t is as comfortable as it is beautiful.

It faces across its red-tiled, white-balustered terraces and vivid
lawns, a sharp river valley that strolls winding amid the mountains.
And just as this river turns before it, it tumbles down a rock slide in
a vast mass of foam, so that even when one cannot see its beauty at
night, 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 sulphur
springs of Banff, and here Canadians seem to bathe all day until
dance-time--and even slip back for a moonlight bath between dancing and
bed.

It is an ideal place for a holiday, for there is golfing, climbing,
walking and bathing for those whose athletic instincts are not
satisfied with beauty, and automobile rides amid beauty. And it is, of
course, a perfect place for honeymooners, as one will find by
consulting the Visitors' Book, for with characteristic frankness the
Canadians 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 the
immensities of Banff, or travelling in a swift car along its beautiful
roads. There are most things in Banff to make man happy, even a coal
mine, sitting like a black and incongruous gnome in the heart of
enchanted hills, to provide heat against mountain chills.

The Prince saw the sulphur spring that bubbles out of quicksand in a
little cavern deep in the hillside--a cavern made almost impregnable by
smell. In the old days the determined bather had to shin down a pole
through a funnel, and take his curative bath in the rocky oubliette of
the spring. Now the Government has arranged things better. It has
carved a dark tunnel to the pool, and carried the water to two big
swimming tanks on the open hillside, where one can take a plunge with
all modern accessories.

III

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

At Lake Louise Station the railway is five thousand feet above the
sea-level, but the Chateau and Lake are yet higher, and the Prince
climbed to them by a motor railway that rises clinging to the
mountain-side, until it twists into woods and mounts upward by the side
of a blue-and-white stream dashing downward, with an occasional
breather in a deep pool, ov