith his guides to catch fish, and after a few days among the big troutcame back disgusted. 

"Did you catch any trout?" he was asked by one of his party. 

"Catch 'em, " he snapped. "How can one catch 'em? The infernal thingsare anchored. "

Walking and duck shooting was also in the program, and there were otherexcitements. 

The weather, delightful during the first two days, broke on Sunday, andthere were bad winds, rainstorms and occasional hailstorms, when stonesas big as small pebbles drummed on the tents and bombarded the camp. 

So fierce was the wind that the Royal Standard on a high flagstaff wascarried away. A pine tree was also uprooted, and fell with a crashbetween the Prince's tent and that of one of his suite. A yard eitherway and the tent would have been crushed. Fortunately the Prince wasnot in the tent at that moment, but the happening gave the camp itssense of adventure. 

During this rest, too, the Prince suffered a little from his eyes, anirritation caused by grains of steel that had blown into them whileviewing the works at "Soo. " His right hand was also painful from theheartiness of Toronto, and the knuckles swollen. To set these mattersright, the doctor went up from the train, and by the Indian canoe thatcarried the mail and the daily news bulletin, reached the camp. 

When he returned on Monday, September 8th, the Prince was lookingundeniably fit. He marched up the railway from the lake infooter-shorts and golf jacket, with an air of one who had thoroughlyenjoyed "roughing it. "

II

While the Prince and his party were camping, the train remained inNipigon, a tiny village set in complete isolation on the edge of theriver and in the heart of the woods. 

It is a little germ-culture of humanity cut off from the world. Theonly way out is, apparently, the railway, though, perhaps, one couldget away by the boats that come up to load pulp wood, or by the petrollaunches that scurry out on to Lake Superior and its waterside towns. But the roads out of it, there appear to be none. Follow any track, and it fades away gently into the primitive bush. 

It is a nest of loneliness that has carried on after its old office asa big fur collecting post--you see the original offices of RevillonFrères and the Hudson Bay Company standing today--has gone. Now itlives on lumber and the fishing, and one wonders what else. 

Its tiny station, through which the Transcontinental trains thunder, isfaced by a long, straggling green, and fringing the green is a row ofwooden shops and houses equally straggling. They have a somnolent andspiritless air. Behind is a wedge of pretty dwellings stretching downto the river, tailing off into an Indian encampment by the stream, where, about dingy tepees, a dozen or so stoic children play. 

There are three hundred souls in the village, mainly Finns and Indiansbecome Canadians. They are not the Indians of Fenimore Cooper, but menwho wear peaked caps, bright blouse shirts or sweaters, with broadyellow, blue and white stripes (a popular article of wear all overCanada), and women who wear the shin skirts and silks of civilization. Only here and there one sees old squaw women, stout and brown and bent, with the plaid shawl of modernity making up for the moccasins of theirancient race. 

Small though it is, or perhaps because it is so small and observable, Nipigon is an example of the amalgam from which the Canadian race isbeing fused. We went, for instance, to a dance given by the Finns intheir varnished, brown-wood hall on the Saturday night. It was anattractive and interesting evening. The whole of the village, withoutdistinction, appeared to be there. And they mixed. Indian women inthe silk stockings, high heels and glowing frocks of suburbia, danced(and danced well) with high cheek-boned, monosyllabic Finns in greysweaters, workaday trousers and coats and bubble-toed boots. A vividCanadian girl in semi-evening dress went round in the jazz with a guardof the Royal train. A policeman from the train danced with a Finnishgirl, demure and well-dressed, who might have been anything from theleader of local Society to a clerk (i. E. , a counter hand) in one of theshops. For all we knew, the plumber might have been dancing with theleading citizen's daughter, and the local Astor with the localdressmaker's assistant. 

In any case, it didn't matter. In Canada they don't think about thatsort of thing. They were all unconcerned and happy in the big, generous spirit of equality that makes Canada the home of one bigfamily rather than the dwelling-place of different classes and socialgrades. This fact was not new to us; naturally, we had seen and mixedwith Canadians in hotels and on the street elsewhere. In thosegathering-places of humanity, the hotels, we had lived with the big, jolly, homely crowds without social strata, who might very well havechanged places with the waiters and the waiters with them withoutanybody noticing any difference. That would not have meant a loss ofdignity to anybody. Nobody has any use for social status in theDominion, the only standard being whether a man is a "mixer" or not. 

By way of a footnote, I might say that waiters, even as waiters, are onthe way to take seats as guests, since, apparently, waiting is only anoccupation a man takes up until he finds something worth while. Notunexpectedly Canadian waiting suffers through this. 

What we had seen in the large towns, and in the large gregarious lifeof cities, we saw "close up" at Nipigon. The varied crowd, Finns, British, Canadian and Indian (one of the Indians, a young dandy, hadserved with distinction during the war, had married a white Canadian, and was one of the richest men present), danced without socialdistinctions in that pleasant hall to Finn folk-songs that had neverbeen set down on paper played on an accordion. It was a delightfulevening. 

For the rest, those with the train fished (or, rather, went through allthe ritual with little of the results), walked, bathed in the lake, watched the American "movie" men in their endeavours to convert theBritish to baseball, or endeavoured, with as little success, to convertthe baseball "fans" to cricket. The recreations of Nipigon were nothectic, and we were glad to get on to towns and massed life again. 

I confess our view of Nipigon of the hundred houses was not that of theIndian boy who discussed it with us. He told us Nipigon was not theplace for him. 

"You wait, " he said. "Next year I go. Next year I am fifteen. Then Igo out into the woods. I go right away. I can't stand this city life. "

III

Canada, on Monday, September 8th, demonstrated its amazing faculty forstartling contrasts. It lifted the Prince from the primitive to theultra-modern in a single movement. In the morning he was in the silentforests of Nipigon, a tract so wild that man seemed no nearer than athousand miles. Three hours later he was moving amid the dense crowdsthat filled the streets of the latest word in industrial cities. 

He stepped straight from Nipigon to the twin cities of Port Arthur andFort William. These two cities are really one, and together form thegreat trade pool into which the traffic of the vast grain-bearing Westand North-West pours for transport on the Great Lakes. 

These two cities sprang from the little human nucleus made up of aJesuit mission and a Hudson Bay Company depot of the old days. Theystand on Thunder Bay, a deep-water sack thrusting out from LakeSuperior under the slopes of flat-topped Thunder Cape. The situationis ideal for handling the trade of the great lake highway that swingsthe traffic through the heart of the Western continent. 

Port Arthur and Fort William have seen their chances and made the mostof them. They have constructed great wharves along the bay toaccommodate a huge traffic. Over the wharves they have built up thegreatest grain elevators in the world, not a few of them but a series, until the cities seemed to be inhabited solely by these giants. Theseelevators and stores collect and distribute the vast streams of grainthat pour in from the prairies, at whose door the cities stand, distributing it across the lakes to the cities of America, or along thelakes to the Canadian East and the railways that tranship it to Europe. 

On the quays are the towering lattices of patent derricks, forests ofthem, that handle coal and ore and cargoes of infinite variety. Andthe [Transcriber's note: word(s) possibly missing from source] derricksand the elevators are the uncannily long and lean lake freighters, ships with a tiny deck superstructure forward of a great rake of hold, and a tiny engine-house astern under the stack. And by these grainboats are the ore tramps and coal boats from Lake Erie, and cargo boatswith paper pulp for England made in the big mills that turn the forestsabout Lake Superior into riches. 

Not content with docking boats, the twin cities build them. They buildwith equal ease a 10, 000-ton freighter, or a great sky-scraping touristboat to ply between Canada and the American shores. And presently itwill be sending its 10, 000-tonners direct to Liverpool; they only awaitthe deepening of the Welland Canal near Niagara before starting aregular service on this 4, 000-mile voyage. 

They are modern cities, indeed, that snatch every chance for wealth andprogress, and use even the power that Nature gives in numerous falls towork their dynamos, and through them their many mills and factories. And the marvel of these cities is that they are inland cities--inlandports thousands of miles from the nearest salt water. 

These places gave the Prince the welcome of ardent twins. Theirgreeting was practically one, for though the train made two stops, andthere were two sets of functions, there are only a few minutes'train-time between them, and the greetings seemed of a continuous whole. 

Port Arthur had the Prince first for a score of minutes, in whichcrowds about the station showed their welcome in the Canadian way. Itwas here we first came in touch with the "Mounties, " the fine men ofthe Royal North-West Mounted Police, whose scarlet coats, jauntystetsons, blue breeches and high tan boots set off the carriage of anexcellently set-up body of men. They acted as escort while the Princedrove into the town to a charming collegiate garden, where the Mayortried to welcome him formally. 

Tried is the only word. How could Prince or Mayor be formal when bothstood in the heart of a crowd so close together that when the Mayorread his address the document rested on the Prince's chest, while atthe Prince's elbows crowded little boys and other distinguishedcitizens? Formal or not, it was very human and very pleasant. 

Returning through the town, something went wrong with the procession. Many of the automobiles forcing their way through the crowd to thetrain--which stood beside the street--found there was no Prince. Westood about asking what was happening and where it was happening. After ten minutes of this an automobile driver strolled over from a carand asked "what was doing now?"

We consulted the programs and told him that the Prince was launching aship. 

"He is, is he?" said the driver without passion. "Well, I've gotmembers of the shipbuilding company and half the reception committee inmy car. "

In spite of that, the Prince launched a fine boat, that took the waterbroadside in the lake manner, before going on to Fort William. 

Fort William had an immense crowd upon the green before the station, onthe station, and even on the station buildings. Part of the crowd wasmade up of children, each one of them a representative of thenationalities that came from the Old World to find a new life and a newhome in Canada. Each of them was dressed in his or her nationalcostume, making an interesting picture. 

There were twenty-four children, each of a different race, and theraces ranged from France to Slovenia, from Persia to China and Syria. There were negroes and Siamese and Czecho-Slovaks in this remarkablecollection of elements from whose fusion Canada of today is beingfashioned. 

The Prince drove through the cheering streets of Fort William, and paidvisits to some of the great industrial concerns, before setting out forWinnipeg and the wide-flung spaces of the West. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE CITY OF WHEAT--WINNIPEG, MANITOBA

I

We had a hint of what the Western welcome was going to be like from theWinnipeg papers that were handed to us with our cantaloupe at breakfaston Tuesday, September 9th. 

They were concerning themselves brightly and strenuously with thedetails of the visit that day, and were also offering real Westernadvice on the etiquette of clothes. 

"SILK LIDS AND STRIPED PANTS FOR THE BIG DAY"

formed the main headline, taking the place of space usually given toBaseball reports or other vital news. And pen pictures of Westernthrill were given of leading men chasing in and out of the stores ofthe town in an attempt to buy a "Silk Lid" (a top hat) in order to befit to figure at receptions. 

The writer had even broken into verse to describe the emotions of theoccasion. Despairing of prose he wrote:

 Get out the old silk bonnet, Iron a new shine on it. Just pretend your long-tailed coat does not seem queer, For we'll be all proper As a crossing "copper" When the Prince of Wales is here. 

The Ladies' Page also caught the infection. It crossed its page with awail:

"GIRLS! OH, GIRLS! SILVER SLIPPERS CANNOT BE HAD!"

and it went on for columns to tell how silver slippers were the onlykind the Prince would look at. He had chosen all partners at all ballsin all towns by the simple method of looking for silver slippers. Thecase of those without silver slippers was hopeless. The maidens ofWinnipeg well knew this. There had been a silver slipper battuethrough all the stores, and all had gone--it was, so one felt from thearticle, a crisis for all those who had been slow. 

A rival paper somewhat calmed the anxious citizens by stating that theSilk Lid and the Striped Pants were not necessities, and that thePrince himself did not favour formal dress--a fact, for indeed, hepreferred himself the informality of a grey lounge suit always, whennot wearing uniform, and did not even trouble to change for dinnerunless attending a function. The paper also hinted that he had eyesfor other things in partners besides silver slippers. 

These papers gave us an indication that not only would "Winnipeg bepolished to the heels of its shoes" at the coming of the Prince, but tocontinue the metaphor, it would be enthusiastic to well above itshat-band. And it was. 

II

Certainly Winnipeg's welcome did not stop at the huge mass ofheels--high as well as low--that carried it out to look at the Princeon his arrival. It mounted well up to the heart and to the head as heleft the wide-open space in front of the C. P. R. Station, and, with abrave escort of red-tuniced "Mounties, " swung into the old pioneertrail--only it is called Main Street now--toward the Town Hall. 

The exceedingly broad street was lined with immense crowds, that, onthe whole, kept their ranks like a London rather than a Canadian throngfor at least two hundred yards. 

Then this imported docility gave way, and the press of people becameentirely Canadian. The essential spirit of the Canadian, like that ofthe citizen of another country, is that "he will be there. " Or perhapsI should say he "will be _right_ there. " Anyhow, there he was as closeto the Prince as he could get without actually climbing into thecarriage that was slowing down before the daïs among trees in thegarden before the City Hall. 

In a minute where there had been a broad open space lined with neatpolicemen, there was a swamping mass of Canadians of all ages, and thePrince was entirely hemmed in. In fact only a free fight of the mostamiable kind got him out of the carriage and on to the daïs. TheMarine orderlies, and others of the suite, joined in an attempt topress the throng back. They could accomplish nothing until the"Mounties" came to their aid, forced a passage with their horses, andso permitted the Prince to mount the daïs and hear the Mayor say whatthe crowd had been explaining for the past ten minutes, that is, howglad Winnipeg was to see him. 

It was the usual function, but varied a little. Winnipeg has notalways been happy in the matter of its water supply, and the day andthe Prince came together to inaugurate a new era. It was accomplishedin the modern manner. The Prince pressed a button on the platform andwater-gates on Shoal Lake outside the city swung open. In a minute ortwo a dry fountain in the gardens before the Prince threw up a jet ofwater. The new water had come to Winnipeg. 

Through big crowds on the sidewalks he passed through an avenue offine, tall and modern stores, along Broadway, where the tram-tracksfringed with grass and trees run down the centre of a wide boulevardthat is edged with lawns and trees, and so to the new ParliamentBuildings. 

Here there was a vivid and shining scene before the great white curtainof a classic building not yet finished. 

In the wide forecourt was a mass of children bearing flags, and up thegreat flight of steps leading to the impressive Corinthian porch was abank of people, jewelled with flags and vivid in gay dresses. Againstthe sharp white mass of the building this living, thrilling bed ofhumanity made an unforgettable picture. 

The ceremony in the spacious entrance hall was also full of themovement and colour of life. In the massive square hall stairs springupward to the gallery on which the Prince stood. On the level of eachfloor galleries were cut out of the solid stone of the walls. Crowdedin these galleries were men and women, who looked down the shaft ofthis austere chamber upon a grouping of people about the foot of thecold, white ascending stairs. The strong, clear light added to thedramatic dignity of the scene. 

The groups moved up the white stairs slowly between the ranks ofHighlanders, whose uniforms took on a vividity in the clarified light. The Prince in Guard's uniform, with his suite in blue and gold andkhaki and red behind him, stood on the big white stage of thestair-head to receive them. It was a scene that had all the tone andall the circumstances of an Eastern levée. 

But it was a levée with a fleck of humour, also. 

As he turned to leave, the Prince noticed beside him a handsomearmchair upholstered in royal blue. It was a strange, lonely chair inthat desert of gallery and standing humanity. It was a chair thatneeded explaining. 

In characteristic fashion the Prince bent down to it to find anexplanation. The crowd, knowing all about that chair and understandinghis puzzlement, began to laugh. It laughed outright and withsympathetic humour when, abruptly handing his Guards' cap to one of hisstaff, he solemnly sat down in it for a second instead of going his way. 

The chair was the chair his father and grandfather had sat in when theycame to Winnipeg. Silver medallions on it gave testimony to facts. The Prince had not time to adopt a fully considered sitting, but he wasnot going to leave the building until he, too, had registered his claimto it. 

In the big Campus that fronts the University of Manitoba, and ranked bythousands in a hollow square, were the veterans in khaki and civies whohad fought as comrades of the Prince in the war. To these he went next. 

It was a lengthy ceremony, for there were many to inspect. There wereCanadian Highlanders and riflemen in the square, as well as veteransdating back to the time of the North-West Rebellion of '85. And therewas also the regimental goat of the 5th West Canadians, a big, huskyfellow, who endeavoured to take control of the ceremony with his horns, as befitted a veteran who sported four service chevrons and a woundstripe. 

Here, too, the crowd was the most stirring and remarkable feature ofthe ceremony. It began with an almost European placidity of decorum, standing quietly behind the wooden railing on three sides of theCampus, and as quietly filling the seats in and about the glowinglydraped grand stand before the University building. As the ceremonyproceeded, however, the crowd behind the stand pressed forward, gettingout on to the field. Soldiers linked arms to keep it back, soldierswith bayonets were drawn from the ranks of veterans to give additionalweight, wise men mounted the stand and strove to stem the forwardpressure with logic. But that crowd was filled with much the samespirit that made the sea so difficult a thing to reason with in KingCanute's day. Neither soldiers nor words of the wise could check it. It flowed forward into the Campus, a sea of men and women, shop girlsnot caring a fig if they _were_ "late back" and had a half-day docked, children who swarmed amid Olympian legs, babies in mothers' arms, whosepresence in that crush was a matter of real terror to us less hardenedBritish--an impetuous mass of young and old, masculine and femininelife that cared nothing for hard elbows and torn clothes as long as itgot close to the Prince. 

Before the inspection was finished, before the Prince could get back tothe stand to present medals, the Campus was no longer a hollow square, it was a packed throng. 

And the crowd, having won this vantage, took matters into its own handsuntil, indeed, its ardour began to verge on the dangerous. 

As the Prince left the field the great crowd swept after him, until thewhole mass was jammed tight against the iron railings at the entranceof the Campus. The Prince was in the heart of this throng surroundedby police who strove to force a way out for him. The crowd fought asheartily to get at him. There was a wild moment when the throngcharged forward and crashed the iron railings down with their weightand force. 

There were cries of "Shoulder him! Shoulder the boy!" and a rush wasmade towards him. The police had a hard struggle to keep the peopleback, and, as it was, it was only the swift withdrawal of the Princefrom the scene that averted trouble; for in a crowd that had gotslightly out of hand in its enthusiasm, the presence of so manychildren and women seemed to spell calamity. 

This splendid ardour is more remarkable, since, only a few monthsbefore, Winnipeg had been the scene of an outburst which its citizensdescribe as nothing else but Bolshevik. 

That outcrop of active discontent--which, by the way, was germinated inpart by Englishmen--had a loud and ugly sound, and its clamour seemedominous. People asked whether all the West, and indeed, all Canada, was going to be involved. Was Canada speaking in the accents of revolt?

Well, on September 9th, there arose another sound in Winnipeg, and itwas but part of a wave of sound that had been travelling westward formore than a month. It was, I think, a most significant sound. It wasthe sound of majorities expressing themselves. 

It was not a few shouting revolt. It was the many shouting itsaffection and loyalty for tried democratic ideals. 

When minorities raise their voices our ears are dinned by the shoutingand we imagine it is a whole people speaking. We forget those who sitsilent at home, not joining in the storm. The silent mass of themajority is overlooked because it finds so few opportunities forself-expression. Only such a visit as this of the Prince gives them achance. 

It seemed to me that this display of affection had a human rather thana political significance. It impressed me not as an affair of parties, but as the fundamental, human desire of the great mass of ordinaryworkaday people to show their appreciation for stable and democraticideals which the peculiarly democratic individuality of the Princerepresents. 

III

Winnipeg is a town with a vital spirit. It has a large air. There issomething in its spaciousness that tells of the great grain plains atthe threshold of which it stands. It is the "Chicago of Canada, " andhub of a world of grain, Queen City in the Kingdom of Bakers' Flour. And it is mightily conscious of its high office. 

It springs upward out of the flat and brooding prairies, where theAssiniboine and the strong Red River strike together--the old "Forks"of the pioneer days. It sits where the old trails of the pathfinderand the fur trader join, and its very streets grew up about thosetrails. 

From the piles of pelts dumped by Indians and hunters outside the oldHudson Bay stockade at Fort Garry, and the sacks of raw grain that theold prairie schooners brought in, Winnipeg of today has grown up. 

And it has grown up with the astonishing, swift maturity of the West. Fifty years ago there was not even a village. Forty years ago it was amere spot on the world map, put there only to indicate the locality ofLouis Kiel's Red River Rebellion, and Wolseley's march to Fort Garry, as its name was. In 1881 it became just Winnipeg, a townlet with lessthan 8, 000 souls in it. Today it ranks with the greatest commercialcities in Canada, and its greatness can be felt in the tingling energyof its streets. 

The wonder of that swift growth is a thing that can be brought directlyhome. I stood on the station with a man old but still active, and hesaid to me:

"Do you see that block of buildings over there? I had the piece ofground on which it was built. I sold it for a hundred dollars, it wasprairie then. It's worth many thousands now. And that piece wherethat big factory stands, that was mine. I let that go for under threehundred, and the present owners bought in the end for twenty and moretimes that sum. Oh, we were all foolish then, how could we tell thatWinnipeg was going to grow? It was a 'back-block' town, shacks along adusty track. And the railway hadn't come. A three-story wooden house, that was a marvel to be sure; now we have skyscrapers. "

And fast though Winnipeg has grown, or because she has grown at such apace, one can still see the traces and feel the spirit of the oldspacious days in her streets. They are long streets and so plannedthat they seem to have been built by men who knew that there were nolimits on the immense plains, and so broad that one knows that thedesigners had been conscious that there was no need to pinch thesidewalks and carriage-ways with all the prairie at the back of them. 

Along these sumptuous avenues there still remain many of the low-builtand casual houses that men put up in the early days, and it is thesestanding beside the modernity of the business buildings, soaringsky-high, the massive grain elevators and the big brisk mills that givethe city its curious blending of pioneer days and thrusting, twentieth-century virility. 

It is a town like no other that we had visited, and where one had thefeeling that up-to-date card-indexing systems were being worked by menin the woolly riding chaps of old plainsmen. 

In the people of the streets one experienced the same curious sense of"difference. " In splendid boulevards such as Main, and Portage, whichturns from it, there are stores worthy of New York and London in size, smartness and glowing attraction. And the women crowds that make thesestreets busy are as crisply dressed in modern fashions as any on theContinent, but there is a definite individuality in the air of the men. 

Canadian men dress with a conspicuous indifference. They wear anythingfrom overalls and broad-banded sweaters to lounge suits that ever seemill-fitting. In Winnipeg there is the same disregard for personalappearance plus a hat with a higher crown. As we went West the crownof the soft hat climbed higher, and the brim became both wider and morecurly. 

There is, too, on the sidewalks of Winnipeg the conglomeration of racesthat go to feed the West. The city is the great emigrant centre thatserves the farmers, the fruit-growers of the Rockies, the ranchmen inthe foothills, and even the industries on the Pacific Slopes. Everywhere outside agencies there are great blackboards on whichdemands for farm labourers at five dollars a day and other workers arechalked. 

To these agencies flow strange men in blouse-shirts, wearing strangecaps--generally of fur--carrying strange-looking suit-cases andspeaking the strange tongues of far European or Asiatic lands. Chineseand Japanese (whom the Canadian lumps under the general term"Orientals"), negroes, a few Indians, and a hotch-potch of races walkthe streets of Winnipeg, and Winnipeg deals with them, houses them, gives them advice, and distributes them over the wide lands of Canada, where they will work and working will gradually fuse into the racialwhole that is the Canadian race. 

In the hotels, too, one notices that a change is taking place. The"Oriental"--the Japanese in this case--takes the place of the Canadianbell-boy and porter, and he takes this place more and more as one goesWest. There are, of course, always Chinese "Chop Suey and Noodles'Restaurants, " as well as Chinese laundries in Canadian towns; we metthem as early as St. John's, Newfoundland; but from Winnipeg to thePacific Coast these establishments grow in numbers, until in Vancouverand Victoria there are big "Oriental" quarters--cities within thecities that harbour them. 

The "Orientals" make good citizens, the Chinese particularly. They areindustrious, clever workers, especially as agriculturists, and theygive no trouble. The great drawback with them is that they do not stayin the country, but having made their money in Canada, go home to Chinato spend it. 

Most of the alien element that goes to Canada is of good quality, andultimately becomes a very valuable asset. But the problem Canada isfacing is that they are strangers, and, not having been brought up inthe British tradition, they know nothing of it. The tendency of thisinfluence is to produce a new race to which the ties of sentiment andblood have little meaning. 

It is a problem which Britain must share also, if we do not wish to seeCanada growing up a stranger to us in texture, ideals and thought. Itis not an easy problem. Canada's chief need today is foragriculturists, yet the workers we wish to retain most in this countryare agriculturists. Canada must have her supply, and if we cannotafford them, she must take what she can from Eastern Europe, or fromAmerica, and very many American farmers, indeed, are moving up toCanadian lands. 

There is always room in a vast country such as Canada for skilled orwilling workers, and we can send them. But the demand is not great atpresent, and will not be great until the agriculturist opens up theland. And the agriculturist is to come from where?

Certainly it is a matter which calls for a great deal of consideration. 

IV

The Prince made the usual round of the usual program during his stay, but his visit to the Grain Exchange was an item that was unique. 

He drove on Wednesday, September 10th, to this dramatic place, wherebrokers, apparently in a frenzy, shout and wave their hands, while theprice of grain sinks and rises like a trembling balance at theirgestures and shouts. 

The pit at which all these hustling buyers and sellers are gathered hasall the romantic qualities of fiction. It is, as far as I amconcerned, one of the few places that live up to the written picturesof it, for it gave me the authentic thrill that had come to me when Ifirst read of the Chicago wheat transactions in Frank Norris's novel, "The Pit. "

The Prince drove to the Grain Exchange and was whirled aloft to thefourth story of the tall building. He entered a big hall in whichbabel with modern improvements and complications reigned. 

In the centre of this room was the pit proper. It has nothing of theStygian about it. It is a hexagon of shallow steps rising from thefloor, and descending on the inner side. 

On these steps was a crowd of super-men with voices of rolled steel. They called out cabalistic formulae of which the most intelligible tothe layman sounded something like:

"May--eighty-three--quarter. "

Cold, high and terrible voices seemed to answer:

"Taken. "

Hundreds of voices were doing this, amid a storm of cross shoutings, and under a cloud of tossing hands, that signalled with fingers or withpapers. Cutting across this whirlpool of noise was the franticclicking of telegraph instruments. These tickers were worked by fouremotionless gods sitting high up in a judgment seat over the pit. 

They had unerring ears. They caught the separate quotations from theseething maelstrom of sound beneath them, sifted the completed dealfrom the mere speculative offer in uncanny fashion, and with theirunresting fingers ticked the message off on an instrument that carriedit to a platform high up on one of the walls. 

On this platform men in shirt-sleeves prowled backwards andforwards--as the tigers do about feeding time in the Zoo. They, too, had super-hearing. From little funnels that looked like electric lightshades they caught the tick of the messages, and chalked the figures ofthe latest prices as they altered with the dealing on the floor upon ahuge blackboard that made the wall behind them. 

At the same time the gods on the rostrum were tapping messages to thefour corners of the world. Even Chicago and Mark Lane altered theirprices as the finger of one of these calm men worked his clicker. 

When the Prince entered the room the gong sounded to close the market, and amid a hearty volume of cheering he was introduced to the pit, andsome of its intricacies were explained to him. The gong sounded again, the market opened, and a storm of shouting broke over him, men makingand accepting deals over his head. 

Intrigued by the excitement, he agreed with the broker who had broughthim in, to accept the experience of making a flutter in grain. 

Immediately there were yells, "What is he, Bull or Bear?" and thePrince, thoroughly perplexed, turned to the broker and asked what typeof financial mammal he might be. 

He became a Bull and bought. 

He did not endeavour to corner wheat in the manner of the heroes of thestories, for wheat was controlled; he bought, instead, fifty thousandbushels of oats. A fair deal, and he told those about him with a smilethat he was going to make several thousand dollars out of Winnipeg in avery few moments. 

An onlooker pointed to the blackboard, and cried:

"What about that? Oats are falling. "

But the broker was a wise man. He had avoided a royal "crash. " He hadalready sold at the same price, 83 1/2, and the Prince had accomplishedwhat is called a "cross trade. " That is he had squared the deal andonly lost his commission. 

While he stood in that frantic pit of whirling voices something of thevast transactions of the Grain Exchange was explained to him. It isthe biggest centre for the receipt and sale of wheat directly off theland in the world. It handles grain by the million bushels. In thecourse of a day, so swift and thorough are its transactions, it canmanipulate deals aggregating anything up to 150, 000, 000 bushels. 

When these details had been put before him, the gong was again struck, and silence came magically. 

Unseen by most in that pack of men on the steps the Prince was heard tosay that he had come to the conclusion that to master the intricaciesof the Exchange was a science rather beyond his grasp just then. Hehoped that his trip westward would give him a more intimate knowledgeof the facts about grain, and when he came back, as he hoped he would, he might have it in him to do something better than a "cross trade. "

From the pit the lift took him aloft again to the big sampling andclassifying room on the tenth floor of the building. The long tablesof this room were littered with small bags of grain, and with grain inpiles undergoing tests. The floor was strewn with spilled wheat andoats and corn. Here he was shown how grain, carried to Winnipeg in thelong trucks, was sampled and brought to this room in bags. Here it wasclassified by experts, who, by touch, taste and smell, could gauge itsquality unerringly. 

It is the perfection of a system for handling grain in the raw mass. The buyer never sees the grain he purchases. The classification of theExchange is so reliable that he accepts its certificates of quality andweight and buys on paper alone. 

Nor are the dealers ever delayed by this wonderfully workingorganization. The Exchange has samplers down on the trucks at therailway sidings day and night. During the whole twenty-four hours ofthe day there are men digging specially constructed scoops that takesamples from every level of the car-loads of grain, putting the graininto the small bags, and sending them along to the classificationdepartment. 

So swiftly is the work done that the train can pull into the immenserange of special yards, such as those the C. P. R. Have constructed forthe accommodation of grain, change its engine and crew, and by the timethe change is effected, samples of all the trucks have been taken, andthe train can go on to the great elevators and mills at Fort Williamand Port Arthur. 

This rapid handling in no way affects the efficiency of the Exchange. Its decisions are so sure that the grading of the wheat is onlydisputed about forty times in the year. This is astonishing when onerealizes the enormous number of samples judged. 

In the same way, and in spite of the apparent confusion about the pitwhere they take place, the records of the transactions are so exactthat only about once in five thousand is such a record queried. 

The Prince was immensely interested in all the practical details ofworking which make this handling of grain a living and dramatic thing, showing, as usual, that active curiosity for workaday facts that isessential to the make-up of the moderns. 

His directness and accessibility made friends for him with thesehard-headed business men as readily as it had made friends withsoldiers and with the mass of people. Winnipeg had already exerted itsWestern faculty for affectionate epithets. He had already been dubbeda "Fine Kiddo, " and it was commonplace to hear people say of him, "He'sa regular feller, he'll do. " They said these things again in theExchange, declaring emphatically he was "sure, a manly-looking chap. "

As he left the Exchange the members switched the chaos of the pit intoshouts of a more hearty and powerful volume, and to listen to a crowdof such fully-seasoned lungs doing their utmost in the confined spaceof a building is an awe-inspiring and terrific experience. 

The friendliness here was but a "classified sample"--if the WinnipegExchange will permit that expression--of the friendliness in bulk hefound all over Canada, and which he found in the great West, upon whichhe was now entering. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE FRINGE OF THE GREAT NORTHWEST

SASKATOON AND EDMONTON

I

From Winnipeg, on the night of September 10th, we pushed steadilynorthwest, and on the morning of Thursday, the 11th, we were in theopen prairie, a new land that is being opened up by the settler. 

We were travelling too late to see the land under wheat--one of thefinest sights in the world, we were told; but all the grain was not in, and we saw threshing operations in progress and big areas covered withthe strangely small stocks, the result of the Canadian system ofcutting the standing stalk rather high up. In the early night, byPortage la Prairie, we had seen big fires burning in the distance. They were not, as we at first thought, prairie fires, but thehomesteader getting rid of the great mounds of stalk left by thethreshing, the usual method. 

In the early morning mist we came upon the big, flat expanse of HornLake, near Wynyard, over which flew lines of militaristic duck in wedgeformation. The prairies lay about us in a great expanse, dun-brown androlling. It is a monotonous landscape, and there were few if any treesuntil we got farther north and west. 

The little prairie towns appear on the horizon a great distance away, thanks to the big grain elevators alongside the track. The grainelevators in these plains are what churches are in Europe; they have, indeed, the look of being basilicas of a new, materialisticdispensation. 

The little towns under the elevators seem palpably to be strugglingwith the inert force of the prairie about them. Prairie seems to beflowing into them on every side, and only by a brave effort do housesand streets raise themselves above the encroaching sea of grass. Yetall the towns have a modern air, too. All have excellent electriclight services in houses and streets, and all have "movie" theatres. 

At the stations crowds were gathered. At Wynyard all the young of thedistrict appeared to have collected before going to school. Catchingthe word that the Prince "lived" in the last car, they swarmed roundit. Some one told them the Prince was still in bed, and with theutmost cheerfulness they began to chant: "Sleepy head! Sleepy head!"

At Lanigan, the next station, a crowd of the same cheery temper alsoraised a clamour for the Prince. As a rule he never disappointed them, and would leave whatever he was doing to go on to the observationplatform at the first hint of cheers. But at Lanigan there weredifficulties. The crowd cheered. Some one looked out of the car, madea gesture of negation, and went back. The crowd cheered a good dealmore. There was a pause; more cheering. Then a discreet member of theStaff came out and said the Prince was awfully sorry, but--but, well, he was in his bath!

"That's all the better, " called a cheerful girl from the heart of thecrowd. "_We_ don't mind. "

The member of the Staff vanished in a new gust of cheering, probably tohide his blushes. Need I say the Prince did _not_ appear?

At Colonsay there was a stop of five minutes only, but the people ofthe town made the most of it. They had a pretty Britannia to the fore, and all the school-children grouped about her and singing when thetrain steamed in. And when it stopped, a delightful and tiny miss cameforward and gave the Prince a bunch of sweet peas. 

These incidents were a few only of a characteristic day's run. Everyday the same sort of thing happened, so that though the Prince had amore strenuous time in the bigger cities, his "free times" wereactually made up of series of smaller functions in the smaller ones. 

II

Saskatoon, the distributing city for the middle of Saskatchewan, was togive the Prince a memorable day. It was here that he obtained hisfirst insight into the life and excitements of the cowboy. Saskatoon, in addition to the usual reception functions, showed him a "Stampede, "which is a cowboy sports meeting. 

The Prince arrived in the town at noon, and drove through the streetsto the Park and University grounds for the reception ceremonies. It isa keen, bright place, seeming, indeed, of sparkling newness in thewonderful clarified sunlight of the prairie. 

It is new. Saskatoon is only now beginning its own history. It isstill sorting itself out from the plain which its elevators, businessblocks and delightful residential districts are yet occupied inthrusting back. It is a characteristic town on the uplift. It snubsand encroaches upon the illimitable fields with its fine Americanarchitecture, and its stone university buildings. It has new suburbsfull of houses of symmetrical Western comeliness in a tract wearing theair of Buffalo Bill. 

It grows so fast that you can almost see it doing it. It has grown sofast that it has outstripped the guide-book makers. They talk of it intwo lines as a village of a few hundred inhabitants, but put not yourtrust in guide-books when coming to Canada, for the village you comeout to see turns out, like Saskatoon, to be a bustling city full of"pep, " as they say, and possessing 20, 000 inhabitants. 

The guide-book makers are not to blame. Somewhere about 1903 therewere no more than 150 people within its boundaries. Now, from the lookof it, it could provide ten motor-cars for each of these oldestinhabitants, and have about 500 over for new-comers--in fact, that isabout the figure; there are 2, 000 cars on the Saskatoon registers. Saskatoon was full of cars neatly lined up along the Prince's routeduring every period of his stay. 

The great function of the visit was the "Stampede. " This sportsmeeting took place on a big racing ground before a grand-stand thatheld many thousand more people than Saskatoon boasted. The many carsthat brought them in from all over the country were parked in hugewedges in and about the ground. 

Passing off the wild dirt roads, the Prince headed a procession of carsround the course before entering a special pavilion erected facing thegrandstand. His coming was the signal for the Stampede to commence. It was a new thrill to Britishers, an affair of excitement, and a realbreath of Western life. They told us that the cattle kings are movingaway from this area to the more spacious and lonely lands of the North;but the exhibition the Prince witnessed showed that the daring andskilful spirit of the cowboys has not moved on yet. 

We were also told that this Stampede was something in the nature of acircus that toured the country, and that men and animals played theirparts mechanically as oft-tried turns in a show. But even if that wasso, the thing was unique to British eyes, and the exhibition of all thetricks of the cattleman's calling was for those who looked on a newsensation. 

Cattlemen rode before the Prince on bucking horses that, loosed fromwooden cages, came along the track like things compact of India-rubberand violence, as they strove to throw the leechlike men in furry, riding chaps, loose shirts, sweat-rags and high felt hats, who rodethem. 

Some of the men rode what seemed a more difficult proposition--an angrybull, that bunched itself up and down and lowed vindictively, as ittried to buck its rider off. 

From the end of the race-track a steer was loosed, and a cowboy on asmall lithe broncho rode after it at top speed. Round the head of thisman the lariat whirled like a live snake. In a flash the noose wastight about the steer's horns, the brilliant little horse had overtakenthe beast, and in an action when man and horse seemed to combine asone, the tightened rope was swung against the steer's legs. It wasthrown heavily. Like lightning the cowboy was off the horse, was ontop of the half-stunned steer, and had its legs hobbled in a rope. 

One man of the many who competed in this trial of skill performed thewhole operation in twenty-eight seconds from the time the steer wasloosed to the time its legs were secured. 

A more daring feat is "bull-dogging. "

The steer is loosed as before, and the cattleman rides after it, butinstead of lassoing it, he leaps straight out of his saddle and plungeson to the horns of the beast. Gripping these long and cruel-lookingweapons, he twists the bull's neck until the animal comes down, andthere, with his body in the hollow of the neck and shoulder, he holdsit until his companions run up and release him. 

There is a real thrill of danger in this. 

One man, a cowboy millionaire, caught his steer well, but in the crashin which the animal came down it rolled right over him. For a momentman and beast were lost in a confusion of tossing legs and dust. Thenthe man, with shirt torn to ribbons and his back scraped in an uglymanner, rose up gamely and limped away. The only thing about him thathad escaped universal dusting was his white double-linen collar, thestrangest article of clothing any "bull-dogger" might wear. 

The Prince called this plucky fellow, as well as others of the outfit, into the pavilion, and talked with them some time on the risk andadventures of their business, as well as congratulating them on theirskill. 

Two comely cowgirls, in fringed leather dresses, high boots, brightblouses and broad sombreros, also caught his eye. He spoke to a"movie" man, who had already added to the gaiety of nations by leapinground in a circle (heavy camera and all) while a big, bucking bronchohad leaped round after him, telling him that the girls formed a fitsubject for the lens. 

"I'm waiting until I can get you with them, sir, " said the "movie" man. 

"Oh, you'll get me all right, " the Prince laughed. "There's no chanceof my escaping you. "

The "movie" man got Prince and cowgirls presently, when the Prince hadinvited them into the pavilion to chat for a few minutes. They werefine, free and independent girls, who enjoyed the naturalness andeasiness of the interview. 

During the meeting all the arts of the cowboys were exhibited. Thelariat expert lassoed men and horses in bunches of five as easily as helassoed one, and danced in and turned somersaults through hisever-whirling loop. There were some fine exhibitions of horse-riding, and there was some Amazonian racing by girls in jockey garb. 

The human interlude was also there. A daring woman photographer in thegrand-stand held up a cowboy. Disregarding her long skirts, sheclimbed the fence of the course and calmly mounted behind the horseman. Riding thus, she passed across the front of the cheering grand-standand came to the steps of the Prince's pavilion. Unconcerned by the joyof the great crowd, she asked permission to take a snapshot, andreceived it, going her way unruffled and entirely Canadian. 

The very thrilling afternoon was closed by the Prince himself. Walkingover to the crowd of cattlemen, he stood talking with them andexamining their horses. Presently, on the invitation of the leader, hemounted a broncho, and, leading the bunch of cowboys and cowgirls, swept down the track and past the stand. The people, delighted at thisunexpected act, vented themselves in the usual way--that is, withextraordinary enthusiasm. 

III

Edmonton, the capital of Alberta, was the Prince's farthest north. Hearrived there on Friday, September 12th, to receive the unstintedwelcome which, long since, we had come to know was Canada's naturalattitude towards him. As we crossed the broad main street to thestation, the sight of the vast human flower-bed that filled the roadbelow the railway bridge made one tingle at the thoroughness with whichthese towns gathered to express themselves. 

Canada, as I may have hinted already, has a way of leading strangersastray concerning herself. In Eastern Canada we were told that wewould find the West "different. " From what was said to us, there wassome reason for expecting to find an entirely new race on the Pacificside of Winnipeg. It would be a race further removed from the Britishtradition, a race not so easy to get on with, a race not moved by theimpulses and enthusiasms that stirred the East. 

And in the West? Well, all I can say is that quite a number of Westernmen shook me by the hand and told me how thankful I must be now that Ihad left the cold and rigid East for the more generous warmth of thespacious West. And hadn't I found the East a strange place, inhabitedby people not easy to get on with, and removed from the Britishtradition--and so on. .. ?

This singular state of things may seem queer to the Briton, but I thinkit is easily explainable. In the first place, Canada is so vast thather people, even though they be on the same continent, are as removedfrom immediate intimacy as the Kentish man is from the man in a Russianprovince. And not only does great distance make for lack of knowledge, but the fact that each province is self-contained and feeds uponitself, so to speak, in the matter of news and so on, makes the citizenin Ontario, or Quebec, or New Brunswick, regard the people of the Westas living in a distant and strange land. 

The Canadian, too, is intensely loyal to Canada; that means he isintensely jealous for her reputation. He warned us against allpossibilities, I think, so that we should be ready for anydisappointment. 

There was not the slightest need for warning. Whether East or West, Canada was solid in its welcome, and, as far as I am able to judge, there is no difference at all in the texture of human habit and mindEast or West. There is the same fine, sturdy quality of loyalty andhospitality over the whole Dominion. Canada is Canada all through. 

Edmonton is a fine, lusty place. It is the prairie town in its teens. It has not yet put off its coltish air. It is Winnipeg just leavingschool, and has the wonderful precocity of these eager towns of theWest. It is running almost before it has learnt to walk. 

While full-blooded Indians still move in its streets, it is putting upbuildings worthy of a European metropolis. It has opened bigup-to-date stores and public offices by the side of streets that areyet the mere stamped earth of the untutored plain. 

Along its main boulevard, Jasper Avenue, slip the astonishing excess ofautomobiles one has learnt to expect in Canadian towns. A briskelectric tram service weaves the mass of street movement together, andat night over all shines an exuberance of electric light. 

That main street is tingling with modernity. Its stores, itsmusic-halls, its "movie" theatres, and its hotels glitter with thenervous intensity of a spirit avid of the latest ideas. 

Fringing the canyon of the brown North Saskatchewan River is abeautiful automobile road, winding among pretty residential plots andcomely enough for any town. 

Yet swing out in a motor for a few miles, and one is in a land wherethe roads--if any--are but the merest trails, where the silent andbrooding prairie (hereabouts blessed with trees) stretches emptily formiles by the thousand. 

Turn the car north, and it heads for "The Great Lone Land, " thatexpands about the reticent stretches of the Great Slave country, orfollows the Peace River and the Athabasca beyond the cold line of theArctic Circle. 

To get to these rich and isolated lands--and one thinks this out in thelounge of an hotel worthy of the Strand--the traveller must takedevious and disconnected ways. Railways tap great tracts of thecountry, going up to Fort McMurray and the Peace River, and theseconnect up with river and lake steamers that ply at intervals. Buttravel here is yet mainly in the speculative stage, and long waits andguides and canoes and a camping outfit are necessary. 

In winter, if the traveller is adventurous and tough, he can progressmore swiftly. He can go up by automobile and run along the courses ofthe rivers on the thick ice, and, on the ice, cross the big lakes. 

Though the land is within the Arctic Circle, it is rich. I talked witha traveller who had just returned from this area, and he spoke of thesuperb tall crops of grain he had seen on his journey. It will bemagnificent land when it is opened up, and can accommodate thepopulation of a kingdom. The growing season, of course, is shorter, but this is somewhat balanced by the longer northern days and theintense sunlight that is proper to them. The drawbacks are the verylong winters, loneliness and the difficulties of transport. 

Edmonton, sitting across the gorge of the Saskatchewan, feeds thesedistricts and reflects them. Because of this it is a city ofanachronisms. High up on the cliff, its site chosen with the usualappositness of Canada, is the Capitol building, a bright and soaringstructure done in the latest manner. Right under that decisivelymodern pile is a group of rough wooden houses. They are the originalstores of the Hudson Bay Company, standing exactly as they did whenthey formed an outpost point of civilization in the Northwest. 

It is obviously a town in a young land, pushing ahead, as the Princeindicated in his speech to the Provincial Government, with all theintensity and zest of youth, having all the sense of freedom andpossibility that the rich and great farming, furbearing andtimber-growing tracts give it. 

IV

The keen spirit of the city was reflected in the welcome it gave thePrince. It was a wet, grey day, but the whole town was out to line thestreets and to gather at the ceremonial points. And it was a musicalgreeting. Edmonton is prone to melody. Brass bands appear to flourishhere. There was one at every street corner. And not only did theyplay as the Prince in the midst of his red-tuniced "Mountie" escortpassed by, but they played all day, so that the city was given over toa non-stop carnival of popular airs. 

At the Parliament Buildings the crowds were as dense as ever. Theyshowed the same spirit in listening to addresses and reply, and thesame hustling sense of "getting there" when entering the building totake part in the public reception. The addresses of welcome were anovelty. Engrossed on vellum, it had been sewn on the purple silklining of a yellow-furred coyote skin, a local touch that interestedthe Prince. There was another such touch after the reception. A bodyof Stony Indians were presented to His Royal Highness. These Indianshad travelled from a distance in the hope of seeing the son of theGreat White Chief, and they not only saw him but were presented to him. He talked with particular sympathy to one chief whose son had been acomrade-in-arms in the Canadian ranks during the war and who had beenkilled in the fighting. 

The opening of a war memorial hall, a big and dazzling dance at theGovernment House, and other functions, fulfilled the usual round. And, last but not least, the Prince became a player and a "fan" in a ballgame. 

There was a match (I hope "match" is right) between the local team, andone of its passionate rivals, and the Prince went to the ground to takepart. Walking to the "diamond" (I'm sure that is right), he equippedhimself in authentic manner, with floppy, jockey-peaked cap and aruthless glance, took his stance as a "pitcher" and delivered twoballs. I don't know whether they were stingers or swizzers, orwhatever the syncopated phraseology of the great game dubs them, butthey were matters of great admiration. 

Having led to the undoing (I hope, for that was his task) of some one, the Prince then joined the audience. He chose not the best seats, butthe popular ones, for he sat on the grass among the "bleachers, " andwhen one has sat out of the shade in the hot prairie sun one knows what"bleachers" means. 

This sporting little interlude was immensely popular, and the Princeleft Edmonton with the reputation of being a true "fan" and "a realgood feller. "

CHAPTER XV

CALGARY AND THE CATTLE RANCH

I

The Royal train arrived in Calgary, Alberta, on the morning of Sunday, September 14th, after some of the members of the train had spent anhour or so shooting gophers, a small field rat, part squirrel, and atall times a great pest in grain country. 

Calgary was a town that charmed at once. It stands in brilliantsunlight--and that sunlight seems to have an eternal quality--in a nestof enfolding hills. Two rivers with the humorous names of Bow andElbow run through it; they are blue with the astonishing blueness ofglacial silt. 

From the hills, or from the tops of such tall buildings as thebeautiful Palliser Hotel, the high and austere dividing line of theRockies can be seen across the rolling country. Snow-cowled, andalmost impalpable above the ground mist, the great range of mountainslooks like the curtain wall of a stronghold of mystics. 

In the streets the city itself has an air of radiance. There is aninvigoration in the atmosphere that seems to give all things a peculiarquality of zest. The sidewalks have a bustling and crisp virility, thepublic buildings are handsome, and the streets of homes particularlygracious. 

The Sunday reception of the Prince was eloquent but quiet. There werethe usual big crowds, but the day was deliberately without ceremonial. Divine Service at the Pro-Cathedral, where the Prince unveiled ahandsome rood-screen to the memory of those fallen in the war, was theonly item in a restful day, which was spent almost entirely in thecountry at the County Club. 

But perhaps the visit to the County Club was not altogether quiet. 

The drive out to this charming place in a pit of a valley, where one ofthe rivers winds through the rolling hills, began in the comelyresidential streets. 

These residential districts of Canada and America certainly impressone. The well-proportioned and pretty houses, with their deepverandahs, the trees that group about them, the sparkling grass thatcomes down to the edge of the curb--all give one the sense of being thework of craftsmen who are masters in design. That sense seems to me tobe evident, not only in domestic architecture, but in the design ofpublic buildings. The feeling I had was that the people on thisContinent certainly know how to build. And by building, I do not meanmerely erecting a house of distinction, but also choosing sites ofdistinction. 

Nearly all the newer public buildings are of excellent design, and allare placed in excellent positions. Some of these sites are actuallybrilliant; the Parliament Houses at Ottawa, as seen from the river, areintensely apposite, so are those at Edmonton and Regina, while thesites of such buildings as the Banff Springs Hotel, and, in a lessersense, the Château at Lake Louise, seem to me to have been chosen withreal genius. 

In saying that the people on this Continent certainly know how tobuild, I am speaking of both the United States and Canada. This finesense of architecture is even more apparent in the United States (I, ofcourse, only speak of the few towns I visited) than in Canada, forthere are more buildings and it is a richer country. The sense ofarchitecture may spring from that country, or it may be that the wholeContinent has the instinct. As I am not competent to judge, I accusethe whole of the Western hemisphere of that virtue. 

The Prince passed through these pretty districts where are thebeautiful houses of ranchers and packing kings, farmers and pig rearerswhose energy and vision have made Calgary rich as well as good to lookupon. Passing from this region of good houses and good roads, he cameupon a highway that is prairie even less than unalloyed, for constanttraffic has scored it with a myriad ruts and bumps. 

Half-way up a hill, where a bridge of wood jumps across the stream thatwinds amid the pleasant gardens of the houses, the Prince's car washeld up. A mob of militants rushed down upon it, and neitherchauffeur, nor Chief of Staff, nor suite could resist. 

It was an attack not by Bolshevists, but by Boy Scouts. They flungthemselves across the road in a mass, and would take no nonsense fromany one. They insisted that the engine should take a holiday, and thatthey should hitch themselves to the car. They won their point andhitched. The car, under some hundred boy-power, went up the longhill--and a gruelling hill it is--through the club gates, and down alonger hill, to where, in a deep cup, the house stands. 

At the club the visit was entirely formal. The Prince became anordinary member and chatted to other men and women members in athoroughly club-like manner. 

"He is so easy to get on with, " said one lady. "I found it was I whowas the more reserved for the first few minutes, and it was I who hadto become more human. 

"He is a young man who has something to say, and who has ears to listento things worth while. He has no use for preliminaries or any othernonsense that wastes time in 'getting together. '"

He lunched at the club and drifted about among the people gathered onthe lawns before going for a hard walk over the hills. 

II

The real day of functions was on Monday, when the Prince drove throughthe streets, visiting many places, and, later, speaking impressively ata citizens' lunch in the Palliser Hotel. 

His passage through the streets was cheered by big crowds, but crowdsof a definite Western quality. Here the crowns of hats climbed high, sometimes reaching monstrous peaks that rise as samples of the Rockiesfrom curly brims as monstrous. Under these still white felt altitudesare the vague eyes and lean, contemplative faces of the cattlemen fromthe stock country around. Here and there were other prairie types wholinger while the tide of modernity rushes past them. They are theIndians, brown, lined and forward stooping, whose reticent eyes lookingout from between their braided hair seem to be dwelling on their longyesterday. 

At the citizens' lunch the Prince departed from his usual trend ofspeech-making to voice some of the impressions that this new land hadbrought to him. He once more spoke of the sense of spaciousness andpossibility the vast prairies of the West had given him, but today hewent further and dwelt upon the need of making those possibilitiesassured. The foundation that had made the future as well as thepresent possible, was the work of the great pioneers and railway menwho had mastered the country in their stupendous labours, and made itfit for a great race to grow in. 

The foundation built in so much travail was ready. Upon it Canada mustbuild, and it must build right. 

"The farther I travel through Canada, " he said, "the more I am struckby the great diversities which it presents; its many and variedcommunities are not only separated by great distances, but also bydivergent interests. You have much splendid alien human material toassimilate, and so much has already been done towards cementing allparts of the Dominion that I am sure you will ultimately succeed inaccomplishing this great task, but it will need the co-operation of allparties, of all classes and all races, working together for the commoncause of Canadian nationhood under the British flag. 

"Serious difficulties and controversies must often arise, but I knownothing can set Canada back except the failure of the different classesand communities to look to the wider interests of the Dominion, as wellas their own immediate needs. I realize that scattered communities, necessarily preoccupied with the absorbing task of making good, oftenfind the wider view difficult to keep. Yet I feel sure that it will bekept steadily before the eyes of all the people of this great Westerncountry, whose very success in making the country what it is provestheir staying power and capacity. "

Canada, he declared, had already won for herself a legitimate place inthe fraternity of nations, and the character and resources within herDominion must eventually place her influence equal to, if not greaterthan, the influence of any other part of the Empire. Much dependedupon Canada's use of her power, and the greatness of her future waswrapped up in her using it wisely and well. 

The great gathering was impressed by the statesman-like quality of thespeech, the first of its kind he had made since his landing. He spokewith ease, making very little use of his notes and showing a greaterfreedom from nervousness. The sincerity of his manner carriedconviction, and there was a great demonstration when he sat down. 

III

In the afternoon he left Calgary by train for the small "cow town" ofHigh River, from there going on by car over roads that were at timescart ruts in the fields, to the Bar U Ranch, where he was to be theguest of Mr. George Lane. 

His host, "George Lane, " as he is called everywhere, is known as far asthe States and England as one of the cattle kings. He is a Westernerof the Westerners, and an individuality even among them. Tall andloose-built, with an authentic Bret Harte quality in action and speech, he can flash a glance of shrewdness or humour from the deep eyes undertheir shaggy, pent-house brows. He is one of the biggest ranch ownersin the West (perhaps the biggest); his judgment on cattle or horses islaw, and he has no frills. 

His attractive ranch on the plains, where the rolling lands meet thefoot-hills of the Rockies, has an air of splendid spaciousness. We didnot go to Bar U, but a friend took us out on a switchback automobilerun over what our driver called a "hellofer" road, to just such anotherranch near Cockrane, and we could judge what these estates were like. 

They are lonely but magnificent. They extend with lakes, close, tightpatches of bush and small and occasional woods over undulating countryto the sharp, bare wall of the snow-capped Rockies. The light ismarvellous. Calgary is 3, 500 feet up, and the level mounts steadily tothe mountains. At this altitude the sunlight has an astonishingclarity, and everything is seen in a sharp and brilliant light. 

In the rambling but comfortable house of the ranch the Prince wasentertained with cattleman's fare, and on the Tuesday (after a ten-milerun before breakfast) he was introduced to the ardours of thecattleman's calling. He mounted a broncho and with his host joined thecowboys in rounding several thousand head of cattle, driving them intowards the branding corrals. 

This is no task for an idler or a slacker. The bunch was made upmainly of cows with calves, or steers of less than a year old, whobelieved in the policy of self-determination, being still unbranded andstill conspicuously independent. Most of them, in fact, had seenlittle or nothing of man in their life of lonely pasturage over thewide plains. 

Riding continually at a gallop and in a whirlwind of movement and dustand horns, the Prince helped to bunch the mass into a compact circle, and then joined with the others in riding into the nervous herd, inorder to separate the calves from the mothers, and the unbranded steersfrom those already marked with the sign of Bar U. 

Calves and steers were roped and dragged to the corral, where they wereflung and the brand seared on their flanks with long irons taken from afire in the enclosure. 

The Prince did not spare himself, and worked as hard as any cattlemanin the business, and indeed he satisfied those exacting critics, thecowboys, who produced in his favour another Westernism, describing himas "a Bear. He's fur all over. " Then, as though a strenuous morningin the saddle was not enough, he went off in the afternoon afterpartridges, spending the whole time on the tramp until he was due tostart for Calgary. 

His pleasure in his experience was summed up in the terse comment:"Some Ranch, " that he set against his signature in Mr. Lane's visitors'book. It also had the practical result of turning him into a rancherhimself, for it was at this time he saw the ranch which he ultimatelybought. It is a very good little property, close to Mr. Lane's, sothat in running it the Prince will have the advantage of that expert'sadvice. Part of the Prince's plan for handling it is to give anopportunity to soldiers who served with him in the war to take uppositions on the ranch. Mr. Lane told me himself that the propositionis a practical one, and there should be profitable results. 

Leaving Bar U, the Prince returned to High River at that Canadian paceof travelling which sets the timid European wondering whether hisaccident policy is fully paid up. In High River, where the oldcow-puncher ideal of hitting up the dust in the wild and woolly mannerhas given way to the rule of jazz dances and bright frocks, he mountedthe train and steamed off to Calgary. 

In Calgary great things had been done to the Armoury where the ball wasto be held. Handled in the big manner of the Dominion, the great hallhad been re-floored with "hard wood" blocks, and a scheme of realbeauty, extending to an artificial sky in the roof, had been evolved. 

At this dance the whole of Calgary seemed in attendance, either on thefloor, or outside watching the guests arrive. In Canada the scope ofthe invitations is universal. There are no distinctions. The prettygirl who serves you with shaving soap over the drug store counter asksif she will meet you at the Prince's ball, as a matter of course. Sheis going. So is the young man at the estate office. So is your taxichauffeur (the taxi is an open touring car). So is--everybody. Thesedances are the most democratic affairs, and the most spirited. And asspirited and democratic as anybody was the Prince himself, who, in thiscase, in spite of his run before breakfast, a hard morning in thesaddle, his long tramp in the afternoon, his automobile and railwaytravelling, danced with the rest into the small hours of the morning. 

All the little boys in Calgary watched for his arrival. And after hehad gone in there was a fierce argument as to who had come in closestcontact with him. One little boy said that the Prince had lookedstraight at him and smiled. 

Another capped it:

"He shoved me on the shoulder as he went by, " he cried. 

The inevitable last chimed in:

"You don't make it at all, " he said. "He trod on my brother's toe. "

CHAPTER XVI

CHIEF MORNING STAR COMES TO BANFF AND THE ROCKIES

I

In the night the Royal train steamed the few miles from Calgary and onthe morning of Wednesday, September 17th, we woke up in the first fieldworks of the Rocky Mountains. 

It was a day on which we were to see one of the most picturesqueceremonies of the tour, and slipping through the high scarps of themountains to the little valley in which Banff station stands, we wereinto that experience of colour at once. 

Drawn up in the open by the little station was a line of Indians, cladin their historic costumes, and mounted on the small, springy horses ofCanada. Some were in feathers and buckskin and beads, some in the highfelt hats and bright-shirts of the cowboy, all were romantic inbearing. They were there to form the escort of the new "Chief. "

As the Prince's car drove from the station along a road that wound itsway amid glades of spruce and poplar glowing with the old gold ofAutumn that filled the valleys winding about the feet of high andaustere mountains, other bodies of Stoney Indians joined the escortabout the car. 

They had gathered at the opening of every side lane, and as thecavalcade passed, dropped in behind, until the procession became asnake of shifting colour, vermilion and cherry, yellow and blue andgreen, going forward under the dappling of sun that slipped between theswinging branches. 

Chiefs, the sunray of eagles' feathers on their heads, braves in fullwar-paint, Indian cowboys in shirts of all the colours of the spectrum, and squaws a mass of beads and sequins, with bright shawls and brightersilk head-wraps, made up the escort. Behind and at times in front ofmany of the squaws were papooses, some riding astraddle, their armsround the women's waists, others slung in shawls, but all clad inIndian garb that seemed to be made up of a mass of closely-sewn beads, turquoise, green, white or red, so that the little bodies were likescaly and glittering lizards. 

This ride that wound in and out of these very beautiful mountainvalleys took the Prince past the enclosures of the National Park, andhe saw under the trees the big, hairy-necked bison, the elk andmountain goats that are harboured in this great natural reserve. 

On the racecourse were Indian tepees, banded, painted with the heads ofbulls, and bright with flags. The braves who were waiting for thePrince, and those who were escorting him, danced, their ponies whirlingabout, racing through veils of dust and fluttering feathers andkerchiefs in a sort of ride of welcome. From over by the tepees therecame the low throbbing of tom-toms to join with the thin, high, dog-like whoop of the Indian greeting. 

On a platform at the hub of half-circle of Indians the Prince listenedto the addresses and accepted the Chieftaincy of the Stoney tribe. Some of the Indians had their faces painted a livid chrome-yellow, sothat their heads looked like masks of death; some were smeared withred, some barred with blue. Most, however, showed merely thehigh-boned, sphinx-like brown of their faces free from war-paint. Thecostumes of many were extremely beautiful, the wonderful beadwork ontunic and moccasins being a thing of amazing craftsmanship, though theelk-tooth decorations, though of great value, were not so attractive. 

Standing in front of the rest, the chief, "Little Thunder, " read theaddress to the Prince. He was a big, aquiline fellow, young andhandsome, clad in white, hairy chaps and cowboy shirt. He spoke insing-song Cree, his body curving back from straddled knees as though hesat a pulling horse. 

In his historic tongue, and then in English, he spoke of the honour thePrince was paying the Stoneys, and of their enduring loyalty to him andhis father; and he asked the Prince "to accept from us this Indiansuit, the best we have, emblematic of the clothes we wore in happydays. We beg you also to allow us to elect you as our chief, and togive you the name Chief Morning Star. "

The suit given to the Prince was an exceedingly handsome one of whitebuckskin, decorated with beads, feathers and fur, and surmounted by agreat headdress of feathers rising from a fillet of beads and fur. ThePrince put on the headdress at once, and spoke to the Indians as achief to his braves, telling them of the honour they had done him. 

When he had finished, the tom-toms were brought into action again, anda high, thin wail went up from the ring of Indians, and they beganalmost at once to move round in a dance. Indian dancing is monotonous. It is done to the high, nasal chanting of men gathered round a big drumin the centre of the ring. This drum is beaten stoically by all togive the time. 

Some of the dancing is the mere bending of knees and a soft shufflingstamping of moccasined feet. In other dances vividly clad, broad-faced, comely squaws joined in the ring of braves, whose feathersand elk-tooth ornaments swung as they moved, and the whole ring, with aslightly rocking movement, shuffled an inch at a time round the tom-tommen. The motion was very like that of soldiers dressing ranks. 

A more spirited dance is done by braves holding weapons stiffly, andfollowing each other in file round the circle, now bending knees, orbodies, now standing upright. As they pass round and dip they looselittle snapping yelps. All the time their faces remain as impassive asthings graven. 

The dancing was followed by racing. Boys mounted bareback the springylittle horses, and with their legs twisted into rope-girths--withreins, the only harness--went round the track at express speed. Youngwomen, riding astride, their dresses tied about their knees, alsoraced, showing horsemanship even superior to the boys. The riding wasextremely fine, and the little horses bunch and move with an elasticand hurtling movement that is thrilling. 

The ceremony had made the bravest of spectacles. The Indian colour andromance of the scene, set in a deep cup rimmed by steep, grimmountains, the sides and icecaps of which the bright sunlight threw upinto an almost unreal actuality, gave it a rare and entrancing quality. And not the least of its picturesque attractions were the papooses inbead and fringed leather, who grubbed about in the earth with stoiccalm. They looked almost too toylike to be true. They looked asthough their right place was in a scheme of decoration on a wall or amantel-shelf. As one lady said of them: "They're just the sort ofthings I want to take home as souvenirs. "

II

Banff is an exquisite and ideal holiday place, and I can appreciate theimpulse that sends many Americans as well as Canadians to enjoy itsbeauties in the summer. 

It is a valley ringed by an amphitheatre of mountains, up the harshslopes of which spruce forests climb desperately until beaten by theheight and rock on the scarps beneath crests which are oftensnow-capped. Through this broad valley, and winding round slopes intoother valleys, run streams of that poignant blueness which only glacialsilt and superb mountain skies can Impart. 

The houses and hotels in this Switzerland of Canada are charming, butthe Banff Springs Hotel, where the Prince stayed, is genius. It isperched up on a spur in the valley, so that in that immense ring ofheights it seems to float insubstantially above the clouds of trees, like the palace of some genii. For not only was its site admirablychosen, but the whole scheme of the building fits the atmosphere of theplace. And it is as comfortable as it is beautiful. 

It faces across its red-tiled, white-balustered terraces and vividlawns, a sharp river valley that strolls winding amid the mountains. And just as this river turns before it, it tumbles down a rock slide ina vast mass of foam, so that even when one cannot see its beauty atnight, its roar can be heard in the wonderful silence of the valley. On the terrace of the hotel are two bathing-pools fed from the sulphursprings of Banff, and here Canadians seem to bathe all day untildance-time--and even slip back for a moonlight bath between dancing andbed. 

It is an ideal place for a holiday, for there is golfing, climbing, walking and bathing for those whose athletic instincts are notsatisfied with beauty, and automobile rides amid beauty. And it is, ofcourse, a perfect place for honeymooners, as one will find byconsulting the Visitors' Book, for with characteristic frankness theCanadians and Americans sign themselves:

"_Mr. And Mrs. Jack P. Eeks, Spokane. We are on our honeymoon. _"

The Prince spent an afternoon and a morning playing golf amid theimmensities of Banff, or travelling in a swift car along its beautifulroads. There are most things in Banff to make man happy, even a coalmine, sitting like a black and incongruous gnome in the heart ofenchanted hills, to provide heat against mountain chills. 

The Prince saw the sulphur spring that bubbles out of quicksand in alittle cavern deep in the hillside--a cavern made almost impregnable bysmell. In the old days the determined bather had to shin down a polethrough a funnel, and take his curative bath in the rocky oubliette ofthe spring. Now the Government has arranged things better. It hascarved a dark tunnel to the pool, and carried the water to two bigswimming tanks on the open hillside, where one can take a plunge withall modern accessories. 

III

From Banff in the afternoon of Thursday, September 18th, the traincarried the Prince through scenery that seemed to accumulate beauty ashe travelled to another eyrie of loveliness, Lake Louise. 

At Lake Louise Station the railway is five thousand feet above thesea-level, but the Château and Lake are yet higher, and the Princeclimbed to them by a motor railway that rises clinging to themountain-side, until it twists into woods and mounts upward by the sideof a blue-and-white stream dashing downward, with an occasionalbreather in a deep pool, over rocks. 

The Château is poised high up in the world on the lip of a small andperfect lake of poignant blue, that fills the cup made by the meetingof a ring of massive heights. At the end of the lake, miles away, but, thanks to the queerness of mountain perspective, looking close enoughto touch, rises the scarp of Mount Victoria, capped with a vast glacierthat seemed to shine with curious inner lambency under the clear lightof the grey day. There is a touch of the theatre in that view from thewindows or the broad lawns of the Château, for the mountain and glacieris a huge back-drop seen behind wings made by the shoulders of othermountains, and all, rock and spruce woods, as well as the clear shiningof the ice, are mirrored in the perfect lake that makes the floor ofthe valley. 

Up on one of the shoulders of the lake, hidden away in a screen oftrees, is the home of an English woman. She used to spend her daysworking in a shop in the West End of London until happy chance broughther to Lake Louise, and she opened a tea chalet high on that lonelycrag. She has changed from the frowsty airs of her old life to a placewhere she can enjoy beauty, health and an income that allows her to flyoff to California when the winter comes. The Prince went up to taketea in this chalet of romance and profit during his walk of exercise. 

There is another kind of romance in the woods about the Château, andone of the policemen who guarded the Prince made its acquaintanceduring the night. In the dark he heard the noise of some one movingamid the trees that come down to the edge of the hotel grounds. Hethought that some unpleasant intruder on the Prince's privacy wasattempting to sneak in by the back way. He marched up to the edge ofthe wood and waited in his most legal attitude for the intruder--and abear came out to meet him. Not only did it come out to meet him, butit reared up and waved its paws in a thoroughly militant manner. Thepoliceman was a man from the industrial East, and not having beentrained to the habits of bears, decided on a strategic withdrawal. 

His experience was one of the next day's jokes, since it appears thatbears often do come out of the woods attracted by the smell of hotelcooking. On the whole they are amiable, and are no more difficult thanordinary human beings marching in the direction of a good dinner. 

From Lake Louise the Prince went steadily west through some of the mostimpressive scenery in Canada. The gradient climbs resolutely to thegreat lift of petrified earth above Kicking Horse Pass, so that thetrain seemed to be steaming across the sky. 

A little east of the Pass is a slight monument called "the GreatDivide. " Here Alberta meets British Columbia, and here a streamsprings from the mountains to divide itself east and west, one forkjoining stream after stream, until as a great river it empties intoHudson Bay; the other, turning west and leaping down the ledges ofvalleys, makes for the Pacific. 

Beyond "the Great Divide" the titanic Kicking Horse Pass opens out. Itfalls by gigantic levels for 1, 300 feet to the dim, spruce-mistedvalleys that lie darkly at the foot of the giant mountains. It is nota straight canyon, but a series of deeper valleys opening out of deepvalleys round the shoulders of the grim slopes. Down this tortuouscorridor the railway creeps lower, level by level, going with thephysical caution of a man descending a dangerous slope. 

The line feels for its best footholds on the sides of walls that dropsheer away, and tower sheer above. We could look over the side downabrupt precipices, and see through the dense rain of the day the mightydrop to where the Kicking Horse River, after leaping over rocky rampsand flowing through level pools, ran in a score of channels on the wideshingly floor of the Pass. 

Beneath us as we descended we could see the track twisting and looping, as it sought by tunnelling to conquer the exacting gradient. Theplanning of the line is, in its own way, as wonderful as the naturalmarvel of the Pass. One is filled with awe at the vision, the geniusand the tenacity of those great railway men who had seen a way overthis grim mountain barrier, had schemed their line and had masterednature. 

At Yoho Station that clings like a limpet near the top of this soaringbarrier, the Prince took to horse, and rode down trails that wind alongthe mountainside through thickets of trees to Field at the foot of thedrop. The rain was driving up the throat of the valley before a strongwind, and it was not a good day for riding, even in woolly chaps suchas he wore, but he set out at a gallop, and enjoyed the exercise andthe scenery, which is barbaric and tremendous, though here and there itwas etherealized by sudden gleams of sunlight playing on the wetfoliage of the mountain-side and turning the wet masses into rainbows. 

During this ride he passed under the stain in a sheer wall of rock thatgives the Pass its name. For some geological reason there is, high upin a straight mass of white towering cliff, a black outcrop that islike the silhouette of an Indian on a horse. I could not distinguishthe kick in the horse myself, but I was assured it was there, andKicking Horse is thus named. 

From Field, a breathing space for trains, about which has grown a smallvillage possessing one good hotel, the Prince rode up the valleys tosome of the beauty spots, such as Emerald Lake, which lies high in thesky under the cold glaciers of Mount Burgess. It was a wonderful ridethrough the spruce and balsam woods of these high valleys. 

IV

During Saturday, September 20th, the train was yet in the mountains, and the scenery continued to be magnificent. From Field the line worksdown to the level of the Columbia River, some 1, 500 feet lower, throughmagnificent stretches of mountain panorama, and through breathlessgorges like the Palliser, before climbing again steeply to the highestpoint of the Selkirk Range. Here the train seemed to charge straightat the towering wall of Mount MacDonald, but only because there is amiracle of a tunnel--Connaught Tunnel--which coaxes the line down byeasy grades to Rogers Pass, the Illicilliwaet and Albert Canyon. Through all this stretch the scenery is superb. In the gorges and thecanyon high mountains force the river and railway together, until thetrain runs in a semi-darkness between sheer cliffs, with the waterfoaming and tearing itself forward in pent-up fury between harsh, rockywalls. Sometimes these walls encroach until the water channel isforced between two rocks standing up like doorposts, with not much morethan a doorway space between them. Through these gateways the volumeof water surges with an indescribable sense of power. 

At places, as in the valley of the Beavermouth, east of the ConnaughtTunnel, the line climbs hugely upward on the sides of great ranges, and, on precarious ledges, hangs above a gigantic floor, tree-clad andfretted with water channels. The train crept over spidery bridges, spanning waterdrops, and crawled for miles beneath ranges of big timbersnowsheds. 

The train stopped at the pleasant little mountain town of Golden, wherethe Prince went "ashore, " and there was the ceremony of reception. This was on the program. The next stop was not. 

West of the Albert Canyon, at a tiny station called Twin Butte, wepassed another train standing in a siding, with a long straggle of menin khaki waiting on the platform and along the track, looking at us aswe swept along. Abruptly we ceased to sweep along. The communicationcord had been pulled, and we stopped with a jerk. 

The Prince had caught sight of the soldiers, and had recognized whothey were. He had given orders to pull up, and almost before thebrakes had ground home, he was out on the track and among the men, speaking to them and the officers, who were delighted at thisunexpected meeting. 

The soldiers were English. They were men of the 25th Middlesex, H. A. C. And other regiments, four hundred all told. They had come from Omsk, in Russia, by way of the Pacific, and were being railed from Vancouverto Montreal in order to take ship for home. The men of the Middlesexwere those made famous by the sinking of their trooper off the Africancoast in 1916. Their behaviour then had been so admirable that it willbe remembered the King cabled to them, "Well done, Diehards!"

By the isolated railway station and under the lonely mountains so farfrom their homes, they were drawn up, and the Prince made an informalinspection of the men who had been so long away, and who had travelledthe long road from Siberia on their way Blightyward. 

The inspection lasted only a few minutes, and the episode, spontaneousas it was characteristic, scarcely broke the run into Revelstoke. Butit was the happiest of meetings. 

Revelstoke is a small, bright mountain town known, as its inhabitantssay, for snow and strawberries. It is their way of explaining that theland in this deep mountain valley is splendidly fertile, and thatsettlers have only to farm on a small scale in order to make acomfortable living, though in winter it is--well, of the mountains. The fishing there is also extremely good, and we were told almostfabulous tales of boys who on their journey home from school spent afew minutes at the creeks of the Columbia River, and went on their waybearing enough fish to make a dinner for a big family. 

The chief feature of Revelstoke's reception was a motor run upRevelstoke mountain, a four thousand feet ride up a stiffish road thatclimbed by corkscrew bends. This was thrilling enough, for there wereabrupt depths when we saw Revelstoke far down on the valley floorlooking neat and doll-like from this airman's eye-view, and we had tocross frail wooden bridges spanning deep crevices, some of them at uglycorners. 

From Revelstoke the train went on to Sicamous, where it remained untilthe middle of Sunday, September 21st. Sicamous is merely an hotel anda few houses beside a very beautiful lake. It is a splendid fishingcentre, for a chain of lakes stretches south through the valleys toOkanagan. A branch line serves this district (which we were to explorelater), where there are rich orchard lands. 

With Revelstoke, Sicamous acts as a distributing centre for the bigKootenay areas, that romantic land of the earliest trail breakers, those dramatic fellows who pushed all ways through the forest-cladvalleys after gold and silver, and the other rich rewards of theprospector. Even now the country has only been tapped, and there aremany new discoveries of ore in the grim rock of the district. 

A short stop at Kamloops on Sunday, September 21st, and then a straightrun through the night brought us to Vancouver, with just a note ofinterest outside the Pacific city. For miles we passed dumps of warmaterial, shells, ammunition boxes, the usual material of armies. Itwas lying discarded and decaying, and it told a tragic story. It wasthe war material that the Allies had prepared for Russia. These werethe dumps that fed the transports for Russia plying from Vancouver. After the peace of Brest-Litovsk all work ceased about them, and therethey remained to that day, monuments to the Bolshevik Peace. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE PACIFIC CITIES: VANCOUVER AND VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA

I

Vancouver was land after a mountain voyage. With the feelings of aseafarer seeing cliffs after a long ocean journey, we reached common, flat country and saw homely asphalt streets. 

There can be no two points of view concerning the beauty and grandeurof the mountain scenery through which the Prince had passed, but aftera succession of even the most stimulating gorges and glaciers one doesturn gladly to a little humanity in the lump. Vancouver was humanityin the lump, an exceedingly large lump and of peculiarly warm andgenerous emotions. We were glad to meet crowds once more. 

There are some adequate streets in this great western port of Canada. When Vancouver planned such opulent boulevards as Granville and Georgiastreets, it must have been thinking hard about posterity, which willwant a lot of space if only to drive its superabundant motors. Butsplendid and wide and long though these and other streets be, the massof people which lined them on Monday, September 22nd, was such as toset the most long-headed town planner wondering if, after all, he hadallowed enough room for the welcoming of Princes. 

From the vast, orderly throng massed behind the red and tartan of theHighland guard of honour at the station, thick ranks of people linedthe whole of a long route to Stanley Park. 

This crowd not only filled the sidewalks with good-tempered liveliness, but it had sections in all the windows of the fine blocks of buildingsthe Prince passed. Now and then it attempted to emulate the small boyswho ran level with the Prince's car cheering to full capacity, andcaring not a jot whether a "Mounty" of the escort or a following carwent over them, but on the whole the crowd was more in hand than usual. 

This does not mean that it was less enthusiastic. The reception was ofthe usual stirring quality, and it culminated in an immense outburst inStanley Park. 

It was a touch of genius to place the official reception in the Park. It is, in a sense, the key-note of Vancouver. It gives it its peculiarquality of charm. It is a huge park occupying the entirety of apeninsula extending from the larger peninsula upon which Vancouverstands. It has sea-water practically all round it. In it are to befound the greatest and finest trees in Canada in their most naturalsurroundings. 

It is one big "reservation" for trees. Those who think that they canimprove upon nature have had short shrift, and the giant Douglas pine, the firs and the cedars thrive naturally in a setting that has remainedpractically untouched since the day when the British seaman, CaptainVancouver, explored the sounds of this coast. It is an exquisite parkhaving delightful forest walks and beautiful waterside views. 

Under the great trees and in a wilderness of bright flowers and flagsas bright, a vast concourse of people was gathered about the prettypavilion in the park to give the Prince a welcome. The function hadall the informality of a rather large picnic, and when the sun banishedthe Pacific "smoke, " or mist, the gathering had infinite charm. 

After this reception the Prince went for a short drive in the greatpark, seeing its beautiful glades; looking at Burrard Inlet that makesits harbour one of the best in the world, and getting a glimpse ofEnglish Bay, where the sandy bathing beaches make it one of the bestsea-side resorts in the world as well. At all points of the drivethere were crowds. And while most of those on the sidewalks wereCanadian, there was also, as at "Soo, " a good sprinkling of Americans. They had come up from Seattle and Washington county to have afirst-hand look at the Prince, and perhaps to "jump" New York and theeastern Washington in a racial desire to get in first. 

In this long drive, as well as during the visit we paid to Vancouver onour return from Victoria, there was a considerable amount of that mistwhich the inhabitants call "smoke, " because it is said to be the resultof forest fires along the coast, in the air. Yet in spite of the mistwe had a definite impression of a fine, spacious city, beautifullysituated and well planned, with distinguished buildings. And animpression of people who occupy themselves with the arts of business, progress and living as becomes a port not merely great now, butordained to be greater tomorrow. 

It is a city of very definite attraction, as perhaps one imagined itwould be, from a place that links directly with the magical Orient, andtrades in silks and tea and rice, and all the romantic things of thoselands, as well as in lumber and grain with all the colourful towns thatfringe the wonderful Pacific Coast. 

Vancouver has been the victim of the "boom years. " Under the spell ofthat "get-rich-quick" impulse, it outgrew its strength. It is gettingover that debility now (and perhaps, after all, the "boomsters" wereright, if their method was anticipatory) and a fine strength is comingto it. When conditions ease and requisitioned shipping returns to itswharves, and its own building yards make up the lacking keels, itshould climb steadily to its right position as one of the greatestports in the British Empire. 

II

Vancouver, as it is today, is a peculiarly British town. Its climateis rather British, for its winter season has a great deal of rain whereother parts of Canada have snow, and its climate is Britishly warm andsoft. It attracts, too, a great many settlers from home, itsnewspapers print more British news than one usually finds in Canadianpapers (excepting such great Eastern papers as, for instance, _TheMontreal Gazette_), and its atmosphere, while genuinely Canadian, hasan English tone. 

There is not a little of America, too, in its air, for great Americantowns like Seattle are very close across the border--in fact one cantake a "jitney" to the United States as an ordinary item ofsightseeing. Under these circumstances it was not unnatural that thereshould be an interesting touch of America in the day's functions. 

The big United States battleship _New Mexico_ and some destroyers werelying in the harbour, and part of the Prince's program was to havevisited Admiral Rodman, who commanded. The ships, however, were inquarantine, and this visit had to be put off, though the Admiralhimself was a guest at the brilliant luncheon in the attractiveVancouver Hotel, when representatives from every branch of civic lifein greater Vancouver came together to meet the Prince. 

In his speech the Prince made direct reference to the American Navy, and to the splendid work it had accomplished in the war. He spokefirst of Vancouver, and its position, now and in the future, as one ofthe greatest bases of British sea power. Vancouver, he explained, alsobrought him nearer to those other great countries in the BritishDominions, Australia and New Zealand, and it seemed to him it was afitting link in the chain of unity and co-operation--a chain made morefirm by the war--that the British Empire stretched round the world. Itwas a chain, he felt, of kindred races inspired by kindred ideals. Such ideals were made more apparent by the recent and lamented death ofthat great man, General Botha, who, from being an Africander leader inthe war against the British eighteen years ago, had yet lived to be oneof the British signatories at the Treaty of Versailles. Nothing elsecould express so significantly the breadth, justice and generosity ofthe British spirit and cause. 

Turning to Admiral Rodman, he went on to say that he felt that thatspirit had its kinship in America, whose Admiral had served with theGrand Fleet. Of the value of the work those American ships underAdmiral Rodman did, there could be no doubt. He had helped the Allieswith a most magnificent and efficient unit. 

At no other place had the response exceeded the warmth shown that day. The Prince's manner had been direct and statesmanlike, each of hispoints was clearly uttered, and the audience showed a keen quickness inpicking them up. 

Admiral Rodman, a heavily-built figure, with the American light, dryness of wit, gave a new synonym for the word "Allies"; to him thatword meant "Victory. " It was the combination of every effort of everyAlly that had won the war. Yet, at the same time, practical experiencehad taught him to feel that if it had not been for the way the GrandFleet had done its duty from the very outset, the result of the warwould have been diametrically opposite. Feelingly, he described hisservice with the Grand Fleet. He had placed himself unreservedly underthe command of the British from the moment he had entered Europeanwaters, yet so complete was the co-operation between British andAmericans that he often took command of British units. The splendidwar experience had done much to draw the great Anglo-Saxon nationstogether. Their years together had ripened into friendship, then intocomradeship, then into brotherhood. And that brotherhood he wished tosee enduring, so that if ever the occasion should again arise all menof Anglo-Saxon strain should stand together. 

There was real warmth of enthusiasm as the Admiral spoke. Thosepresent, whose homes are close to those of their American neighboursliving across a frontier without fortifications, in themselvesappreciated the essential sympathy that exists between the two greatnations. When the Admiral conveyed to the Prince a warm invitation tovisit the United States, this enthusiasm reached its highest point. Itwas, in its way, an international lunch, and a happy one. 

III

After reviewing the Great War Veterans on the quay-side, the Princeleft Vancouver just before lunch time on Tuesday, September 23rd, forVictoria, the capital of British Columbia, which lies across the wateron Vancouver Island. 

It was a short run of five hours in one of the most comfortable boats Ihave ever been in--the _Princess Alice_, which is on the regular C. P. R. Service, taking in the fjords and towns of the British Columbian coast. 

Leaving Vancouver, where the towering buildings give an authentic airof modern romance to the skyline, a sense of glamour went with usacross the sea. The air was still tinged with "smoke" and the fabledblue of the Pacific was not apparent, but we could see curiously closeat hand the white cowl of Mount Baker, which is America, and we passedon a zig-zag course through the scattered St. Juan Islands, each ofwhich seemed to be charming and lonely enough to stage a Jack Londonstory. 

On the headlands or beaches of these islands there were always men andwomen and children to wave flags and handkerchiefs, and to send a cheeracross the water to the Prince. One is surprised, so much is theromantic spell upon one, that the people on these islets of lonelinessshould know that the Prince was coming, that is, one is surprised untilone realizes that this is Canada, and that telegraphs and telephonesand up-to-date means of communication are commonplaces here aseverywhere. 

Romance certainly invades one on entering Victoria. It seems a cityout of a kingdom of Anthony Hope's, taken in hand by a modern Canadianadministration. Steaming up James Bay to the harbour landing one feelsthat it is a sparkling city where the brightest things in thrillingfiction might easily happen. 

The bay goes squarely up to a promenade. Behind the stone balustradeis a great lawn, and beyond that, amid trees, is a finely decorativebuilding, a fitted back-ground to any romance, though it is actually an_hôtel de luxe_. To the left of the square head of the water is adistinguished pile; it is the Customs House, but it might be a templeof dark machinations. To the right is a rambling building, ornate andattractive, with low, decorated domes and outflung and rococo wings. That could easily be the palace of at least a sub-rosa royalty, thoughit is the House of Parliament. The whole of this square grouping ofgreen grass and white buildings, in the particularly gracious air ofVictoria gives a glamorous quality to the scene. 

Victoria's welcome to the Prince was modern enough. Boat sirens andfactory hooters loosed a loud welcome as the steamer came in. A hugederrick arm that stretched a giant legend of _Welcome_ out into theharbour, swung that sign to face the _Princess Alice_ all the time shewas passing, and then kept pace on its rail track so that _Welcome_should always be abreast of the Prince. 

The welcome, too, of the crowds on that day when he landed, and on thenext when he attended functions at the Parliament buildings, was asCanadian and up-to-date as anywhere else in the Dominion. The crowdswere immense, and, at one time, when little girls stood on the edge ofa path to strew roses in front of him as he walked, there was somedanger of the eager throngs submerging both the little girls and thecharming ceremony in anxiety to get close to him. 

The crowd in Parliament Square during the ceremonies of Wednesday, September 24th, was prodigious. From the hotel windows the whole ofthe great green space before the Parliament buildings was seen blackwith people who stayed for hours in the hope of catching sight of thePrince as he went from one ceremony to another. 

It was a gathering of many races. There were Canadians born andCanadians by residence. Vivid American girls come by steamer fromSeattle were there. There were men and women from all races in Europe, some of them Canadians now, some to be Canadians presently. There wereChinese and Japanese in greater numbers than we had seen elsewhere, forVictoria is the nearest Canadian city to the East. There were Hindus, and near them survivors of the aboriginal race, the Songhish Indians, who lorded it in Vancouver Island before the white man came. 

And giving a special quality to this big cosmopolitan gathering was thecurious definitely English air of Victoria. It is the most English ofCanadian cities. Its even climate is the most English, and its air ofwell-furnished leisure is English. Because of this, or perhaps Ishould say the reason for this is that it is the home of manyEnglishmen. Not only do settlers from England come here in numbers, but many English families, particularly those from the Orient East, whoget to know its charms when travelling through it on their way acrossCanada and home, come here to live when they retire. And thisdistinctly English atmosphere gets support in great measure from thenumber of rich Canadians who, on ceasing their life's work, come hereto live in leisure. 

Yet though this is responsible for the growing up in Victoria of someof the most beautiful residential districts in Canada, where beautifulhouses combine with the lovely scenery of country and sea in giving thecity and its environments a delightful charm, Victoria is vigorouslyindustrial too. 

It has shipbuilding and a brisk commerce in lumber, machinery and ascore of other manufactories, and it serves both the East and theCanadian and American coast. It has fine, straight, broad streets, lined with many distinguished buildings, and its charm has virility aswell as ease. 

IV

The Prince made a long break in his tour here, remaining until Sunday, September 28th. Most of this stay was given over to restful exercise;he played golf and went for rides through the beautiful countryside. There were several functions on his program, however. He visited theold Navy Yard and School at Esquimault, and he took a trip on theIsland railway to Duncan, Ladysmith, Nanaimo and Qualicum. 

At each of these towns he had a characteristic welcome, and at somegained an insight into local industries, such as lumbering and theclearing of land for farming. On the return journey he mounted theengine cab and came most of the way home in this fashion. 

The country in the Island is serene and attractive, extremely likeEngland, being reminiscent of the rolling wooded towns in Surrey, though the Englishman misses the hedges. The many sea inlets addbeauty to the scenery, and there are delightful rides along roads thatalternately run along the water's edge, or hang above these fjords onhigh cliff ledges. 

In one of our inland drives we were taken to an extraordinary andbeautiful garden. It is a serene place, laid out with exquisite skill. In one part of it an old quarry has been turned into a sunken garden. Here with straight cliffs all round there nests a wilderness offlowers. Small, artificial crags have been reared amid the rockeriesand the flowers, and by small, artificial paths one can climb them. Astream cascades down the cliff, and flows like a beautiful toy-thingthrough the dainty artificial scenery. 

In another part of the grounds is a Japanese garden, with tiny poolsand moon bridges and bamboo arbours--and flowers and flowers andflowers. And not only does the maker of this enchanted spot throw itopen to the public, but he has built for visitors a delightful chaletwhere they can take tea. This chalet is a big, comely hall, with easychairs and gate tables. It is provided with all the Americanmagazines. In a tiny outbuilding is a scullery with cups and saucersand plates and teapots--all for visitors. 

The visitors take their own food, and use these articles. The Chinesecook at the house near by provides boiling water, and all the ownerasks is that those who use his crockery shall wash it up at the sinkprovided, and with the dish-cloths provided, and leave it in readinessfor the next comer. 

That generosity is the final and completing touch to the charm of thatexquisite place, which is a veritable "Garden of Allah" amid thebeauties of Canadian scenery. 

Another drive was over the Malahat Pass, through superb country, to abig lumber camp on Shawnigan Lake. Here we saw the whole of theoperations of lumbering from the point where a logger notches a likelytree for cutting to the final moment when Chinese workmen feed thegreat trunks to the steam saw that hews them into beams and planks. 

Having selected a tree, the first logger cuts into it a deep wedgewhich is to give it direction in its fall. These men show an almostuncanny skill. They get the line of a great tree with the handle oftheir axes, as an artist uses a pencil, and they can cut their notchesso accurately that they can "fall" a tree on a pocket-handkerchief. 

Two men follow this expert. They cut smaller notches in the tree, andinsert their "boards" into it. These "boards" have a steel claw whichbites into the tree when the men stand on the board, the idea beingboth to raise the cutters above the sprawling roots, and to give theirswing on the saw an elasticity. It is because they cut so high thatCanada is covered with tall stumps that make clearing a problem. Thestumps are generally dynamited, or torn up by the roots by cables thatpass through a block on the top of a tree to the winding-drum of adonkey-engine. 

When the men at the saw have cut nearly through the tree, they sing outa drawling, musical "Stand aw-ay, " gauging the moment with the skill ofwoodsmen, for there is no sign to the lay eye. In a few moments thegiant tree begins to fall stiffly. It moves slowly, and then with itscurious rigidity tears swiftly through the branches of neighbouringtrees, coming to the ground with a thump very much like the sound of anH. E. Shell, and throwing up a red cloud of torn bark. The sight of atree falling is a moving thing; it seems almost cruel to bring it down. 

A donkey-engine mounted on big logs, that has pulled itself into placeby the simple method of anchoring its steel rope to a distant tree--andpulling, jerks the great trunks out of the heart of the forest. Ablock and tackle are hitched to the top of a tall tree that has beenleft standing in a clearing, and the steel ropes are placed round thefallen trunks. As this lifting line pulls them from theirresting-place, they come leaping and jerking forward, charging downbushes, rising over stumps, dropping and hurdling over mounds until itseems that they are actually living things struggling to escape. Theubiquitous donkey-engine loads the great logs on trucks, and an engine, not very much bigger than a donkey-engine, tows the long cars of timberdown over a sketchy track to the waterside. 

Here the loads are tipped with enormous splashes into the water to waitin the "booms" until they are wanted at the mill. Then they are towedacross, sure-footed men jump on to them and steer them to the bigchute, where grappling teeth catch them and pull them up until theyreach the sawing platform. They are jerked on to a movable truck, thatgrips them, and turns them about with mechanical arms into the requiredposition for cutting, and then log and truck are driven at the sawblade, which slices beams or planks out of the primitive trunk with analmost sinister ease. 

Uncanny machines are everywhere in this mill. Machines carve shinglesand battens or billets with an almost human accuracy. A conveyorremoves all sawdust from the danger of lights with mechanicalintelligence. Another carries off all the scrapwood and takes it awayto a safe place in the mill yard where a big, wire-hooded furnace, something like a straight hop oast-house, burns every scrap of it. 

The life in the lumber camp is a hard life, but it is well paid, it isindependent, and the food is a revelation. The loggers' lunch we weregiven was a meal fit for gourmets. It was in a rough pitch-pine hut atrough tables. Clam-soup was served to us in cylindrical preserved meatcans on which the maker's labels still clung--but it lost none of itsdelightful flavour for that. Beef was served cut in strips in a greatbowl, and we all reached out for the vegetables. There were mammothinebowls of mixed salad possessing an astonishing (to British eyes)lavishness of hard-boiled egg, lemon pie (lemon curd pie) with awhipped-egg crown, deep apple pie (the logger eats pie--which manypeople will know better as "tart"--three times a day), a marvellousfruit salad in jelly, and the finest selection of plums, peaches, apples, and oranges I had seen for a long day. 

I was told that this was the regular meal of the loggers, and I know itwas cooked by a chef (there is a French or Belgian or Canadian chef inmost logging camps), for I talked with him. To live in a lonelyforest, in a shack, and to work tremendously hard, may not be all thelife a man wants, but it has compensations. 

I understand that just about then the lumbermen were prone to striking. In one place they were demanding sheets, and in another they hadrefused to work because, having ordered two cases of eggs from a store, the tradesman had only been able to send the one he had in stock. 

While we were in this camp we had some experience of the danger offorest fires. We had walked up to the head of the clearing, when oneof the men of a group we had left working a short distance behind, camerunning up to say a fire had started. We went back, and in a placewhere, ten minutes before, there had been no sign of fire, flames andsmoke were rising over an area of about one hundred yards square. Little tongues of flame were racing over the "slashings" (_i. E. _, thedébris of bark and splintered limbs that litter an area which has beencut), snakes of flame were writhing up standing trees, sparks blown bythe wind were dropping into the dry "slashings" twenty, thirty andfifty yards away and starting fresh fires. We could see with whatincredible rapidity these fires travelled, and how dangerous they canbe once they are well alight. This fire was surrounded, and got underwith water and shovelled earth, but we were shown a big stretch ofhillside which another such fire had swept bare in a little under twohours. The summer is the dangerous time, for "slashings" and forestsare then dry, and one chance spark from a badly screened donkey-enginechimney will start a blaze. When the fire gets into wet and green woodit soon expires. 

These drives, for us, were the major events in an off time, for therewas very little happening until the night of the 28th, when we went onboard the _Princess Alice_ again, to start on our return journey. 

CHAPTER XVIII

APPLE LAND: OKANAGAN AND KOOTENAY LAKES

I

On Monday, September 29th, the Prince of Wales returned to Vancouverand took car to New Westminster, the old capital of British Columbiabefore picturesque Victoria assumed the reins. 

New Westminster was having its own festival that day, so the visit waswell timed. The local exhibition was to begin, and the Prince was toperform the opening ceremony. Under many fine arches, one a talltorii, erected by Chinese and Japanese Canadians, the procession ofcars passed through the town, on a broad avenue that runs alongside thegreat Fraser River. Drawn up at the curb were many floats that were totake part in the trades' procession through the town to the exhibitiongrounds. Most of them were ingenious and attractive. There weretelegraph stations on wagons, corn dealers' shops, and the like, whileon the bonnet of one car was a doll nurse, busy beside a doll bed. Another automobile had turned itself into an aeroplane, while anotherhad obliterated itself under a giant bully beef can to advertise aspecial kind of tinned meat. 

All cars were decorated with masses of spruce and maple leaf, nowbeautiful in autumn tints of crimson and gold. And Peace andBritannia, of course, were there with attendant angels and nations, comely girls whose celestial and symbolical garments did not seem to bethe right fashion for a day with more than a touch of chill in the air. 

Through this avenue of fantasy, colour and cheery humanity the Princedrove through the town, which seems to have the air of brooding overits past, to the exhibition ground, which he opened, and where hepresented medals to many soldiers. 

II

From New Westminster the Royal train struck upward through the RockyMountains by way of the Kettle Valley. It passed through a land ofterrific and magnificent scenery. It equalled anything we had seen inthe more famous beauty spots, but it was more savage. The valleysappeared closer knit and deeper, and the sharp and steep mountainspinched the railway and river gorges together until we seemed to becreeping along the floor of a mighty passage-way of the dark, aboriginal gods. 

Again and again the train was hanging over the deep, misted cauldron ofthe valley, again and again it slipped delicately over the span ofcobweb across the sky that is a Canadian bridge. In this land of steepgradients, sharp curves and lattice bridges, the train was divided intotwo sections, and each, with two engines to pull it, climbed throughthe mountain passes. 

This tract of country has only within the last few years been tapped bya railway that seems even yet to have to fight its way forward againstNature, barbarous, splendid and untamed. It was built to the usualideal of Canada, that vision which ignores the handicaps of today forthe promise of tomorrow. Yet even today it taps the rich lake valleyswhere mining and general farming is carried on, and where there aremiles of orchards already growing some of the finest apples and peachesin Canada. 

On the morning of Tuesday, September 30th, the train climbed down fromthe higher and rougher levels to Penticton, a small, bright, growingtown that stands as focus for the immense fruit-growing district aboutOkanagan Lake. 

Here, after a short ceremony, the Prince boarded the steamer_Sicamous_, a lake boat of real Canadian brand; a long white vesselbuilt up in an extraordinary number of tiers, so that it looked like anelaborate wedding-cake, but a useful craft whose humpy sternpaddle-wheel can push her through a six-foot shallow or deep water withequal dispatch. And a delightfully comfortable boat into the bargain, with well-sheltered and spacious decks, cosy cabins and bath-rooms, anda big dining saloon, which, placed in the very centre of the ship withthe various galleries of the decks rising around it, has an air ofbelonging to one of those attractive old Dickensian inns. 

On this vessel the Prince was carried the whole length of OkanaganLake, which winds like a blue fillet between mountains for seventymiles. On the ledges and in the tight valleys of these heights he sawthe formal ranks of a multitude of orchards. 

A short distance along the lake the _Sicamous_ pulled in to the toyquay of Summerland, a town born of and existing for fruit, and linkedup with the outer world by the C. P. R. Lake Service that owned our ownvessel. 

All the children of Summerland had collected on the quayside to sing toand to cheer the Prince, and, as he stood on the upper deck and wavedhis hat cheerfully at them, they cheered a good deal more. When hewent ashore and was taken by the grown-up Olympians to examine thegrading and packing sheds, where the fruits of all the orchards arehandled and graded by mechanical means, prepared for the market, andsold on the co-operative plan, the kiddies exchanged sallies with thosewaiting on the vessel, flipped big apples up at them, and cheered orjeered as they were caught or missed. 

The _Sicamous_ went close inshore at Peachland, another daughter townof Mother Fruit, to salute the crowd of people who had come out fromthe pretty bungalow houses that nestle among the green trees on a lowand pretty shore, and who stood on the quay in a mass to send a cheerto him. 

At Okanagan Landing, at the end of the lake, he took car to Vernon, apurposeful and attractive town which is the commercial heart of theapple industry. Indeed, there was no need to ask the reason forVernon's being. Even the decorations were wrought out of apples, andunder an arch of bright, cherry-red apples the Prince passed on to thesports ground, and on to a platform the corner posts of which werecrowned with pyramids of apples, and in the centre of which was a modelapple large enough to suit the appetite of Gargantua. 

In front of this platform was a grand stand crowded with children ofall races from Scandinavian to Oriental, and these sang with theresistless heartiness of Canada. The Oriental is a pretty useful assetin British Columbia, for in addition to his gifts of industry he is anexcellent agriculturist. 

After the ceremonies the Prince had an orgy of orchards. 

Fruit growing is done with a large gesture. The orchards are neat andyoung and huge. In a run of many miles the Prince passed betweenmasses of precisely aligned trees, and every tree was thick with brightand gleaming red fruit. Thick, indeed, is a mild word. The shorttrees seemed practically all fruit, as though they had got into thehabit of growing apples instead of leaves. Many of the branches boreso excessive a burden that they had been torn out by the weight of thefruit upon them. 

It was a marvellous pageant of fruit in mass. And the applesthemselves were of splendid quality, big and firm and glowing, each aperfect specimen of its school. We were able to judge because theland-girls, after tossing aprons full of specimens (not alwaysaccurately) into the Prince's car, had enough ammunition left over forthe automobiles that followed. 

Attractive land girls they were, too. Not garbed like Britishland-girls, but having all their dashing qualities. Being Canadiansthey carried the love of silk stockings on to the land, and it wasstrange to see this feminine extremity under the blue linen overalltrousers or knickers. They were cheery, sun-tanned, laughing girls. They were ready for the Prince at every gate and every orchard fence, eager and ready to supplement their gay enthusiasm with this appleconfetti. 

The Prince stopped here and there to chat with fruit growers, and tocongratulate them on their fine showing. Now he stopped to talk to awounded officer, who had been so cruelly used in the war that he had tosupport himself on two sticks. Now he stopped to pass a "How d'y' do"to a mob of trousered land-girls who gathered brightly about his car, showing himself as laughing and as cheerful as they. 

The cars left the land of growing apples and turned down the lake in asuperb run of thirty-six miles to Kelowna. This road skirts fairyland. It winds high up on a shoulder above Long Lake, that makes a floor ofliving azure between the buttresses and slopes of the mountains. Onlywhen it is tired of the heights does it drop to the lake level, andsweeping through a filigree of trees, speeds along a road that is butan inch or two above the still mirror of Wood Lake, on the polishedsurface of which there is a delicate fret of small, rocky islets. So, in magnificent fashion, he came to Kelowna, and the _Sicamous_, thatcarried him back to the train. 

III

Through the night and during the next morning the train carried thePrince deeper in the mountains, skirting in amazing loops, when thetrain seemed almost to be biting its tail, steep rocky cliffs abovewhite torrents, or the shining blue surfaces of lakes such as ArrowLake, that formed the polished floor of valleys. Now and then wepassed purposeful falls, and by them the power houses that won lightand motive force for the valley towns from the falling water. Thereare those who fear the harnessing of water-power, because it may meanthe spoiling of beautiful scenery. Such buildings as I saw in no waymarred the view, but rather added to it a touch of humanpicturesqueness. 

Creeping down the levels, with discretion at the curves, the train camein the rain to Nelson on Wednesday, October 1st. Rain spoilt thereception at Nelson, a town that thrives upon the agricultural andmining products of the hills about. There seemed to be a touch ofmining grey in the air of the town, but, as in all towns of Canada, nosense of unhappiness, no sense of poverty--indeed, in the whole ofCanada I saw five beggars and no more (though, of course, there mayhave been more). Of these one man was blind, and two were badlycrippled soldiers. 

There are no poor in Nelson, so I was told, and no unemployed. 

"If a man's unemployed, " said a Councillor with a twinkle in his eye, "he's due for the penitentiary. With labourers getting five dollars aday, and being able to demand it because of the scarcity of their kind, when a man who says he can't find work has something wrong with him . .. As a matter of fact the penitentiary idea is only speculative. There'snever been a test case of this kind. "

I don't suppose there have been many test cases of that kind in thewhole of Canada, for certainly "the everyday people" everywhere have acheerful and self-dependent look. 

At Nelson the Prince embarked on another lake boat, the _Nasookin_, after congratulating rival bands, one of brass, and one (mainly boys)of bagpipes, on their tenacity in tune in the rain. Nelson gave him avery jolly send-off. The people managed to invade the quay in greatnumbers, and those who were daring clambered to the top of the freightcars standing on the wharf, the better to give him a cheer. 

As the boat steamed out into the Kootenay River scores of the nattiestlittle gasoline launches flying flags escorted him for the first mileor so, chugging along beside the _Nasookin_, or falling in our wake ina bright procession of boats. Encouraged by the "movie" men they wavedvigorously, and many good "shoots" of them were filmed. 

At Balfour, where the narrow river, after passing many homesteads ofgreat charm nestling amid the greenery of the low shore that fringesthe high mountains, turns into Kootenay Lake, the Prince went ashore. Here is a delightful chalet which was once an hotel, but is now asanatorium for Canadian soldiers. Its position is idyllic. It standsabove river and lake, with the fine mountains backing it, and acrossthe river are high mountains. 

Over these great slopes on this grey day clouds were gathered, crawlingdown the shoulders in billows, or blowing in odd and disconnectedmasses and streamers. These odd ragged scarves and billows look likestrayed sheep from the cloud fold, lost in the deep valleys that sitbetween the blue-grey mountain sides. 

The Prince spent some time visiting the sanatorium, and chatting withthe inmates, and then played golf on the course here. The C. P. R. Were, meanwhile, indulging themselves in one of their habitual feats. Thelakes make a gap in the line between Nelson, or rather Balfour siding, and Kootenay Landing at the head of the water. Over this water-jumpthe whole train, solid steel and weighing a thousand tons, was bodilycarried. 

Two great barges were used. The long cars were backed on to these withdelicate skill--for the slightest waywardness of a heavy, all-steel caron a floating barge is a matter of danger, and each loaded barge wasthen taken up the lake by a tug grappled alongside. 

At Kootenay Landing the delicate process was reversed, and all wascarried out without mishap though it was a dark night, and therailwaymen had to work with the aid of searchlights. Kootenay Landingis, in itself, something of a wonder. In the dark, as we waited forthe train to be made up, it seemed as solid as good hard land can makeit. But as the big Canadian engine came up with the first car we feltour "earth" sway slightly, and in the beam of the big headlight we sawthe reason. Kootenay Landing is a station in the air. It is built upon piles. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE PRAIRIES AGAIN

I

In cold weather and through a snowfall that had powdered the slopes andfoothills of the Rocky Mountains the Prince, on Thursday, October 2nd, reached the prairies again. Now he was travelling well to the south ofhis former journey on a line that ran just above the American border. 

In this bleak and rolling land he was to call in the next two days at aseries of small towns whose very names--McLeod, Lethbridge, MedicineHat, Maple Creek, Swift Current, Moose Jaw and Regina--had in them asavour of the old, brave days when the Red Man was still a power, andsettlers chose their names off-hand from local things. 

McLeod, on the Old Man River, just escapes the foothills. It isprairies, a few streets, a movie "joint, " an hotel and a golf course. In McLeod we saw the dawn of the Mackinaw, or anyhow first saw thevirtues of that strange coat which seems to have been adapted from theoriginal of the Biblical Joseph by a Highland tailor. It is a thick, frieze garment, cut in Norfolk style. The colour is heroic red, orblue or mauve or cinnamon, over which black lines are laid in a plaidtracery. 

We realized its value as a warmth-giver while we stood amid a crowd ofthem as the Prince received addresses. Among the crowd was a band ofBlood Indians of the Blackfeet Tribe, whose complexions in the coldlooked blue under their habitual brown-red. They had come to lay theirhomage before him and to present an Indian robe. The Prince shookhands and chatted with the chiefs as well as their squaws, and with themissionary who had spent his life among these Red Men, and hadsucceeded in mastering the four or five sounds that make up the Indianlanguage. 

We talked to an old chief upon whose breast were the large silvermedals that Queen Victoria and King George had had specially struck fortheir Indian subjects. These have become signs of chieftainship, andare taken over by the new chief when he is elected by the tribesmen. With this chief was his son, a fine, quiet fellow in the costume of thepresent generation of Indians, the cowboy suit. He had served allthrough the war in a Canadian regiment. 

At Lethbridge, the next town, there was a real and full Indianceremonial. Before a line of tepees, or Indian lodges, the Prince wasreceived by the Chiefs of the Blood Tribe of the Blackfeet Nation, andelected one of them with the name of Mekastro, that is Red Crow. 

This name is a redoubtable one in the annals of the Blackfeet. It hasbeen held by their most famous chieftains and has been handed down fromgeneration to generation. It was a Chief Red Crow who signed theWolseley Treaty in '77. Upon his election the Prince was presentedwith an historic headdress of feathers and horns, a beautiful thingthat had been worn by the great fighting leaders of the race. 

There were gathered about the Prince in front of these tall, paintedtepees many chiefs of strange, odd-sounding names. One of theseimmobile and aquiline men was Chief Shot on Both Sides, another ChiefWeasel Fat, another Chief One Spot, another Chief Many White Horses. They had a dignity and an unyielding calm, and if some of them worebefeathered bowler hats, instead of the sunray feathered headdress, itdid not detract from their high austerity. Chief One Spot--"he whosevoice can be heard three miles"--was a splendid and upright old warriorof eighty; he had not only been present at the historic treaty of '77, but had been one of the signatories. 

The Prince chatted with these chiefs, while the Lethbridge people, whohad shown extraordinary heartiness since the public welcome in thechief square of the town, crowded close around. While he was talking, the Prince asked if he could be shown the interior of one of thewigwams, and his brother, Chief Weasel Fat, took him to his own, overthe door of which was painted rudely the emblem of the bald-headedeagle. 

The wigwam is a fine airy home. Its canvas walls are supported bytall, leaning poles bound at the top. There is no need of a centrepole, and a wood fire burning on a circular hearth sent up a coil ofsmoke through the opening at the top of the poles. 

The floor was strewn with bright soft rugs, on which squaws in vividred robes were sitting, listening to all that was said with impassivefaces. The walls were decorated with strips of warm cloth upon whichhad been sewn Indian figures and animals. The wide floor space alsoheld a rattanwork bed, musical instruments and the like; certainly itwas a more comfortable and commodious place than its bell-tent shapewould suggest. 

Leaving the exhibition grounds, on which the encampment stood, thePrince passed under an arch made of Indian clothes of white antelopeskin, beads and feathers, and after reviewing the war veterans, went tothe town ball that had been arranged in his honour. 

Lethbridge is a mixture of the plain and the pit. It is a great graincentre, and there is no mistaking its prairie air, yet superimposedupon this is the atmosphere of, say, a Lancashire or Yorkshire miningtown. Coal and other mines touch with a sense of dark industrialbustle the easy air of the plain town. It is a Labour town, and aforce in Labour politics. That, of course, made not the slightestdifference to its welcome; indeed, perhaps it tinged that greeting witha touch of independent heartiness that made it notable. 

As a town it impresses with its vividity at once. That, indeed, is thequality of most Canadian cities. They capture one with their air ofmodernity and vivacity at first impact. True, one sometimes finds thatthe town that seemed great and bustling dwindles after a few finestreets into suburbs of dirt roadways, but one has been impressed. Itmay be very good window dressing, though, on the other hand, it isprobably good planning which concentrates all the activity andinterests of the town in the decisively main avenues. 

II

Friday, October 3rd, saw the Prince visiting a string of three towns. 

Medicine Hat was the first of these, an attractive, park-like placefull of "pep. " Medicine Hat's claim to fame beyond its name lies inthe fact that, having discovered that it was sitting upon a vastsubterranean reservoir of natural gas, it promptly harnessed it to itsown use. Now, that elemental thing is in the control of humanity, andheats the town, and tamely drives the wheels of industry. 

The outstanding ceremony was the way little boys suddenly took frighton a roof. In the middle of the town, beside the street, is a tall, thin standpipe, and this standpipe was to demonstrate a "shoot off" ofthe gas. Scores of small boys climbed on to the roofs of neighbouringsheds to see the fun. First there was a meek, submissive flame burningat the top of the pipe, and looking weak in the fine sunlight. Then, abruptly, the flame shot up a hundred feet, and there was a loudroaring. Not only was the roaring a terrifying thing, but the force ofthat rush of gas made the ground, the roof and the little boys tremble. Little boys came off that roof in record time, and with such a clatterthat the effort of the standpipe almost lost its place as a star turn. This tremendous pressure is not habitual; it is, I believe, obtained bybursting a charge in one of the gas wells. 

The Prince also saw the uses to which the gas was put in a big potterymill. The kilns here were an incandescent mass of fire, the work ofthe easily controlled gas that does the work with a tithe of the labourand at a mere fraction of the cost necessitated by ordinary bakingkilns. 

Maple Creek and Swift Current were stepping-off places, with all theirpopulations packed in the square about the station to give the Prince ahearty greeting. At Maple Creek the pretty daughters of the townshipwere very much in evidence, and held His Royal Highness up withautograph albums. 

Moose Jaw, one of the few towns where a quaint name is traceable, forit is the creek where the white man mended the cart with a moosejaw-bone, which the Prince reached on the morning of October 4th, is abigger town and proud of its position as a grain, food and machinerydistributing centre for Southern Saskatchewan. In its stationcourtyard it had built up an admirable exhibit of its vegetables andfruit, its sides of bacon, its grain in ear, its porridge oats inpackets, and its butter and cream in drums and churns; while chiefestof all it showed ramparts of some of the two million sacks of flour ithandles annually. The whole of the exhibit was set in a moat of grainand potatoes. 

The Prince went to the University Grounds, where a mighty crowdattended the welcoming ceremony, and where a wild and timelesswaltz-quadrille of motors which straggled all-whither over the grounds, marked the attempts of people to locate and follow him when he droveaway to the hospital and a big packing factory. At the packing planthe saw the whole process of handling meat, from the moment when cowboysin chaps drove the herd to the pens to the final jointing of the steer. 

From Moose Jaw he went to Regina, which he reached that afternoon. Regina is the capital of Saskatchewan, but an accidental capital. Somewhere about 1880 it was decided to start itself in quite anotherplace. Qu'Appelle, where there was a Hudson Bay Fort and the countrywas attractive, was the site chosen. And Qu'Appelle opened its mouthtoo wide--or, anyhow so the version of the story I was told goes. Theland-owners there asked an outside number of million dollars, and thetownplanners went to Pile o' Bones instead. 

Pile o' Bones was a point near Wascana Lake where there had been a bigslaughter of buffaloes. It was a point of no importance, but Canadiansdon't mind that sort of thing. When they make up their minds to builda city, a city arises. Regina arose, broad and bustling, a triflechilly as becomes a city of the prairie, rather flat and not altogetherattractive, yet purposeful. 

It also gained another reason for regard by becoming the headquartersof the "Mounties, " the Royal North-West Mounted Police, whose mainbarracks are here. We saw something of the discipline of that fineservice in the way the big crowds were handled, for the Prince drovethrough the streets in the order and state of a London or New Yorkpageant. 

The Parliament Buildings are beautifully situated before a wide stretchof water. They are the semi-classical, domed, white stone buildings ofthe design of those at Edmonton and other cities--a sort ofstandardized parliament building in fact. Before them, on the terracesand lawn that shelved down to the water, the big throng made a scene ofquick beauty. There were ranks of pretty nurses, rank upon rank ofkhaki veterans, battalions of boy scouts mainly divorced from hatswhich were perpetually aloft on upraised and enthusiastic poles, aislesof sitting wounded whom the Prince shook hands with, and thick, supporting masses of civilians. Lining this throng were unbendingfillets of scarlet statues, the "Mounties" of the guard. Andhumanizing the whole were solid banks of school-children who sang andcheered at the right as well as the wrong moment. 

The presentation of medals--one to a blinded doctor, who, led by acomrade, received the most poignant storm of cheers I have ever heardin my life--and a giant public reception finished that day'sceremonies. Sunday, October 5th, was a day of rest, and Monday was theday of the "Mounties. "

The Prince showed a particular interest in his visit to theHeadquarters of this splendid and romantic corps. The Royal North-WestMounted Police is a classic figure in the history of the Empire. Theday is now past when the lonely red rider of the wilds stood for theonly token of awe and authority among Indian tribes and "bad men"camps, but though that may be there are no more useful fellows thanthese smart and sturdy men, who, scarlet-coated, and with theirStetsons at a daring angle, add a dash of colour and bravery to thestreets of Western Canada. 

In his inspection the Prince saw the reason why the physique of the menshould be so splendid and their nerve so sure. The training of theR. N. W. M. P. Makes no appeal to the weakling of spirit or flesh. He sawtheir firm discipline. He saw them breaking in the bucking bronchosthey had to ride. He saw them go through exhausting mounted tests. His congratulations on their wonderful show were expressed with greatwarmth. 

III

From Regina the Prince took a holiday. He went up to the sportingcountry near Qu'Appelle for duck and game shooting, spending fromMonday, October 6th, until Friday, October 10th, there. This districtabounds in duck, and the Prince and his staff had very fair sport. During his stay the weather suddenly turned colder, the rivers frozeover and snow fell. So sudden was the cold snap that one of those withthe Prince was caught napping. He woke up to find that his false teethwere frozen into the solid block of ice that had been water the nightbefore. He had to take the tooth glass to the kitchen of the housewhere he was staying, and thaw it before he could even articulate hisemotions adequately. 

Riding in a fast car from the scene of the sport to the station gavethe Prince an indication of what winter would be like in the prairies, where the wind from the north sweeps down unresisted, and with such aforce that it seems to go right through all coats, save the Canadianwinter armour of "coon coat" or fur. 

Brandon and Portage la Prairie, two determined little towns, gave thePrince a snow welcome. The weather kept neither grown-ups nor childrenaway from the liveliest of greetings. They were attractive halts in arun that took the Prince to Winnipeg. 

In Winnipeg we appreciated the virtues of central heating, for the windmade the whole universe extraordinarily cold. Up to this I hadconsidered central heating a stuffy subject, and I am yet not fullyconverted, for though there are those who say it can be controlledquite easily, I have yet to meet the superman who can do it. 

All the same, steam heating has its virtues. On those cold days inWinnipeg we lived in a world that knew not draughts. It was almost asolemn joy to sit in a bath, and to feel that though half of one was inhot water, the other half was also comfortable and not the prey ofevery devilish current of icy air such as sports itself in those damprefrigerators, the British bathrooms. Naturally, since we are stayingin a Canadian hotel of the up-to-date kind, a bathroom was attached toour bedroom as a mere matter of course. But if we had had to wanderAnglicanly along corridors in search of a bathroom we should still havebeen draught free, for central heating deals with corridors, andstairways, and halls and lounges with one universal gesture. 

Not merely in so fine an hotel as the "Royal Alexandra, " but in theprivate houses and the "apartments" (English--"flats"), central heatand good bathrooms are items of everyday--though many Canadians burn anopen fire in their sitting-rooms for the comfortable look it gives. 

These things are not merely for comfort, but they are, with thehardwood floors, the mail chutes in "apartment" houses and the rest, part of the great science of labour-saving, which the whole of Americapractises. 

One realizes the need of labour-saving when one sees in a theatrevestibule the following notice:

 "ALL CHILDREN NOT LEFT WITH THE MATRON MUST BE PAID FOR"

As nurses are rare, and servants are rare, the Americans have toorganize themselves to simplify the task of housekeeping. 

The "apartments" are compact and neat, arranged for easy handling. Therents are not cheap. One very pleasant little "apartment, " "hired" bya newly-married couple, was made up of three rooms, a kitchen and abalcony. It was in the suburbs. The rent was thirty-five dollars amonth, say eighty-four pounds a year, for a flat, which, under the sameconditions (rates included) could be obtained for thirty-five pounds ayear in England in pre-war days. For this, however, central heatingand perpetual hot water are included. My friend told me that hiselectric light bill came to three dollars a month, and his gas bill(for cooking) to rather less than that. In Calgary a friend of minehad a pretty "apartment" even smaller in a suburban district, waspaying about ninety-six pounds a year over all, _i. E. _, rent, light andgas (central heating being included). Most of these "apartments" havean ice house (refrigerator) attached, blocks of ice being left on thedoorstep every morning, just as the milk is left. 

Winnipeg is an attractive town to live in. It has plenty ofamusements, including several good theatres and music halls--fed, ofcourse, mainly from American sources. Mrs. Walker, whose husband ownsthe Walker Theatre, told me that Laurence Irving and his wife acted ontheir stage just before sailing on the ill-fated _Empress of Ireland_. She went up to his dressing-room to say "Good-bye" to him, the nightbefore he left, and in answer to her knock he suddenly appeared beforeher, dressed in black from head to foot, for the character he wasplaying that night. His appearance filled her with dread--it seemed toher, as she looked at him, that something terrible was to happen. BothLaurence Irving and his wife were, however, in excellent spirits. Canada treated them royally, and they were going back home full ofoptimism, confident that the play that Laurence Irving was thenfinishing--one dealing with Napoleon--was to prove the greatest successof their careers. 

We met at Winnipeg, also, a number of the brilliant men and womenjournalists whose energy and brains are responsible for the many finepapers that focus in this city. We had met such companions of our owndispensation in other cities, in Ottawa, Vancouver, Montreal, Torontoand Quebec. They were not merely keen and accomplished craftsmen, buttheir hospitality to us was always of the most delightful generosity. 

The Princess visit to Winnipeg was undertaken to give him theopportunity of saying _au revoir_ to the West. At the vivid luncheonhe gave in the attractive Alexandra Hotel to all the leaders of theWest, men and women, he insisted that it was _au revoir_, and that sowell had the West treated him, so attractive was its atmosphere, thathe meant not merely to return, but to become something of a rancherhere in the "little place" he had bought in Alberta. He spoke of thesplendid spirit of the West, and the magnificent future that was theWest's for the grasping, and he left on all those who heard him animpression of genuine affection for the people and the land with whichhis journey had brought him in contact. 

He himself left the West a "real scout. " It is a mere truism to saythat his personality had conquered the West, as it had won for himaffection everywhere. His straightforward masculinity and his entirelack of side, his cheerfulness and his keenness, his freedom from"frills, " as one man put it, had made him the friend of everybody. Iheard practically the same expressions of real affection from allgrades, from Chief Justice to car conductors. I heard, I think, butone man pooh-pooh, not so much this universal regard for the Prince, asa universal enthusiasm for something royal. A labour-leader, whohappened to be present, administered correction:

"That chap's all right, " he insisted, and his word carried weight. "Isaw him in France, and there's not much that is wrong with him. Ifyou're as democratic as he is, then you're all right. "

The brightest of dances, a game of squash rackets, and the Prince left, undaunted by the snow, for week-end shooting. On Tuesday, October14th, he was in the train again, travelling East, in the direction ofthe Cobalt mining country, buoyed up by the prophecy of the localweather-wise that the cold snap would not endure, but would be followedby the delightfully keen yet warm weather of the "Indian Summer. " Thelocal weather-wise were right, but it took time. 

CHAPTER XX

SILVER, GOLD AND COMMERCE

I

Cobalt is a fantasy town. It is a Rackhamdrawing with all its little grey housesperched up on queer shelves and masses ofgreeny-grey rock. Its streets are whimsical. Theywander up and down levels, and in and out of houses, and sometimes they are roads and sometimes theyare stairs. One glance at them and I began torepeat, "There was a crooked man, who walked acrooked mile. " A delightful genius had done thetown to illustrate that rhyme. 

And the rope railways that sent a procession ofemotionless buckets across the train when we pulledin, the greeny-grey lake that presently (inside thetown) ceased being a lake and became a big lakebasin of smooth, greeny-grey mine slime, the vastgreeny-grey mounds of mill refuse, the fantasticspideriness of the lattice mill workings, and humpedcorrugated iron sheds, all of them slightlygreeny-grey in the prevailing fashion--the whole picturewas fantastic; indeed, Cobalt appears a city of gnomes. 

We had travelled all Tuesday and Wednesday, striking east from Winnipeg, only stopping occasionallyfor the Prince to return the courtesies of theCHAPTER XXI

NIAGARA AND THE TOWNS OF WESTERN ONTARIO

I

The best first impression of Niagara Falls is, I think, the one thePrince of Wales obtained. 

Those who really wish to experience the thrills of grandeur and poetryof this marvel had better delay their visit until a night in summer, and make arrangements with the railway time-table to get theresomewhere after dark. Upon arriving they must hire a car, and drivedown to the splendid boulevard on the Canadian side. They will thensee the great mass of water under the shine of lights, fallingeternally, eternally presenting a picture of almost cruel beauty. Theywill then know an experience that transcends all other experiences aswell as all attempts at description. 

The curious feeling of disappointment which comes to many in daylightwill have been guarded against, and, stimulated by that wondrous firstvision, they will tide over that spiritually barren period which manyknow until the marvel of the Falls begins to "grow on them. "

The Prince came from Hamilton to Niagara somewhere very close tomidnight on Saturday, the 18th. He was carried through the dark townand country to the house of one of the Falls Commissioners. From here, through a filigree of trees and leaves, he could look across thesmoking gorge to the Falls on the American side. Batteries of greatarc lights, focused and hidden cunningly, shone upon the curtain ofwhite and tumbling waters, and upon the strong, black mass of GoatIsland, that is perched like a diver eternally hesitant on the verybrink of the two-hundred-foot plunge. 

The ghostly beauty of the falling water through the light, now a solidand tremendous curve, now broken into filaments and zigzag whorls, nowveiled by the upward drift of the gossamer spray, held the Prince'sgaze for some time. But even that beauty was transcended. He himselfpressed an electric switch, and the grand curve of the CanadianHorseshoe blazed fully alight for the first time in their history, andthough from this position this could not be fully seen, this newaddition of light gave the whole mass before his eyes an additionalloveliness. 

From this point the Prince motored through the town to the splendidwide promenade that borders the Canadian side of the gorge, and spenthalf an hour watching the fascinating play of falling water and sprayin the narrow cauldron of the Horseshoe. 

He stood a foot away from the point where the water leaps in itsmagnificent and enigmatic curve into the tortured pool below. Green atthe curve, the water is a mass of curdled white in the strong lights asit falls. Beneath, the face of the water is a passionate surface ofwhirlpools and eddies and tossing whiteness. From the tremendousimpact of the drop a column of spray shoots and curls high up in theair. It towers quite six hundred feet above the surface of the water, and it is hard to believe that enduring mass of spray comes from thefall; in the distance one is convinced that it is steam arising fromsome big factory. 

On the next day (Sunday) the Prince saw the Falls in their every phase. He walked up-stream above the Horseshoe to where the Niagara Riverjostles down over a series of ledges in the grand and angry CanadianRapids, a sight as tumultuous and as thrilling in its own fashion asthe Falls themselves. He visited the big, white stone power-house toexamine with the greatest interest the machinery that traps thetremendous latent power of the plunging water, harnesses it, and soturns the wheels of a thousand industries, and lights hundreds of towns. 

Partly walking, partly riding in a car of the scenic tramway, hefollowed the line of the Falls and river downward to where theWhirlpool Rapids curdle and eddy within the deep walls of the gorge. Over on the American side he saw the castles and keeps of modernindustry: power-houses and factories, springing up from the very rockof the cliff, and almost forming part of it. On the Canadian side thepeople have not let their utilitarian sense run away with them to suchan extent. Where America edges the gorge with commercial buildings, Canada has constructed her beautiful promenade, which continues thecomeliness of the Falls Park through a pretty residential district. America has Prospect Park and the very beautiful Goat Island Park onits side, but these are not extended along the gorge. 

Below the Whirlpool Rapids the Prince descended to the level of theriver; later, he came to the top of the gorge again, and crossed, swinging two hundred feet above the water on the spidery ropes of theaerial railways, the great pool at the end of the river canyon, intowhich the pent-up water pushes swirling before turning at right anglestowards Lake Ontario. 

The Prince did not go over to the American side, but America came tohim. The white number-plates of New York State seemed to be everywhereon automobiles, even outnumbering the yellow of Ontario. One had theimpression that every American motor-owner within gasolene radius haddecided that he would take his Sunday spin to Niagara Falls, and on tothe Canadian side of the Falls to boot. 

American cars were coming over the bridges all day, and American ownerswaited cheerfully along the route to get a glimpse of "The Boy, " as theAmerican papers called the Prince. They joined themselves to the veryfriendly crowd of Canadians who gathered everywhere along the route, and their cheering, mingling with Canadian cheering, showed thatfriendliness is not an affair that frontiers can manipulate. 

As a matter of fact, the frontier at Niagara is the most imaginary oflines. Now that the war is over there is no difficulty in getting toeither side. And there is no change in atmosphere either. People andconditions are much the same, only on the American side our dollarscost us more. 

II

Western Ontario is, in the main, the most British part of Canada. Itstowns have British names, and the streets of the towns have Britishnames, while their atmosphere and design are almost of the HomeCounties. The countryside (if one overlooks the absence ofhedges--though rows of upturned tree-roots with plants growing amongthem sometimes have the look of hedges) is the suave, domesticatedcountryside of England. England is in the very air. And at the firstof these curiously English towns the Prince became an Indian chief. 

Brantford, though it reminds one of a comely British country town, preferably one with a Church influence in it, is really the capital ofthe Six Nation Indians. It actually owes its name to Joseph Brant, theMohawk chief, who, having fought his Indians on the side of theBritish--as the braves of the fierce and powerful Six Nations hadalways fought on the side of the British--in the War of Independence, marched his tribes from their old camping-grounds in the Mohawk Valleyto this place, so that they could remain under British rule. 

The Indians of the Six Nations still live in and about Brantford, for, though they have ceded away their lands to settlers, they are among thefew of the aboriginal races that have thrived and not decayed undercivilization. The Prince's visit to Brantford on Monday, October 20th, was nearly all a visit to the Mohawks, the leaders of the ancientIndian federation of six tribes. 

This is not to say that the welcome given him by Canadians was not agreat one. As a matter of fact, it was astonishing, and it wasdifficult to imagine how a small town like this could pack its streetswith so many people. But Brantford is industrial and scientific also, as well as being Indian. After a strenuous reception, for instance, the Prince went along to the statue that shrines the town's claim to aplace in the history of science. This was the memorial to Dr. Bell, who lived in Brantford and who invented the first telephone inBrantford. They will even show you the trees from which the first lineover which the first spoken message sent, was strung. 

But the colourful ceremonies of Brantford were those connected with theMohawks. The Prince was taken out to the small, old wooden chapel thatGeorge III. Erected for his loyal Mohawk allies. It is the oldestProtestant chapel in the Dominion. On its walls are painted prayers inMohawk, and it contains an old register that King Edward had signed in1861. The Prince added his own signature to this before going into thechurchyard to see the grave of Joseph Brant. 

In the little enclosure before the church were the youngest descendantsof the loyal Joseph Brant: ranks of Mohawk boys in khaki, and smallMohawk girls in red and grey. They sang to the Prince in their ownlanguage, a singular guttural tongue rendered with an almost abnormalstoicism. The children did not move a muscle of lips or face as theychanted; it might have been a song rendered by graven images. 

In the main square of Brantford the Prince was elected chief of the SixNations. This ceremony was carried out upon a raised and beflaggedplatform about which a vast throng of pale-faces gathered. Becoming achief of the Six Nations is no light matter. It is a thing that mustbe discussed in full with all ceremonies and accurate minutes. Thepow-wow on the platform was rather long. Chiefs rose up and debated atleisure in the Iroquois tongue, while the pale-faces in the square, atfirst quite patient, began to demand in loud voices:

"We want our Prince. We want our Prince. "

And to be truthful, not merely the pale-faces found the ceremonylengthy. Gathered on the platform were a number of Mohawk girls, delicate and pretty maidens, with the warmth of their race's colourglowing through the soft texture of their cheeks. They were therebecause they had thrown flowers in the pathway of the Prince. At firstthey were interested in this olden ceremony of their old race. Thenthey began to talk of the wages they were drawing in extremely modernCanadian stores and factories. Then they looked at the ceremony again, at the clothes the Indians wore, at the romance and colour of it, andthey said, one to another:

"Say, why have those guys dressed up like that? What's it all about, anyhow? What's the use of this funny old business?"

The romantic may find some food for thought in this attitude of themodern Mohawk maid. 

In the end, after a debate on the fitness of several names, the Prince, as president of the pow-wow, gave his vote for "Dawn of Morning, " andbecame chief with that title. But apparently he did not become fullyfledged until he had danced a ritual measure. A brother chief inbright yellow and a fine gravity, came forward to guide the Prince'ssteps, and the Prince, immediately entering into the spirit of theceremony, joined with him in shuffling and bowing to and fro across theplatform. Only after the congratulations from fellow-Mohawks andpalefaces, did he leave the daïs to fight--there is no other word--hisway through the dense and cheerful mass that packed the square almostto danger-point. 

It was a splendid crowd, good-humoured and ardent. It had cheeredevery moment, though, perhaps, it had cheered more strongly at onemoment. This was when an old Indian woman ran up to the Prince, crying: "I met your father and your grandfather, and I'm British too. "At her words the Prince had taken the rose from his buttonhole and hadpresented it to her. And that delighted the crowd. 

III

The fine weather of Monday gave way to pitiless rain on the morning ofTuesday, October 21st. All the same, the rain did not prevent thereception at Guelph from being warm and intensely interesting. 

Guelph is one of the many comely and thriving towns of West Ontario, but its chiefest feature is its great Agricultural College that trainsthe scientific farmer, not of Ontario and Canada alone, but for manycountries in the Western World. This college gave the Prince acaptivating welcome. 

It has men students, but it has many attractive and bonny girlstudents, also, and these helped to distinguish the day, that is, witha little help from the "movie" men. 

The "movie" men who travelled with the train had captured the spectacleof the Prince's arrival at the station, and had driven off to thecollege to be in readiness to "shoot" when His Royal Highness arrived. They had ten minutes to wait. Not merely that, they had ten minutes towait in the company of a bunch of the prettiest and liveliest girlstudents in West Ontario. "Movie" men are not of the hesitant class. Somewhere in the first seventy-five seconds they became old friends ofthe students who were filling the college windows with so muchattraction. In one minute and forty-five seconds they had the girls intraining for the Prince's arrival. They had hummed over the melody ofwhat they declared was the Prince's favourite opera selection; a girlat a piano had picked up the tune, while the others practised harderthan diva ever did. 

When the Prince arrived the training proved worth while. He wassaluted from a hundred laughing heads at a score of windows with thesong that had followed him all over Canada. He drove into the College, not to the stirring strains of "Oh, Canada, " but to the syncopated liltof "Johnny's in Town. "

The Prince was not altogether out of the youthful gaiety of the scene, for after the lunch, where the students had scrambled for souvenirs, apiece of sugar from his coffee cup, a stick of celery from his plate, even a piece of his pie, he made all these dashing young women gatherabout him in the group that was to make the commemorative photo, and avery jolly, laughing group it was. 

And when he was about to leave, and in answer to a massed femininechorus, this time chanting:

"We--want--a--holiday. "

He called out cheerfully:

"All right. I'll fix that holiday. " And he did. 

IV

The whole of these days were filled with flittings hither and thitheron the Grand Trunk line (the passage of the Prince being smoothlymanipulated by another of Canada's fine railway men, and a genius ingood fellowship, Mr. H. R. Charlton), as the Prince called at thepretty and vigorous towns on the tongue of Ontario that stretchesbetween Lake Huron and Lake Erie to the American border. 

Stratford, with something of the comely grace of Shakespeare's town inits avenues of neat homes and fine trees, gave him as warm a receptionas anywhere in Canada on the evening of October 21st. On Wednesday, October 22nd, the same hearty welcome was extended by those singularlyEnglish towns, Woodstock and Chatham. 

On the afternoon of the same day London gave him a mass welcome mainlyof children in its big central park. London, Ontario, is an echo ofLondon, Thames. It has its Blackfriars and Regent Street, itsPiccadilly and St. James'. It is industrial and crowded, as theEnglish London is. Its public reception to the Prince was remarkable. It had managed it rather well. It had stated that all who wished to bepresent must apply for tickets of admission. Thousands did, and theypassed before the Prince in a motley and genial crowd of top hats andgingham skirts, striped sweaters and satin charmeuse. But though theycame in thousands, the numbers of ticket-holders were ultimatelyexhausted. When the last one had passed, the Prince looked at hiswrist watch. There was half an hour to spare before the reception wasdue to close. He told those about him to open the doors of thebuilding and let the unticketed public in. 

From London the Grand Trunk carried us to Windsor on Thursday, October23rd, where crowds were so dense about the station that they overflowedon to the engine until one could no longer see it for humanity andlittle boys. From the engine eager sightseers even scrambled along thetops of the great steel cars until they became veritable grandstands. 

Crowds were in the virile streets, and they were not all Canadianseither. A ferry plies from Windsor to the United States, and America, which at no time lost an opportunity of coming across the border to seethe Prince, had come across in great numbers. Canadians there were inWindsor, thousands of them, but quite a fair volume of the cheering hada United States timbre. 

A city with an electric fervour, Windsor. That comes not merely fromthe towering profile of Detroit's skyscrapers seen across the river, but from the spirit of Windsor itself. Detroit is America's"motoropolis, " and from the air of it Windsor will be Canada'smotoropolis of tomorrow. It is already thrusting its way up to thefirst line of industrial cities; it is already a centre for themanufacture of the ubiquitous Ford car and others, and it is learningand profiting a lot from its American brother. 

The Canadian and American populations are, in a sense, interchangeable. The United States comes across to work in Windsor, and Windsor goesacross to work in America. The ferry, not a very bustling ferry, notsuch a good ferry, for example, as that which crosses the EnglishThames at Woolwich, carries men and women and carts, and, inevitably, automobiles between the two cities. 

Detroit took a great interest in the Prince. It sent a skirmishingline of newspapermen up the railway to meet him, and they travelled inthe train with us, and failed, as all pressmen did, to get interviewswith him. We certainly took an interest in Detroit. It was not merelythe sense-capturing profile of Detroit, the sky-scrapers that give sucha sense of soaring zest by day, and look like fairy castles hung in theair at night, but the quick, vivid spirit of the city that intrigued us. 

We went across to visit it the next morning, and found it had thedelight of a new sensation. It is a city with a sparkle. It is a citywhere the automobile is a commonplace, and the horse a thing for pauseand comment. It contained a hundred points of novelty for us, from thewhiteness of its buildings, the beauty of its domestic architecture, the up-to-date advertising of its churches, to its policemen on trafficduty who, on a rostrum and under an umbrella, commanded the trafficwith a sign-board on which was written the laconic commands, "Go" and"Stop. "

And, naturally, we visited the Ford Works. A place where I found theefficiency of effort almost frighteningly uncanny. One of these daysthose inhumanly human machines will bridge the faint gulf thatseparates them from actual life, then, like Frankenstein's monster, they will turn upon their creators. 

Galt (Friday, October 24th) gave the Prince another great reception;then, passing through Toronto, he travelled to Kingston, which hereached on Saturday, October 25th. 

Kingston, though it had its beginnings in the old stone fort thatFrontenac built on the margin of Lake Ontario to hold in check theEnglish settlers in New York and their Iroquois allies, is unmistakablyBritish. With its solid stone buildings, its narrow fillet of bluelake, its stone fortifications on the foreshore, and its ramblingstreets, it reminded me of Southampton town, especially beforeSouthampton's Western Shore was built over. Its air of being a Britishseaport arises from the fact that it is a British port, for it wasactually the arsenal and yard for the naval forces on the Great Lakesduring the war of 1812. 

And it also gets its English tone from the Royal Military College whichexists here. The bravest function of the Prince's visit was in thiscollege, where he presented colours to the cadets and saw them drill. The discipline of these boys on parade is worthy of Sandhurst, Woolwichor West Point, and their physique is equal to, if not better, than anyshown at those places. It is not exactly a military school, though thetraining is military, for though some of the cadets join Imperial orCanadian forces, and all serve for a time in the Canadian Militia, practically all the boys join professions or go into commerce afterpassing through. 

The Prince's reception at the college was fine, but his reception inthe town itself was remarkable. The Public Park was black with peopleat the ceremony of welcome, and though he was down to "kick off" in thefirst of the Association League football matches, his kick off wasactually a toss-up. That was the only way to get the ball moving inthe dense throng that surged between the goal posts. 

Kingston, too, gave the Prince the degree of Doctor of Laws. It is aproud honour, for Kingston boasts of being one of the oldestuniversities in Canada. But though its tradition is old, its spirit ismodern enough; for its Chancellor is Mr. E. W. Beatty, the President ofthe Canadian Pacific Railways. It was from the RailwayPresident-Chancellor the Prince received his degree. 

CHAPTER XXII

MONTREAL

I

The Prince had had a brief but lively experience of Montreal earlier inhis tour. It was but a hint of what was to happen when he returned onMonday, October 27th. It was not merely that Montreal as the biggestand richest city in Canada had set itself the task of winding up thetrip in befitting manner; there was that about the quality of itsentertainment which made it both startling and charming. 

Even before the train reached Windsor Station the Prince was receivinga welcome from all the smaller towns that make up outlying Montreal. At these places the habitant Frenchmen and women crowded about theobservation platform of the train to cry their friendliness in French, where English was unknown. And the friendliness was not all on theside of the habitants. 

"They tole me, " said one old habitant in workingman overalls, "theytole me I could not shake 'is han'. So I walk t'ro' them, _Oui_. An''e see me. A' 'e put out 'is 'an', an' 'e laf--so. I tell you 'e's areal feller, de kin' that shake han' wis men lak me. "

Montreal itself met the Prince in a maze of confetti and snow. Montreal was showing its essential self by a happy accident. It wasthe Montreal of old France, gay and vivacious and full of colour matedto the stern stuff of Canada. 

It is true there was not very much snow, merely a fleck of it in theair, that starred the wind-screens of the long line of automobiles thatformed the procession; but Canada and Montreal are not all snow, either. It was as though the native spirit of the place was impressingupon us the feeling that underneath the gaiety we were encounteringthere was all the sternness of the pioneers that had made this finetown the splendid place it is. 

There was certainly gaiety in the air on that day. The Prince droveout from the station into a city of cheering. Mighty crowds were aboutthe station. Mighty crowds lined the great squares and the longstreets through which he rode, and crowds filled the windows ofsky-climbing stores. It was an animated crowd. It expressed itselfwith the unaided throat, as well as on whistles and with eerie noiseson striped paper horns. It used rattles and it used sirens. 

And mere noise being not enough, it loosed its confetti. As the Princedrove through the narrow canyon of the business streets, confetti wastossed down from high windows by the bagful. Streamers of all coloursshot down from buildings and up from the sidewalks, until the snakes ofvivid colour, skimming and uncoiling across the street, made a brightlattice over flagpole and telephone wire, and, with the bright flutterof the flags, gave the whole proceedings a vivid and carnival air. 

Strips of coloured paper and torn letter headings fluttered down, too, and in such masses that those who were responsible must have got rid ofthem by the shovelful. Prince and car were very quickly entangled influttering strips and bright streamers, that snapped and fluttered likethe multi-tinted tails of comets behind him as he sped. 

There was an air of cheery abandon about this whole-heartedfriendliness. The crowd was bright and vivacious. There was laughterand gaiety everywhere, and when the Prince turned a corner, it liftedits skirts and with fresh laughter raced across squares and along sidestreets in order to get another glimpse of this "real feller. "

Bands of students, Frenchmen from Laval in velvet berets, and Englishfrom McGill, made the sidewalks lively. When they could, they rushedthe cars of the procession and rode in thick masses on the footboardsin order to keep up with the Royal progress. When policemen drove themoff footboards, they waited for the next car to come along and got onto the footboards of that. 

When the Prince went into the City Hall they tried to take the CityHall by storm, and succeeded, indeed, in clambering on to all thoseplaces where human beings should not go, and from there they sang tothe vast crowd waiting for the exit of the Prince, choosing any oldtune from "Oh, Canada, " in French, to "Johnny's in Town, " in polyglot. 

It was a great reception, a reception with electricity in it. Areception where France added a colour and a charm to Britain and madeit irresistible. 

II

And it was only a sample, that reception. 

Tuesday, October 28th, as a day, was tremendous. For the Prince itbegan at lunch, but a lunch of great brilliance. At the handsome PlaceViger Hotel he was again the centre of crowds. Crowds waited in thestreets, in spite of the greyness, the damp and the cold. Crowdsfilled the lobbies and galleries of the hotel to cheer him as he came. 

In the great dining-room was a great crowd, a crowd that seemed to begrowing out of a wilderness of flowers. There was an amazing profusionand beauty of flowers all through that room. And not merely were thereflowers for decoration, but with a graceful touch the Mayor and theCity Fathers, who gave that lunch, had set a perfect carnation at theplate of every guest as a favour for his buttonhole. 

The gathering was as vivid as its setting. Gallic beards waggedamiably in answer to clean-shaven British lips. The soutane andamethyst cross sat next the Anglican apron and gaiters, and the khakiof two tongues had war experiences on one front translated by aninterpreter. 

It was an eager gathering that crowded forward from angles of the roomor stood up on its seats in order to catch every word the Princeuttered, and it could not cheer warmly enough when he spoke with realfeeling of the mutual respect that was the basis of the realunderstanding between the French-speaking and the English-speakingsections of the Canadian nation. 

The reality of that mutual respect was borne out by the throngs thatgathered in the streets when the Prince left the hotel. It was througha mere alley in humanity that his car drove to La Fontaine Park, and atthe park there was an astonishing gathering. 

In the centre of the grass were several thousand veteran soldiers whohad served in the war. They were of all arms, from Highlanders toFlying Men, and, ranked in battalions behind their laurel-wreathedstandards, they made a magnificent showing. Masses of wounded soldiersin automobiles filled one side of the great square, humanity of bothsexes overflowed the other three sides. Ordinary methods of controlwere hopeless. The throng of people simply submerged all signs ofauthority and invaded the parade ground until on half of it it wasimpossible to distinguish khaki in ranks from men and women andchildren sightseers in chaos. 

In the face of this crowd Montreal had to invent a new method ofauthority. The mounted men having failed to press the spectators back, tanks were loosed. .. . Oh, not the grim, steel Tanks of the war zone, but the frail and mobile Tanks of civilization--motor-cycles. Themotor-cycle police were sent against the throng. The cycles, withtheir side-cars, swept down on the mass, charging cleverly until thespeeding wheels seemed about to drive into civilian suitings. Underthis novel method of rounding up, the thick wedges of people werebroken up; they yielded and were gradually driven back to properposition. 

Again the throngs in the park were only hints of what the Prince was toexpect in his drive through the town. Leaving the grounds and turninginto the long, straight and broad Sherbrooke Street, the bonnet of hisautomobile immediately lodged in the thickets of crowds. The splendidavenue was not big enough for the throngs it contained, and the peoplefilled the pavements and spread right across the roadway. 

Slowly, and only by forcing a way with the bonnet of the automobile, could the police drive a lane through the cheerful mass. The ride waschecked down to a crawl, and as he neared his destination, the ArtGallery, progress became a matter of inches at a time only. It was amighty crowd. It was not unruly or stubborn; it checked the Prince'sprogress simply because men and women conform to ordinary laws ofspace, and it was physically impossible to squeeze back thirty ranksinto a space that could contain twenty only. 

I suppose I should have written physically uncomfortable, for actuallya narrow strip, the width of a car only, was driven through the throng. The people were jammed so tightly back that when the line of carsstopped, as it frequently had to, the people clambered on to thefootboards for relief. 

In front of the classic portico of the Art Gallery the scene wasamazing. The broad street was a sea of heads. Before this wedge ofpeople the Prince's car was stopped dead. Here the point ofimpossibility appeared to have been reached, for though he was toalight, there was no place for alighting, and even very little spacefor opening the door of the car. It was only by fighting that thepolice got him on to the pavement and up the steps of the gallery, andthough the crowd was extraordinarily good-tempered, the scuffling wasnot altogether painless, for in that heaving mass clothes were torn andshins were barked in the struggle. 

The Prince was to stand at the top of the steps of the Art Gallery totake the salute of the soldiers he had reviewed in La Fontaine Park, asthey swung past in a Victory March. He stood there for over an hourwaiting for them. The head of the column had started immediately afterhe had, but it found the difficulties of progress even more apparentthan the Prince. The long column, with the trophies of captured gunsand machines of war, could only press forward by fits and starts. Atone time it seemed impossible that the veterans would ever get throughthe pack of citizens, and word was given that the march had beenpostponed. But by slow degrees the column forced a way to the ArtGallery, and gave the Prince the salute amid enthusiasm that mustremain memorable even in Montreal's long history of splendid memories. 

III

Montreal had set to excel itself as a host, and every moment of thePrince's days was brilliantly filled. There were vivid receptions andsplendid dances at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel and the big and comfortableHotel Windsor. Montreal is the centre of most things in Canada; in itare the head offices of the great railways and the great newspapers andthe leading financial and commercial concerns. The big men who controlthese industries are hospitable with a large gesture. In the hands ofthese men, not only the Prince, but the members of his entourage had aroyal time. 

Personally, though I found Montreal a delightful city, a city ofvividness and vivacity, I was, in one sense, not sorry to leave it, forI felt myself rapidly disintegrating under the kindnesses showered uponus. 

This kindness had its valuable experience: it brought us into contactwith many of the men who are helping to mould the future of Canada. Wemet such capable minds as those who are responsible for theorganization of such great companies as the Canadian Pacific and theGrand Trunk Railways. We met many of the great and brilliant newspapermen, such as Senator White, of the _Montreal Gazette_, who with hisexceedingly able right-hand man, Major John Bassett, was our goodfriend always and our host many times. All these men are undoubtedlyforces in the future of Canada. We were able to get from them a justerestimate of Canada, her prospects and her potentialities, than we couldhave obtained by our unaided observation. And, more, we got fromcontact with such men as these an appreciation of the splendidqualities that make the Canadian citizen so definite a force in thepresent and future of the world. 

IV

During his stay in Montreal the Prince was brought in contact withevery phase of civic life. On Wednesday, October 29th, he went bytrain through the outlying townships on Montreal Island, calling at thequaint and beautifully decorated villages of the habitants, thatusually bear the names of old French saints. The inhabitants of theseplaces, though said to be taciturn and undemonstrative, met the trainin crowds, and in crowds jostled to get at the Prince and shake hishand, and they showed particular delight when he addressed them intheir own tongue. 

On Thursday, October 30th, the Prince drove about Montreal itself, going to the docks where ocean-going ships lie at deep-water quaysunder the towering elevators and the giant loading gear. Amid collegeyells, French and English, he toured through the great universities ofLaval and McGill--famous for learning and Stephen Leacock. He alsotoured the districts where the working man lives, holding informalreceptions there. 

He opened athletic clubs and went to dances. At the balls he was atonce the friend of everybody by his zest for dancing and hisdelightfully human habit of playing truant in order to sit out on thestairs with bright partners. 

As ever his thoughtfulness and tact created legends. I was told, and Ibelieve it to be true, that after one dinner he was to drive straightto a big dance; but, hearing that a great number of people hadcollected along the route to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel where he wasstaying, under the impression that he was to return there, he gaveorders that his car was to go to the hotel before going to the dance. It was an unpleasant night, and the drive took him considerably out ofhis way; but, rather than disappoint the people who had gatheredwaiting, he took the roundabout journey--and he took it standing in hiscar so that the people could see him in the light of the lamps. 

It was at Montreal, too, that the Prince went to his first theatricalperformance in Canada. A great and bright gala performance onmusic-hall lines had been arranged at one of the principal theatres, and this the Prince attended. The audience with some restraint watchedhim as he sat in his box, wondering what their attitude should be. Buta joke sent him off in a tremendous laugh, and all, realizing that hewas there to enjoy himself, joined with him in that enjoyment. Hedeclared as he left the theatre that it was "A scrumptious show. "

V

On Sunday, November 3rd, Montreal, after winding up the tour with amighty week, gave the Prince a mighty send-off. Officially the tour inCanada was ended, though there were two or three extraordinaryfunctions to be filled at Toronto and Ottawa. The chief of these wasat Toronto on Tuesday, November 4th, when the Prince made the mostimpressive speech of the whole tour at Massey Hall. 

This hall was packed with one of the keenest audiences the Prince hadfaced in Canada. It was made up of members of the Canadian and EmpireClubs, and every man there was a leader in business. It was both acritical gathering and an acute one. It would take nothing on trust, yet it could appreciate every good point. This audience the Prince woncompletely. 

It was the longest speech the Prince had made, yet he never spokebetter; he had both mastered his nervousness and his need for notes. Decrying his abilities as an orator, he yet won his hearing by his verylack of oratorical affectation. 

He spoke very earnestly of the wonderful reception he had hadthroughout the breadth of Canada, from every type of Canadian--areception, he said, which he was not conceited enough to imagine wasgiven to himself personally, but to him as heir to the British throneand to the ideal which that throne stood for. The throne, he pointedout, consolidated the democratic tradition of the Empire, because itwas a focus for all men and races, for it was outside parties andpolitics; it was a bond which held all men together. The Empire ofwhich the throne was the focal point was different from other andancient Empires. The Empires of Greece and Rome were composed of manystates owing allegiance to the mother state. That ideal was nowobsolete. The British Empire was a single state composed of manynations which give allegiance not so much to the mother country, but tothe great common system of life and government. That is, the Dominionswere no longer Colonies but sister nations of the British Empire. 

Every point of this telling speech was acutely realized and immediatelyapplauded, though perhaps the warmest applause came after the Prince'sdefinition of the Empire, and after his declaration that, in visitingthe United States of America, he regarded himself not only as anEnglishman but as a Canadian and a representative of the whole Empire. 

In a neat and concise speech the Chairman of the meeting had alreadysummed up the meaning and effect of the Prince's visit to Canada. ThePrince, he said, had passed through Canada on a wave of enthusiasm thathad swept throughout and had dominated the country. That enthusiasmcould have but one effect, that of deepening and enriching Canadianloyalty to the Crown, and giving a new sense of solidarity among thepeople of Canada. "Our Indian compatriots, " he concluded, "withpicturesque aptness have acclaimed the Prince as Chief Morning Star. That name is well and prophetically chosen. His visit will usher infor Canada a new day full of wide-flung influence and highachievements. "

This summary is the best comment on the reason and effect of the tour. 

VI

The last phase of this truly remarkable tour through Canada was stagedin Ottawa. As far as ceremonial went, it was entirely quiet, thoughthe Prince made this an occasion for receiving and thanking thoseCanadians whose work had helped to make his visit a success. Apartfrom this, the Prince spent restful and recreative days at GovernmentHouse, in preparation for the strenuous time he was to have across theAmerican border. 

But before he reached Ottawa there was just one small ceremony that, onthe personal side, fittingly brought the long travel through Canada toan end. At a siding near Colburn on the Ottawa road the train wasstopped, and the Prince personally thanked the whole staff of "thiswonderful train" for the splendid service they had rendered throughoutthe trip. It was, he said, a record of magnificent team work, in whichevery individual had worked with untiring and unfailing efficiency. 

He made his thanks not only general but also individual, for he shookhands with every member of the train team; chefs in white overalls, conductors in uniform, photographers, the engineers in jeans and peakedcaps, waiters, clerks, negro porters and every man who had helped tomake that journey so marked an achievement, passed before him toreceive his thanks. 

And when this was accomplished the Prince himself took over the trainfor a spell. He became the engine-driver. 

He mounted into the cab and drove the engine for eighteen miles, donning the leather gauntlets (which every man in Canada who does dirtywork wears), and manipulating the levers. Starting gingerly at first, he soon had the train bowling along merrily at a speed that would havedone credit to an old professional. 

At Flavelle the usual little crowd had gathered ready to surround therear carriage. To their astonishment, they found the Prince in thecab, waving his hat out of the window at them, enjoying both theirsurprise and his own achievement. 

On Wednesday, November 5th, the journey ended at Ottawa, and the trainwas broken up to our intense regret. For us it had been a train-loadof good friends, and though many were to accompany us to America, manywere not, and we felt the parting. Among those who came South with uswas our good friend "Chief" Chamberlain, who had been in control of theC. P. R. Police responsible for the Prince's safety throughout the trip. He was one of the most genial cosmopolitans of the world, with the realCanadian genius for friendship--indeed so many friends had he, that thePrince of Wales expressed the opinion that Canada was populated byseven million people, mainly friends of "the Chief. "

CHAPTER XXIII

WASHINGTON

I

My own first real impression of the United States lay in my sorrow thatI had been betrayed into winter underclothing. 

When the Prince left Ottawa on the afternoon of November 10th in thePresident's train, the weather was bitterly cold. I suppose it wasbitterly cold for most of the run south, but an American train does notallow a hint of such a thing to penetrate. The train was steam-heatedto a point to which I had never been trained. And at Washington thestation was steam-heated and the hotel was steam-heated, and Washingtonitself was, for that moment, on the steam-heated latitude. America, Ifelt, had rather "put it over on me. "

It was at 8. 20 on the night of Monday the 10th that the Prince enteredthe United States at the little station of Rouses Point. There wasvery little ceremony, and it took only the space of time to change ourengine of Canada to an engine of America. But the short ceremony underthe arc lamps, and in the centre a small crowd, had attraction andsignificance. 

On the platform were drawn up ranks of khaki men, but khaki men with anew note to us. It was a guard of honour of "Doughboys, " stocky anduseful-looking fellows, in their stetsons and gaiters. Close to themwas a band of American girls, holding as a big canopy the Union Jackand the Stars and Stripes joined together to make one flag, joined inone piece to signify the meeting-place of the two Anglo-Saxon peoplesalso. 

With this company were the officials who had come to welcome the Princeat the border. They were led by Mr. Lansing, the Secretary of State, Major-General Biddle, who commanded the Americans in England, and whowas to be the Prince's Military aide, and Admiral Niblack, who was tobe the Naval aide while the Prince was the guest of the United States. 

The Prince in a Guard's greatcoat greeted his new friends, andinspected the Doughboys, laughing back at the crowd when some onecalled: "Good for you, Prince. " To the ladies who held the twin flagshe also expressed his thanks, telling them it was very nice of them tocome out on so cold a night to meet him. Feminine America was, for aninstant, non-plussed, and found nothing to answer. But their vivacityquickly came back to them, and they very quickly returned thefriendliness and smiles of the Prince, shook his hand and wished himthe happiest of visits in their country. 

The interchange of nationalities in engines being effected, the trainswung at a rapid pace beside the waters of Lake Champlain, pushingsouth along the old marching route into and out of Canada. 

On the morning of November 11th it was raining heavily and the trainran through a depressing greyness. We were all eager to see America, and see her at her best, but a train journey, especially in wetweather, shows a country at its worst. The short stops, for instance, in the stations of great cities like Philadelphia and Baltimore werethe sort of things to give a false impression. The stations themselveswere empty, a novelty to us, who had had three months of crowdedstations, and, also, about these stations we saw slums, for the firsttime on this Western continent. After having had the conviction growup within me that this Continent was the land of comely and decenthomes, the sight of these drab areas and bad roads was, personally, ashock. Big and old cities find it hard to eliminate slums, but itseemed to me that it would be merely good business to remove suchplaces from out of sight of the railways, and to plan town approacheson a more impressive scale. America certainly can plan buildings on animpressive scale. It has the gift of architecture. 

The train went through to Washington in what was practically a non-stoprun, and arrived in the rain. The Prince was received in the rain atthe back of the train, though that reception was truncated, so that thegreat Americans who were there to meet him could be presented in thedryness under the station roof. 

Heading the group of notable men who met the Prince was theVice-President, Mr. Marshall, and with him was the British Ambassador, Lord Grey, and General Pershing, a popular figure with the waitingcrowd and a hero regarded with rapture by American youngwomanhood--which was willing to break the Median regulations of theAmerican police to get "just one look at him. "

Outside the station there was a vast crowd of American men and womenwho had braved the downpour to give the Prince a welcome of thatpeculiarly generous quality which we quickly learnt was the naturalexpression of the American feeling towards guests. 

I was told, too, that crowds along the streets caught up that verycheerful greeting, so that all through his ride along the beautifulstreets to the Belmont House in New Hampshire Avenue, which was to behis home in Washington, the Prince was made aware of the hospitalityextended to him. 

But of this fact I can only speak from hearsay. The PressCorrespondents were unable to follow His Royal Highness through thecity. We were told that a car was to be placed at our disposal, as onehad been elsewhere, and we were asked to wait our turn. Wait wecertainly did, until the last junior attaché had been served. By thattime, however, His Royal Highness had outdistanced us, for, without acar and without being able to join the procession at an early interval, we lost touch with happenings. 

By the time we were able to get on to the route the streets weredeserted; all we could do was to admire through the rain thearchitecture of one of the most beautiful cities of the world. 

Apart from the rain on the first day, there was another factor whichhandicapped Washington in its welcome to the Prince--the warmth ofwhich could not be doubted when it had opportunity for adequateexpression. This was the fact that no program of his doings waspublished. For some reason which I do not pretend to understand, thetime-table of his comings and goings about the city was not issued tothe Press, so that the people of Washington had but vague ideas ofwhere to see him. The Washington journalists protested to us that thiswas unfair to a city that has such a great and just reputation for itspublic hospitality. 

However, where the Prince and the Washington people did come togetherthere was an immediate and mutual regard. There was just such a"mixing" that evening, when he visited the National Press Club. 

He had spent the day quietly, receiving and returning calls. One ofthese calls was upon President Wilson at the White House, the Princedriving through this city of an ideal in architecture come true, tospend ten minutes with Mrs. Wilson in a visit of courtesy. 

The National Press Club at Washington is probably unique of its kind. I don't mean by that that it is comfortable and attractive; allAmerican and Canadian clubs are supremely comfortable and attractive, for in this Continent clubs have been exalted to the plane of agracious and fine art; I mean that the spirit of the club gave it adistinguished and notable quality. 

America being a country extremely interested in politics--Americansenter into politics as Englishmen enter into cricket--and Washingtonbeing the vibrant centre of that intense political concern, the mostacute brains of the American news world naturally gravitate to theCapital. The National Press Club at Washington is a club of experts. Its membership is made up of men whose keen intelligence, brilliance incraft and devotion to their calling has lifted them to the top of thetree in their own particular _métier_. 

There was about these men that extraordinary zest in work and everydetail of that work that is the secret of American driving power. Withthem, and with every other American I came into contact with, I feltthat work was attacked with something of the joy of the old craftsman. My own impression after a short stay in America is that the Americanworks no harder, and perhaps not so hard as the average Briton; but heworks with infinitely more zest, and that is what makes him thedangerous fellow in competition that he is. 

The Prince had met many journalists at Belmont House in the morning, and had very readily accepted an invitation to visit them at theirclub, and after dinner he came not into this den of lions, but into aden of Daniels--a condition very trying for lions. Arriving in eveningdress, his youth seemed accentuated among so many shrewd fellows, whowere there obviously not to take him or any one for granted. 

From the outset his frankness and entire lack of affectation createdthe best of atmospheres, and in a minute or two his sense of humour hadmade all there his friends. Having met a few of the journalist corpsin the morning, he now expressed a wish to meet them all. ThePresident of the Club raised his eyebrows, and, indicating the packedroom, suggested that "all" was, perhaps, a large order. The Princemerely laughed: "All I ask is that you don't grip too hard, " he said, and he shook hands with and spoke to every member present. 

The Prince certainly made an excellent impression upon men able tojudge the quality of character without being dazzled by externals, andmany definite opinions were expressed after he left concerning hismodesty, his manliness and his faculty for being "a good mixer, " whichis the faculty Americans most admire. 

II

Wednesday, November 13th, was a busy day. The Prince was out earlydriving through the beautiful avenues of the city in a round offunctions. 

Washington is one of the most attractive of cities to drive in. It isa city, one imagines, built to be the place where the architects'dreams come true. It has the air of being a place where the designerhas been able to work at his best; climate and a clarified air, naturalbeauty and the approbation of brother men have all conspired to helpand stimulate. 

It has scores of beautiful and magnificently proportioned buildings, each obviously the work of a fine artist, and practically every one ofthose buildings has been placed on a site as effective and asappropriate as its design. That, perhaps, was a simple matter, for thewhole town had been planned with a splendid art. Its broad avenues andits delightful parks fit in to the composite whole with an exquisitejustness. Its residences have the same charm of excellentcraftsmanship one appreciates in the classic public buildings; they aremellow in colouring, behind their screen of trees; nearly all are trueand fine in line, while some--an Italianate house on, I think, 15thAvenue, which is the property of Mr. McLean of the _Washington Post_, is one--are supremely beautiful. 

The air of the city is astonishingly clear, and the grave whitebuildings of the Public Offices, the splendid white aspiration of theskyscrapers, have a sparkling quality that shows them to fulladvantage. There may, of course, be more beautiful cities thanWashington, but certainly Washington is beautiful enough. 

The streets have an exhilaration. There is an intense activity ofhumanity. Automobiles there are, of course, by the thousand, parkedeverywhere, with policemen strolling round to chalk times on them, orto impound those cars that previous chalk-marks show to have beenparked beyond the half-hour or hour of grace. The sidewalks are vividwith the shuttling of the smartest of women, women who choose theirclothes with a crispness, a _flair_ of their own, and which owes verylittle to other countries, and carry them and themselves with a vividexquisiteness that gives them an undeniable individuality. The storesare as the Canadian stores, only there are more of them, and they arebigger. Their windows make a dado of attractiveness along the streets, but, all the same, I do not think the windows are dressed quite as wellas in London, and I'm nearly sure not so well as in Canada--but this isa mere masculine opinion. 

Through this attractive city the Prince drove in a round of ceremonies. His first call was at the Headquarters of the American Red Cross, thenwrung with the fervours of a "tag" week of collecting. From here hewent to the broad, sweet park beside the Potomac, where a noblememorial was being erected to the memory of Lincoln. This, as might beexpected from this race of fine builders, is an admirable Greekstructure admirably situated in the green of the park beside the river. 

The Prince went over the building, and gained an idea of what it wouldbe like on completion from the plans. He also surprised his guides byhis intimate knowledge of Lincoln's life and his intense admiration forhim. 

At the hospital, shortly after, he visited two thousand of "My comradesin arms, " as he called them. Outside the hospital on the lawns weremany men who had been wounded at Château Thierry, some in wheeledchairs. Seeing them, the Prince swung aside from his walk to thehospital entrance and chatted with them, before entering the wards tospeak with others of the wounded men. 

On leaving the hospital he was held up. A Red Cross nurse ran up tohim and "tagged" him, planting the little Red Cross button in his coatand declaring that the Prince was enrolled in the District Chapter. The Prince very promptly countered with a dollar bill, the officialsubscription, saying that his enrolment must be done in proper styleand on legal terms. 

In the afternoon, the Prince utilized his free time in making a call onthe widow of Admiral Dewey, spending a few minutes in interestingconversation with her. 

The evening was given over to one of the most brilliant scenes of thewhole tour. At the head of the splendid staircase of white marble inthe Congress Library he held a reception of all the members of theSenate and the House of Representatives, their wives and their families. 

Even to drive to such a reception was to experience a thrill. 

As the Prince drove down the straight and endless avenues that strikedirectly through Washington to the Capitol, like spokes to the hub of avast wheel, he saw that immense, classic building shining above thecity in the sky. In splendid and austere whiteness the Capitol risesterrace upon terrace above the trees, its columns, its cornices and itsdome blanched in the cold radiance of scores of arc lights hidden amongthe trees. 

Like fireflies attracted to this centre of light, cars moved theirsparkling points of brightness down the vivid avenues, and at thevestibule of the Library, which lies in the grounds apart from theCapitol, set down fit denizens for this kingdom of radiance. 

Senators and parliamentarians generally are sober entities, but wivesand daughters made up for them in colour and in comeliness. In clothof gold, in brocades, in glowing satin and flashing silk, multi-coloured and ever-shifting, a stream of jewelled vivacity pressedup the severe white marble stairs in the severe white marble hall. There could not have been a better background for such a shining andpulsating mass of living colour. There was no distraction from thatwarm beauty of moving humanity; the flowers, too, were severe, severeand white; great masses of white chrysanthemums were all that wasneeded, were all that was there. 

And at the head of the staircase a genius in design had made one strokeof colour, one stroke of astounding and poignant scarlet. On thisscarlet carpet the Prince in evening dress stood and encountered thetide of guests that came up to him, were received by him, and flowedaway from him in a thousand particles and drops of colour, as women, with all the vivacity of their clothes in their manner, and men inuniforms or evening dress, striving to keep pace with them, wentdrifting through the high, clear purity of the austere corridors. 

It was a scene of infinite charm. It was a scene of infinitesignificance, also. For close to the Prince as he stood and receivedthe men and women of America, were many original documents dealing withthe separation of England and the American colonies. There was much inthe fact that a Prince of England should be receiving the descendantsof those colonies in such surroundings, and meeting those descendantswith a friendliness and frankness which equalled their own frankfriendliness. 

III

Thursday, November 14th, was a day of extreme interest for the Prince. It was the day when he visited the home of the first President ofAmerica, and also visited, in his home, the President in power today. 

The morning was given over to an investiture of the American officersand nurses who had won British honours during the war. It was held atBelmont House, and was a ceremony full of colour. Members of all thediplomatic corps in Washington in their various uniforms attended, andthese were grouped in the beautiful ballroom full of splendid picturesand wonderful china. The simplicity of the investiture itself stoodout against the colourful setting as generals in khaki, admirals inblue, the rank and file of both services, and the neat and picturesqueRed Cross nurses came quietly across the polished floor to receivetheir decorations and a comradely hand-clasp from the Prince. 

It was after lunch that the Prince motored out to Mount Vernon, thehome and burial-place of Washington, to pay his tribute to the greatleader of the first days of America. It is a serene and beautiful oldhouse, built in the colonial style, with a pillared verandah along itsfront. The visit here was of the simplest kind. 

At the modest tomb of the great general and statesman, which is nearthe house, the Prince in silence deposited a wreath, and a littledistance away he also planted a cedar to commemorate his visit. Heshowed his usual keen curiosity in the house, whose homely rooms ofmellow colonial furniture seemed as though they might be filled at anymoment with gentlemen in hessians and brave coats, whose hair was inqueues and whose accents would be loud and rich in condemnation of theinterference of the Court Circle overseas. 

Showing interest in the historic details of the house, the picture ofhis grandfather abruptly filled him with anxiety. He looked at thepicture and asked if "Baron Renfrew" (King Edward) had worn a top haton _his_ visit, and from his nervousness it seemed that he felt thathis own soft felt hat was not quite the thing. He was reassured, however, on this point, for democracy has altered many things since theold days, including hats. 

Both on his way out, and his return journey, the Prince was the objectof enthusiasm from small groups who recognized him, most of whom hadtrusted to luck or their intuition for their chance of seeing him. About the entrance of the White House, to which he drove, there was asmall and ardent crowd, which cheered him when he swept through thegates with his motor-cycle escort, and bought photographs of him fromhawkers when he had passed. The hawker, in fact, did a brisk trade. 

There had been much speculation whether His Royal Highness would beable to see President Wilson at all, for he was yet confined to hisbed. The doctors decided for it, and there was a very pleasant meetingwhich seems to have helped the President to renew his good spirits inthe youthful charm of his visitor. 

After taking tea with Mrs. Wilson, His Royal Highness went up to theroom of the President on the second floor, and Mr. Wilson, propped upin bed, received him. The friendship that had begun in England wasquickly renewed, and soon both were laughing over the Prince'sexperiences on his tour and "swopping" impressions. 

Mr. Wilson's instinctive vein of humour came back to him under thepleasure of the reunion, and he pointed out to the Prince that if hewas ill in bed, he had taken the trouble to be ill in a bed of somecelebrity. It was a bed that made sickness auspicious. King Edwardhad used it when he had stayed at the White House as "Baron Renfrew, "and President Lincoln had also slept on it during his term of office, which perhaps accounted for its massive and rugged utility. 

The visit was certainly a most attractive one for the President, andhad an excellent effect; his physician reported the next morning thatMr. Wilson's spirits had risen greatly, and that as a result of theenjoyable twenty minutes he had spent with the Prince. On Friday, November 15th, the Prince went to the United States Naval College atAnnapolis, a place set amid delightful surroundings. He inspected thewhole of the Academy, and was immensely impressed by the smartness ofthe students, who, themselves, marked the occasion by treating him toauthentic college yells on his departure. 

The week-end was spent quietly at the beautiful holiday centre ofSulphur Springs. It was a visit devoted to privacy and golf. 

IV

During our stay in Washington the air was thick with politics, for itwas the week in which the Senate were dealing with Clause Ten of thePeace Treaty. The whole of Washington, and, in fact, the whole ofAmerica, was tingling with politics, and we could not help beingaffected by the current emotion. 

I am not going to attempt to discuss American politics, but I will saythat it seemed to me that politics enter more personally into the lifeof Americans than with the British, and that they feel them moreintensely. At the same time I had a definite impression that Americanpolitics have a different construction to ours. The Americans speak of"The Political Game, " and I had the feeling that it was a game playedwith a virtuosity of tactics and with a metallic intensity, and theprinciple of the game was to beat the other fellows. So much so thatthe aim and end of politics were obscured, and that the battle wasfought not about measures but on the advantages one party would gainover another by victory. 

That is, the "Political Game" is a game of the "Ins" and "Outs" playedfor parliamentary success with the habitual keenness and zest of theAmerican. 

This is not a judgment but an impression. I do not pretend to knowanything of America. I do not think any one can know America wellunless he is an American. Those who think that America quickly yieldsits secrets to the British mind simply because America speaks theEnglish language need the instruction of a visit to America. 

America has all the individuality and character of a separate anddistinct State. To think that the United States is a sort ofTransatlantic Britain is simply to approach the United States with aset of preconceived notions that are bound to suffer considerablejarring. Both races have many things in common, that is obvious fromthe fact of a common language, and, in a measure, from a commondescent; but they have things that are not held in common. It needs acloser student of America than I am to go into this; I merely give myown impression, and perhaps a superficial one at that. It may offer apoint of elucidation to those people who find themselves shockedbecause English-speaking America sometimes does not act in an Englishmanner, or respond to English acts. 

America is America first and all the time; it is as complete and asdefinite in its spirits as the oldest of nations, and in its own way. Its patriotism is intense, more intense than British patriotism (thoughnot more real), because by nature the American is more intense. Thevivid love of Americans for America is the same type of passion thatthe Frenchman has for France. 

The character of the American, as I encountered him in Washington, Detroit, and New York--a very limited orbit--suggested differences fromthe character of the Englishman. The American, as I see him, is moresimple, more puritan, and more direct than the Briton. His generosityis a most astonishing thing. He is, as far as I can see, a genuinelover of his brother-man, not theoretically but actively, for he isanxious to get into contact, to "mix, " to make the most of even achance acquaintance. Simply and directly he exposes the whole ofhimself, says what he means and withholds nothing, so that acquaintanceshould be made on an equitable and genuine basis. To the moreconservative Briton this is alarming; brought up in a land ofreticences, the Briton wonders what the American is "getting at, " whatdoes he want? What is his game? The American on his side is baffledby the British habit of keeping things back, and he, too, perhapswonders why this fellow is going slow with me? Doesn't he want to befriends?

Personally, I think that the directness and simplicity of the Americansis the directness and simplicity of the artist, the man who has no usefor unessentials. And one gets this sense of artistry in an American'sbusiness dealings. He goes directly at his object, and he goes with aconcentrated power and a zest that is exhilarating. Here, too, heexposes his hand in a way bewildering to the Britisher, who sometimesfinds the American so candid in his transactions that he becomessuspicious of there being something more behind it. 

To the American work is something zestful, joyous. He likes to getthings done; he likes to do big things with a big gesture--sometimes tothe damage of detail, which he has overlooked--for him work iscraftsmanship, a thing to be carried through with the delight of acraftsman. He is, in fact, the artist as business man. 

Like all artists he has an air of hardness, the ruthlessness to attainan end. But like all artists he is quick and generous, vivid inenthusiasm and hard to daunt. Like the artist he is narrow in hispoint of view at times and decisive in opinion--simply because his ownpoint of vision is all-absorbing. 

This, for example, is apparent in his democracy, which isextraordinarily wide in certain respects, and singularly restricted inothers--an example of this is the way the Americans handle offendersagainst their code; whether they be I. W. W. , strikers or the like, theirattitude is infinitely more ruthless than the British attitude. Another example is, having so splendid a freedom, they allow themselvesto be "bossed" by policemen, porters and a score of others who exert anauthority so drastic on occasions that no Briton would stand it. 

But over all I was struck by the vividity of the Americans I met. Business men, journalists, writers, store girls, clerks, clubmen, railway men--all of them had an air of passionate aliveness, anintellectual avidity that made contact with them an affair ofdelightful excitement. 

CHAPTER XXIV

NEW YORK

There was no qualification or reservation in New York's welcome to thePrince of Wales. 

In the last year or so I have seen some great crowds, and by that Imean not merely vast aggregations of people, but vast gatherings ofpeople whose ardour carried away the emotions with a tremendous psychicforce. During that year I had seen the London crowd that welcomed backthe British military leader; the London and Manchester crowds, andvivid and stirring crowds they were, that dogged the footsteps ofPresident Wilson; I had seen the marvellous and poignant crowd at theLondon Victory March, and I had had a course of crowds, vigorous, affectionate and lively, in Montreal, Toronto and throughout Canada. 

I had been toughened to crowds, yet the New York crowd that welcomedthe Prince was a fresh experience. It was a crowd that, in spite ofwriting continuously about crowds for four months, gave me a directimpulse to write yet again about a crowd, that gave me the feeling thathere was something fresh, sparkling, human, warm, ardent andprovocative. It was a crowd with a flutter of laughter in it, a crowdthat had a personality, an _insouciance_, an independence in itsfriendliness. It was a crowd that I shall always put beside othermental pictures of big crowds, in that gallery of clear vignettes ofthings impressive that make the memory. 

There was a big crowd about the Battery long before the Prince was dueto arrive across the river from the Jersey City side. It was agood-humoured crowd that helped the capable New York policemen to keepitself well in hand. It was not only thick about the open grass spaceof the Battery, but it was clustering on the skeleton structure of theElevated Railway, and mounting to the sky, floor by floor, on theskyscrapers. 

High up on the twenty-second floor of neighbouring buildings we couldsee a crowd of dolls and windows, and the dolls were waving shreds ofcotton. The dolls were women and the cotton shred was "Old Glory. "High up on the tremendous cornice of one building a tiny man stood withall the calm gravity of a statue. He was unconcerned by the height, hewas only concerned in obtaining an eagle's eye view. 

About the landing-stage itself, the landing-stage where the newAmericans and the notabilities land, there was a wide space, kept clearby the police. Admirable police these, who can handle crowds with anypolice, who held us up with a wall of adamant until we showed ourletters from the New York Reception Committee (our only, and certainlynot the official, passes), and then not only let us through withoutfuss but helped us in every possible way to go everywhere and seeeverything. 

In this wide space were gathered the cars for the procession, and thenotabilities who were to meet the Prince, and the camera men who wereto snap him. Into it presently marched United States Marines andSeamen. A hefty lot of men, who moved casually, and with a slightsense of slouch as though they wished to convey "We're whales forfighting, but no damned militarists. "

Since the Prince was not entering New York by steamer--the mostthrilling way--but by means of a railway journey from Sulphur Springs, New York had taken steps to correct this mode of entry. He was not tomiss the first impact of the city. He would make a water entry, ifonly an abbreviated one, and so experience one of the Seven (if thereare not more, or less) Sensations of the World, a sight of the profileof Manhattan Island. 

The profile of Manhattan (blessed name that O. Henry has rolled sooften on the palate) is lyric. It is a _sierra_ of skyscrapers. It isa flight of perfect rockets, the fire of which has frozen into solidityin mid-soaring. It is a range of tall, narrow, poignant buildings thatmakes the mind think of giants, or fairies, or, anyhow, of creaturesnot quite of this world. It is one of the few things the imaginationcannot visualize adequately, and so gets from it a satisfaction and nota disappointment. 

This sight the Prince saw as he crossed in a launch from the New Jerseyside, and "the beauty and dignity of the towering skyline, " his ownwords, so impressed him that he was forced to speak of it time and timeagain during his visit to the city. And on top of that impression camethe second and even greater one, for, and again I use his own words, "men and women appeal to me even more than sights. " This secondimpression was "the most warm and friendly welcome that followed me allthrough the drive in the city. "

When the Prince landed he seemed to me a little anxious; he was at thethreshold of a great and important city, and his welcome was yet amatter of speculation. In less than fifteen minutes he was smiling ashe had smiled all through Canada, and, as in Canada, he was standing inhis car, formality forgotten, waving back to the crowd with afriendliness that matched the friendliness with which he was received. 

He faced the city of Splendid Heights with glances of wonder at theline of cornices that crowned the narrow canyon of Broadway, and roseup crescendo in a vista closed by the campanile of the WoolworthBuilding, raised like a pencil against the sky, fifty-five storeyshigh. On the beaches beneath these great crags, on the sidewalks, andpinned between the sturdy policemen--who do not turn backs to the crowdbut face it alertly--and the sheer walls was a lively and vast throng. And rising up by storeys was a lively and vast throng, hanging out ofwindows and clinging to ledges, perilous but happy in theirskyscraper-eye view. 

And from these high-up windows there began at once a characteristic"Down Town" expression of friendliness. Ticker-tape began to shootdownward in long uncoiling snakes to catch in flagpoles andwindow-ledges in strange festoons. Strips of paper began to descend inartificial snow, and confetti, and basket-loads of torn letter paper. All manner of bits of paper fluttered and swirled in the air, making agrey nebula in the distance; glittering like spangles of gold againstthe severe white cliffs of the skyscrapers when the sun caught them. 

On the narrow roadway the long line of automobiles was littered andstrung with paper, and the Prince had a mantle of it, and was stillcheery. He could not help himself. The reception he was getting wouldhave swept away a man of stone, and he has never even begun to be a manof stone. The pace was slow, because of the marching Marine escort, and people and Prince had full opportunity for sizing up each other. And both people and Prince were satisfied. 

Escorted by the motor-cyclist police, splendid fellows who chew gum anddo their duty with an astonishing certainty and nimbleness, the Princecame to the City Hall Square, where the modern Brontosaurs of commercelift mightily above the low and graceful City Hall, which has the lookof a _petite_ mother perpetually astonished at the size of the broodshe has reared. 

Inside the hall the Prince became a New Yorker, and received a civicwelcome. He expressed his real pride at now being a Freeman of the twogreatest cities in the world, New York and London, two cities thatwere, moreover, so much akin, and upon which depends to anextraordinary degree the financial health and the material as well asspiritual welfare of all continents. As for his welcome, he had learntto appreciate the quality of American friendship from contact withmembers of the splendid fighting forces that had come overseas, buteven that, he indicated, had not prepared him for the wonder of thegreeting he had received. 

Outside the City Hall the vast throng had waited patiently, and theyseemed to let their suppressed energy go as the Prince came out of theCity Hall to face the massed batteries of photographers, who would onlyallow snapshots to be his "pass" to his automobile. 

The throngs in financial "Down Town" gave way to the massed ranks ofworkers from the big wholesale and retail houses that occupy middle NewYork as the Prince passed up Broadway, the street that is not as broadas other streets, and the only one that wanders at its own fancy in akingdom of parallels and right-angles. At the corner where standsWanamaker's great store the crowd was thickest. Here was stationed aband in a quaint old-time uniform of red tunics, bell trousers andshakos, while facing them across the street was a squad of girls inpretty blue and white military uniforms and hats. 

Soon the line of cars swung into speed and gained Fifth Avenue, passingthe Flatiron building, which is now not a wonder. Such soaringstructures as the Metropolitan Tower, close by in Madison Square, havetaken the shine out of it, and in the general atmosphere of giants onedoes not notice its freakishness unless one is looking for it. 

Fifth Avenue is superb; it is the route of pageants by right of air andquality. It is Oxford Street, London, made broad and straight andclean. It has fine buildings along its magnificent reach, and somenoble ones. It has dignity and vivacity, it has space and it has anair. In the graceful open space about Madison Square there stood themassive Arch of Victory, under which America's soldiers had swung whenthey returned from the front. It was a temporary arch constructed withrealism and ingenuity; the Prince passed under it on his way up theavenue. 

He went at racing pace up to and into Central Park, that convincingaffectation of untrammelled Nature (convincing because it isuntrammelled), that beautiful residences of town dwellers look into. He swung to the left by the gracious pile of the Cathedral of St. Johnthe Divine, and out on to Riverside Park, that hangs its gardens overthe deep waters of the Hudson River. Standing isolated and with a fineserenity above green and water is General Grant's tomb, and at thewideflung white plaza of this the Prince dismounted, going on foot tothe tomb, and in the tomb, going alone to deposit a wreath on the greatsoldier's grave. 

Riverside Park had its flowering of bright people, and its multitude ofmotors to swarm after the Prince as he passed along the Drive, pausedto review a company of English-Americans who had served in the war, andthen continued on his way to the Yacht Club jetty, where he was to takeboat to the _Renown_. Lying in deep water high up in the town was thisone of the greatest of the modern warships, her greatness considerablydiminished by the buildings lifting above her. To her the Prince wentafter nearly three months' absence, and on her he lived during his stayin New York. 

II

When I say that the Prince lived on board the _Renown_, I mean that helived on her in his moments to spare. In New York the visitor is luckywho has a few moments to spare. New York's hospitality is electric. It rushes the guest off his feet. Even if New York is not definitelyengaged to entertain you at specific minutes, it comes round to know ifyou have everything you want, whether it can do anything for you. 

New York was calling on the Prince almost as soon as he went aboard. There was a lightning lunch to Mr. Wanamaker, the President of theReception Committee, and other members of that body, and then the firstof the callers began to chug off from the landing-stage towards the_Renown_. Deputations from all the foreign races that make New Yorkcame over the side, distinguished Americans called. And, beforeanybody else, the American journalist was there. 

The Prince was no stranger to the American journalist. They were oldfriends of his. Some of them had been with him in the MaritimeProvinces of Canada, and he had made friends with them at Quebec. Heremembered these writers and that friendship was renewed in a pleasantchat. The journalists liked him, too, though they admit that he has acharming way of disarming them. They rather admired the adroitdiplomacy with which he derailed such leading questions as thosedealing with the delicate and infinite subject of American girls:whether he liked them: and how much?

He met these correspondents quite frankly, appreciating at once thefact that it was through them that he could express to the people ofAmerica his intense feeling of thanks for the singular warmth ofAmerica's greeting. 

From seeing all these visitors the Prince had only time left to getinto evening dress and to be whirled off in time to attend a glitteringdinner given at the Waldorf-Astoria by Mrs. Henry Pomeroy Davidson onbehalf of the Council of the American Red Cross. It was a vivid andbeautiful function, but it was one that bridged the time beforeanother, and before ten o'clock the Prince was on the move again, and, amid the dance of the motor-bike "cops, " was being rushed off to theMetropolitan Opera House. 

He was swung down Broadway where the advertisements made a fantasy ofthe sky, a fantasy of rococo beauty where colours on the huge palletsof skyscrapers danced and ran, fused and faded, grouped and regrouped, each a huge and coherent kaleidoscope. 

Here a gigantic kitten of lights turned a complete somersault in theheavens as it played with a ball of wool. There six sky-high manikinswith matchstick limbs, went through an incandescent perpetual andsilent dance. In the distance was a gigantic bull advertisingtobacco--all down this heavenly vista there were these immense signs, lapping and over-lapping in dazzling chaos. And seen from one angle, high up, unsupported, floating in the very air and eerilyunsubstantial, was a temple lit by bale-fires that shone wanly at itsbase. It was merely a building superimposed upon a skyscraper, but inthe dark there was no skyscraper, and the amazing structure hung therelambent, silent, enigmatic, a Wagnerian temple in the sky. 

Broadway, which sprouts theatres as a natural garden sprouts flowers, was jewelled with lights, lights that in the clear air of thiscontinent shone with a lucidity that we in England do not know. Beforethe least lighted of these buildings the Prince stopped. He hadarrived at the austere temple of the high arts, the Metropolitan OperaHouse. 

Inside Caruso and a brilliant audience waited impatiently for hispresence. The big and rather sombre house was quick with colour andwith beauty. The celebrated "Diamond Horseshoe, " the tiers of thegalleries, and the floor of the house were vivid with dresses, shimmering and glinting with all the evasive shades of the spectrum, with here a flash of splendid jewels, there the slow and sumptuousflutter of a great ostrich fan. 

Part of the program had been played, but _Pagliacci_ and Caruso wereheld up while the vivid and ardent people craned out of their littlecrimson boxes in the Horseshoes and turned and looked up from thebright mosaic of the floor at the empty box which was to be thePrince's. 

There was a long roll of drums, and with a single movement theorchestra marched into the melody of "God bless the Prince of Wales, "and the Prince, looking extraordinarily embarrassed, came to the frontof the box. 

At once there was no melody of "God bless the Prince of Wales"perceptible; a wave of cheering and hand-clapping swept it away. Thewhole of the people on the floor of the house turned to look upward andto cheer. The people under the tiers crowded forward into the gangwaysuntil the gangways were choked, and the floor was a solid mass ofhumanity. Bright women and men correctly garbed imperilled their necksin the galleries above in order to look down. It was an unforgettablemoment, and for the Prince a disconcerting one. 

He stood blushing and looking down, wondering how on earth he was toendure this stark publicity. He was there poised bleakly for all tosee, an unenviable position. And there was no escape. He must standthere, because it was his job, and recover from the nervousness thathad come from finding himself so abruptly thrust on to this veritablepillar of Stylites in the midst of an interested and curious throng. 

The interest and the curiosity was intensely friendly. His personalitysuffered not at all from the fact that he had lost his calm at a momentwhen only the case-hardened could have remained unmoved. Hisembarrassment, indeed, made the audience more friendly, and it was witha sort of intimacy that they tittered at his familiar tricks ofnervousness, his fumbling at his tie, tugging of his coat lapels, thepassing of the hand over his hair, even the anxious use of hishandkerchief. 

And this friendly and soft laughter became really appreciative whenthey saw him tackle the chairs. There were two imposing and pompousgilt chairs at the front of the box, filling it, elbowing all minor, human chairs out of the way. The Prince turned and looked at them, andturned them out. He would have none of them. He was not there to be asuperior person at all; he was there to be human and enjoy humancompanionship. He had the front of the box filled with chairs, and hehad friends in to sit with him and talk with him when intervals in themusic permitted. And the audience was his friend for that; theyadmired him for the way he turned his back on formalities andceremonials. General Pershing, who gratifies one's romantic sense bybeing extraordinarily like one's imaginative pictures of a greatGeneral, came to sit with him, and there was another outburst ofcheering. I think that the _petits morceaux_ from the operas were butside-shows. Although Rosina Galli ravished the house with her dancing(how she must love dancing), opera glasses were swivelled more towardthe Royal box than to the stage, and the audience made a close andcurious study of every movement and every inflection of the Prince. 

The cheering broke out again, from people who crowded afresh into thegangways, when the Prince left, and in a mighty wave of friendlinessthe official program of the first day closed. 

III

There was an unofficial ending to the day. The Prince, with several ofhis suite, walked in New York, viewed this exhilarating city of lightsand vistas by night, got his own private and unformal view of thewonders of skyscraping townscape, the quick, nervous shuttle of thesidewalks, the rattle of the "Elevated, " the sight, for the first timein a long journey, of motor-buses. And without doubt he tasted thewonder of a city of automobiles still clinging to the hansom cab. 

About this outing there have been woven stories of a glamour whichmight have come from the fancy of O. Henry and the author of the"Arabian Nights" working in collaboration. The Prince is said to haveplunged into the bizarre landscape of the Bowery, which is Whitechapelbetter lighted, and better dressed with up-to-date cafes, where thereare dance halls in which with the fathomless seriousness of the modern, jazz is danced to violins and banjoes and the wailing ukelele. 

They tell me that Ichabod has been written across the romantic glory ofthe Bowery, and that for colour and the spice of life one has to gofurther west (which is Manhattan's East End) to Greenwich Village, where life strikes Chelsea attitudes, and where one descendssubterraneanly, or climbs over the roofs of houses to Matisse-likerestaurants where one eats rococo meals in an atmosphere of cigarettesmoke, rice-white faces, scarlet lips, and bobbed hair. But there areyet places in the Bowery to which one taxis with a thrill of hope, where the forbidden cocktail is served in a coffee cup, where winebottles are put on to the table with brown paper wrapped round them topreserve the fiction that they came from one's own private (and legal)store, where in bare, studiously Bowery chambers the hunter of a new_frisson_ sits and dines and hopes for the worst. 

The Bowery is dingy and bright; it has hawkers' barrows and chaoticshop windows. It has the curiosity-stimulating, cosmopolite air of alldockside areas, but to the Englishman accustomed to the picturesquebedragglement of East End costumes, it is almost dismayinglywell-dressed. Its young men have the leanness of outline that comesfrom an authentic American tailor. Its Jewesses have the neatcrispness of American fashion that gives their vivid beauty a new andsparkling note. It was astonishing the number of beautiful young womenone saw on the Bowery, but not astonishing when one recalls the numberof beautiful young women one saw in New York. Fifth Avenue at shoppingtime, for example, ceases to be a street: it becomes a pageant of youthand grace. 

The Prince, of course, may have gone into the Bowery, and walkedtherein with the air of a modern Caliph, but I myself have not heard ofit. I was told that he went for a walk to the house of a friend, andthat after paying a very pleasant and ordinary visit he returned to the_Renown_ to get what sleep he could before the adventure of another NewYork day. 

IV

The morning of Wednesday, November 19th, was devoted by the Prince tohigh finance; he went down to Wall Street and to visit the othertemples of the gold god. 

When one has become acclimated to the soaring upward rush of theskyscrapers (and one quite soon loses consciousness of them, for whereall buildings are huge each building becomes commonplace), when onestops looking upward, "Down Town" New York is strangely like the "City"area of London. Walking Broadway one might easily imagine oneself inthe neighbourhood of the Bank of England; Wall Street might easily be aturning out of Bishopsgate or Cannon Street. Broad Street, New York, is not so very far removed in appearance from Broad Street, London. 

There is the same preoccupied congestion of the same work-mazed people:clerks, typists (stenographers), book-keepers, messengers and masters, though, perhaps, the people of the New York business quarter do notwear the air of sadness those of London wear. 

And there is the same massive solidity of business buildings, greatblocks that house thirty thousand souls in the working day, and thesebuildings have the same air as their London brothers; that is, theyseem to be monuments to financial integrity (just as mahoganyfurniture, with a certain type, is an indication of "standing andweight") rather than offices. And if New York buildings are, on thewhole, more distinguished, are characterized by a better art, they are, on the other hand, not relieved by the humanity of the shops that givesan air of brightness to the London commercial area. In New York "DownTown" the shops are mainly inside the buildings, and it is in thecorridors of the big blocks that the clerk buys his magazines, papers, "candies, " sandwiches and cigars. 

The interiors of the buildings are ornate, they are sleek with marble, and quite often beautiful with it. They are well arranged; theskyscraper habit makes for short corridors, and you can always findyour man easily (as in the hotels) by the number of his room: thus, ifhis number is 1201 he is on the twelfth floor, 802 is on the eighth, and 2203 is on the twenty-second; each floor is a ten. 

Up to the floors one ascends by means of one of a fleet of elevators, some being locals and some being expresses to a certain floor and localbeyond. Whether the fleet is made up of two or ten lifts, there isalways a man to control them, a station-master of lifts who gives theword to the liftboys. To the Englishman he is a new phenomenon. Heseems a trifle unnecessary [but he may be put there by law]; he is soonseen to be one of a multitude of men in America who "stand over" othermen while they do the job. 

The unexpected thing in buildings so fine as this, occupied by men whoare addicted to business, is that the offices have rather a makeshiftair. The offices I saw in America do not compare in comfort with theoffices I know in England. There is a bleakness, an aridity about themthat makes English business rooms seem luxurious in comparison. Italked of this phenomenon with a friend, instancing one great office, to be met with surprise and told: "Why! But that office is held up asan example of what offices should be like. We are agitating to getours as good as that. " After this I did not talk about offices. 

The "Down Town" restaurants bring one vividly back to London. They areunderground, and there is the same thick volume of masculinity andmasculine talk in them. They are a trifle more ornate, and the food isbetter cooked and of infinitely greater variety (they would not beAmerican otherwise), but over all the air is the same. 

Into the familiar business atmosphere of this quarter the Prince cameearly. He drove between crowds and there were big crowds at the pointswhere he stopped--at the Woolworth building and at Trinity Church, thatstands huddled and dwarfed beneath the basilicas of business. Theintense interest of his visit began when he arrived at the StockExchange. 

The business on the floor was in full swing when he came out on to themarble gallery of the vast, square marble hall of the Exchange, and thebusy swarm of money-gathering men beneath his eyes immediately stoppedto cheer him. To look down, as he did, was to look down upon the floorof some great bazaar. The floor is set with ranks of kiosks spacedapart, about which men congregate only to divide and go all ways; thesekiosks might easily be booths. The floor itself is in constantmovement; it is a disturbed ant-heap with its denizens speeding aboutalways in unconjectural movements. Groups gather, thrust hands andfingers upward, shout and counter-shout, as though bent on working up afracas; then when they seem to have succeeded they make notes in smallbooks and walk quietly away. Messengers, who must work by instinct, weave in and out of the stirring of ants perpetually. In a line ofcubicles along one side of the Exchange, crowds of men seemed to befighting each other for a chance at the telephone. 

Two of the tremendous walls of this hall are on the street, and superbwindows allow in the light. On the two remaining walls are giganticblackboards. Incessantly, small flaps are falling on these blackboardsrevealing numbers. They are the numbers of members who have been"called" over the 'phone or in some other way. The blackboards are ina constant flutter, the tiny flaps are always falling or shutting, asnumbers appear and disappear, and the boards are starred with numberswaiting patiently for the eye of the member on the floor to look up andbe aware of them. 

The Prince stood on the high gallery under the high windows, andwatched with vivid curiosity the bustling scene below. He asked anumber of eager questions, and the strange silent dance of numbers onthe big blackboards intrigued him greatly. Underneath him the membersgathered in a great crowd, calling up to him to come down on the floor. There was a jolly eagerness in their demands, and the Prince, as hewent, seemed to hesitate as though he were quite game for theadventure. But he disappeared, and though the Bears and the Bullswaited a little while for him, he did not reappear. Those who knewthat a full twelve-hour program could only be accomplished by followingthe timetable with rigid devotion had had their way. 

From the Stock Exchange the Prince went to the Sub-Treasury, andwatched, fascinated, the miracle work of the money counters. Theintricacies of currency were explained to him, and he was shown the menwho went through mounds of coin, with lightning gestures separating thegood from the bad with their instinctive finger-tips and with theaccuracy of one of Mr. Ford's uncanny machines. He was told that thetouch of these men was so exquisite that they could detect a "dud" coininstantly, and, to test them, such a coin was produced and marked, andwell hidden in a pile of similar coins. The fingers of the teller wentthrough the pile like a flash, and as he flicked the good coins towardshim, and without ceasing his work, a coin span out from the masstowards the Prince. It was the coin he had marked. 

V

Passing among these business people and driving amid the quick crowds, the Prince had been consolidating the sense of intimate friendship thathad sprung up on the previous day. A wise American pressman had saidto me on Tuesday:

"New York people like what they've read about the Prince. They'll comeout today to see if what they have read is true. Tomorrow they'll comeout because they love him. And each day the crowds will get better. "

This proved true. The warmth of New York's friendliness increased asthe days went on. The scene at the lunch given by the New York Chamberof Commerce proved how strong this regard had grown. The scene wasremarkable because of the character and the quality of the men present. It was no admiration society. It was no gathering of sentimentalists. The men who attended that lunch were men not only of internationalreputation, but of international force, men of cautious fibreaccustomed to big encounters, not easily moved to emotion. And theyfell under the charm of the Prince. 

One of them expressed his feelings concerning the scene to me. 

"He had it over us all the time, " he said, laughing. "There we were, several hundreds of grey-headed, hardened old stiffs, most of us overtwice his age, and we stood up and yelled like college freshmen when hehad finished speaking to us. 

"What did he say to us? Nothing very remarkable. He told us howuseful we old ones in the money market had been as a backbone to theboys in the firing line. He told us that he felt that the war hadrevealed clearly the closeness of the relationship between the twoAnglo-Saxon nations, how their welfare was interlocked and how theprosperity of each was essential to the prosperity of the other, and heagreed with the President of the Chamber's statement that British andAmerican good faith and good will would go far to preserve thestability of the world. There's nothing very wonderful to that. It'strue enough, but not altogether unknown. .. . It was his manner thatcaught hold of us. The way he speaks, you see. His nervousness, andhis grit in conquering his nervousness. His modesty; his twinkle ofhumour, all of him. He's one fine lad. I tell you we've had some bigmen in the Chamber in the last two years, but it's gilt-edged truththat none of the big ones had the showing that lad got today. "

From the Chamber of Commerce the Prince went to the Academy of Musicwhere there was a picture and variety show staged for him, and which heenjoyed enormously. The thrill of this item of the program was ratherin the crowd than in the show. It was an immense crowd, and for onceit vanquished the efficient police and swarmed about His Royal Highnessas he entered the building. While he was inside it added to itsstrength rather than diminished, and in the face of this crisis one ofthose men whose brains rise to emergencies had the bright idea ofgetting the Prince out by the side door. The crowd had also had thatbright idea and the throng about the side door was, if anything, moredense than at the front. Through this laughing and cheering masssquads of good-humoured police butted a thread of passage for the happyPrince. 

The throng inside Madison Square Garden about the arena of the HorseShow was more decorous, as became its status, but it did not let thatstifle its feelings. The Prince passed through from a cheering crowdoutside to the bright, sharp clapping of those inside. He passed roundthe arena between ranks of Salvation Army lassies, who held, instead ofbarrier ropes, broad scarlet ribbons. 

There was a laugh as he touched his hair upon gaining the starkpublicity of his box, and the laugh changed to something of a cheerwhen he caught sight of the chairs of pomp, two of them in frigidisolation, elbowing out smaller human fry. All knew from his veryattitude what was going to happen to those chairs. And it happened. The chairs vanished. Small chairs and more of them took their place, and the Prince sat with genial people about him. 

The arena was a field of brightness. It was delightfully decoratedwith green upon lattice work. Over the competitors' entrance werecanvas replicas of Tudor houses. In the ring the Prince saw manybeautiful horses, fine hunters, natty little ponies pulling nattiercarriages, trotters of mechanical perfection, and big lithe jumpers. In the middle of the jumping competition he left his box and went intothe ring, and spent some time there chatting with judges andcompetitors, and watching the horses take the hurdles and gates fromclose quarters. 

Leaving the building there happened one of those vivid little incidentswhich speak more eloquently than any effort of oratory could of thekinship of the two races in their war effort. A group of men inuniform who had been waiting by the exit sprang to attention as he cameup. They were all Americans. They were all in British uniform--mostof them in British Flying Corps uniform. As the Prince came up, theyclicked round in a smart "Left turn, " and marched before him out of thebuilding. 

The Prince from thence on vanished for the day into a round ofsemi-social functions, but he did not escape the crowds. 

Walking up Fifth Avenue with friends shortly before dinner-time, wecame upon a bunched jumble of people outside the "Waldorf-Astoria. " Itwas a crowd that a man in a hurry could not argue with. It filled thebroad street, and it did not care if it impeded traffic. We were notin a hurry, so we stood and looked. I asked my friends what washappening here, and one of them chuckled and answered:

"They've got him again. "

"Him? Who--you can't mean the Prince? He's on _Renown_ now, resting, or getting ready for a dinner. There's nothing down for him. "

My friend simply chuckled again. 

"Who else would it be?" he said. "How they do gather round waiting forthat smile of his. Flies round a honey-pot. Ah, I thought so. "

The Prince made a dash of an exit from the hotel. He jumped into thecar, and at once there was a forest of hands and handkerchiefs andflags waving, and his own hand and hat seemed to go up and wave as partof one and the same movement. It was a spontaneous "Hallo, People!Hallo, Prince!" A jolly affair. The motor started, pushed through thecrowd. There was a sharp picture of the Prince half standing, halfkneeling, looking back and laughing and waving to the crowd. Then hewas gone. 

The men and women of the throng turned away smiling, as thoughsomething good had happened. 

"They've seen him. They can go home now, " said my friend. "My, ain'tthey glad about themselves. .. . And isn't he the one fine scout?"

VI

When the Prince made his appearance on Thursday, November 20th, in theuniform of a Welsh Guardsman he came in for a startling ovation. Notonly were many people gathered about the Yacht Club landing-stage andalong the route of his drive, but at one point a number of ladiespelted him with flowers. Startled though the Prince was, he kept hissmile and his sense of humour. He said dryly that he had never knownwhat it was to feel like a bride before, and he returned this volleywith his friendly salute. 

He was then setting out to the Grand Central Station for his trip upthe Hudson to West Point, the Military Academy of the United States. 

In the superb white station, under a curved arch of ceiling as blue asthe sky, he took the full force of an affection that had been growingsteadily through the visit. The immense floor of the building wasdense and tight with people, and the Prince, as he came to the balconythat made the stair-head was literally halted by the great gust ofcheering that beat up to him, and was forced to stand at the salute fora full minute. 

The journey to West Point skirted the Hudson, where lovely view afterlovely view of the piled-up and rocky further shore tinted in therusset and gold of the dying foliage came and went. There was a rimeof ice already in the lagoons, and the little falls that usuallytumbled down the rocks were masses of glittering icicles. 

The castellated walls of West Point overhang the river above a sharpcliff; the buildings have a dramatic grouping that adds to the extremebeauty of the surroundings. Toward this castle on the cliff the Princewent by a little steam ferry, was taken in escort by a smart body ofAmerican cavalrymen, and in their midst went by automobile up the roadto the grey towers of West Point. 

Immediately on his arrival at the saluting point on the great campusthe horizon-blue cadets, who will one day be the leaders of theAmerican army, began to march. 

Paraded by the buildings, they fell into columns of companies withmechanical precision. With precise discipline they moved out on to thefield, the companies as solid as rocks but for the metronomic beat oflegs and arms. 

They were tall, smart youths, archaic and modern in one. With longblue coats, wide trousers, shakos, broad white belts, as neat aspainted lines, over breast and back, and, holding back the flaps ofcapes, they looked figures from the fifties. But the swing of themarching companies, the piston-like certainty of their action, the coldand splendid detachment of their marching gave them all the _flare_[Transcriber's note: flair?] of a _corps d'élite_. 

Forming companies almost with a click on the wide green, they salutedand stood at attention while the Prince and his party inspected thelines. Then, the Prince at the saluting point again, the threecompanies in admirable order marched past. There was not a flaw in therigid ranks as they swept along, their eyes right, the red-sashed "fouryear men" holding slender swords at the salute. 

The Prince lunched with the officers, and after lunch the cadetsswarmed into the room to hear him speak, having first warmed up theatmosphere with a rousing and prolonged college yell. Having spoken inpraise of their discipline and bearing, the Prince was made the subjectof another yell, and more, was saluted with the college whistle, athing unique and distinctive, that put the seal upon his visit. 

That night the Prince played host upon _Renown_, giving a brilliantdinner to his friends in New York. This was the only other ceremony ofthe day. 

VII

Friday, November 21st, the Prince's last day in New York, was anextraordinarily full one, and that full not merely in program, but inemotion. In that amazing day it seemed to me that the people of thissplendid city sought to express with superb eloquence the regard theyfelt for him, seemed to make a point of trying to make his last daymemorable. 

The morning was devoted to a semi-private journey to Oyster Bay, inorder that the Prince might place a wreath on the tomb of PresidentRoosevelt. The Prince had several times expressed his admiration forthe great and forceful American who represented so much of what wasindividual in the national character, and his visit to the burial-placewas a tribute of real feeling. 

After lunch at the Piping Rock Club he returned to _Renown_, where hehad planned to hold a reception after his own heart to a thousand ofNew York's children. 

On _Renown_ a score of "gadgets" had been prepared for the fun of thechildren. The capstans had been turned into roundabouts, a switchbackand a chute had been fixed up, the deck of the great steel monster hadbeen transformed into fairyland, while a "scrumptious" tea in a prettytea lounge had been prepared all out of Navy magic. 

The tugs that were to bring off the guests, however, brought few thatcould come under the heading of "kiddies. " Those that were not quitegrown up, were in the young man and young woman stage. Fairyland hadto be abandoned. Roundabout and switchback and chute were abandoned, and only that "scrumptious" tea remained in the program. It was apleasant afternoon, but not a "kiddies'" afternoon. 

The evening was quick with crowds. 

It began in a drive through crowds to the Pilgrims' Dinner at the PlazaHotel, and that, in itself, was a crowd. The Plaza is none of yourbijou caravanserais. It is vast and vivid and bright, as a New Yorkhotel can be, and that is saying a good deal. But it was not vastenough. One great marble room could not contain all the guests, another and another was taken in, so that the banquet was actuallyspread over three or four large chambers opening out of the mainchamber. Here the leading figures of America and the leading Britonsthen in New York met together in a sort of breezy informality, and theygave the Prince a most tremendous welcome. 

And when he began to speak--after the nimble scintillations of Mr. Chauncey Depew--they gave him another. And they rose up in a body, andmoved inward from the distant rooms to be within earshot--a sight forthe Messenger in _Macbeth_, for he would have seen a moving grove ofgolden chair legs, held on high, as the diners marched with theirseating accommodation held above their heads. 

Crowds again under the vivid lights of the streets, as the Prince droveto the mighty crowd waiting for him in the Hippodrome. The Hippodromeis one of the largest, if it is not the largest, music-hall in theworld. It has an enormous sweep of floor, and an enormous sweep ofgalleries. The huge space of it takes the breath away. It was packed. 

As the Prince entered his box, floor and galleries rose up with asudden and tremendous surge, and sent a mighty shout to him. TheNational Anthems of England and America were obliterated in the gust ofaffectionate noise. Minutes elapsed before that great audienceremembered that it was at the play, and that the Prince had come to seethe play. It sat down reluctantly, saving itself for his departure, watching him as he entered into enjoyment of the brave and grandiosespectacular show on the stage. 

And when he rose to go the audience loosed itself again. It held himthere with the power of its cheering. It would not let him stir fromthe building until it had had a word from him. It was dominant, it hadits way. In answer to the splendid outburst the Prince could donothing but come to the edge of his box and speak. 

In a clear voice that was heard all over the building he thanked themfor the wonderful reception he had received that night, and in New Yorkduring the week. "I thank you, " he said, "and I bid you all goodnight. "

Then he went out into the cheering streets. 

It was an astonishing display in the street. The throng was so dense, the shouting so great that the sound of it drove into the silent housesof other theatres. And the audiences in those other theatres caughtthe thrill of it. They "cut" their plays, came pouring out into thestreet to join the throng and the cheering; it was through thiscarnival of affection that the Prince drove along the streets to areception, and a brilliant one, given by Mr. Wanamaker, whose abilityas Chairman of the Reception Committee had largely helped to make thePrince's visit to New York so startling a success. 

VIII

On that note of splendid friendliness the Prince's too short stay inAmerica ended. On Saturday, November 22nd, he held a reception on_Renown_, saying good-bye to endless lines of friendly people of allclasses and races who thronged the great war vessel. 

All these people crowded about the Prince and seemed loth to part withhim, and he seemed just as unwilling to break off an intimacy only justbegun. Only inexorable time and the Admiralty ended the scene, and thegreat ship with its escort of small, lean war-craft moved seaward alongthe cheering shore. 

Crowds massed on the grass slope under Riverside Drive, and on theesplanade itself. The skyscrapers were cheering grandstands, as theships steamed along the impressive length of Manhattan. They passedthe Battery, where he had landed, and the Narrows, where the escortingboats left him. Then _Renown_ headed for Halifax, where his tour ended. 

Certainly America and the Prince made the best of impressions on eachother. There is much in his quick and modern personality that findsimmediate satisfaction in the American spirit; much in himself that theAmerican responds to at once. When he declared, as he did time andtime again, that he had had a wonderful time, he meant it withsincerity. And of his eagerness to return one day there can be nodoubt. 

Of all the happy moments on this long and happy tour, this visit toAmerica, brief as it was, was one of the happiest. It was a brilliantfinale to the brilliant Canadian days. 

THE END