d galleries of the hotel to cheer him as he came.

In the great dining-room was a great crowd, a crowd that seemed to be
growing out of a wilderness of flowers. There was an amazing profusion
and beauty of flowers all through that room. And not merely were there
flowers for decoration, but with a graceful touch the Mayor and the
City Fathers, who gave that lunch, had set a perfect carnation at the
plate of every guest as a favour for his buttonhole.

The gathering was as vivid as its setting. Gallic beards wagged
amiably in answer to clean-shaven British lips. The soutane and
amethyst cross sat next the Anglican apron and gaiters, and the khaki
of two tongues had war experiences on one front translated by an
interpreter.

It was an eager gathering that crowded forward from angles of the room
or stood up on its seats in order to catch every word the Prince
uttered, and it could not cheer warmly enough when he spoke with real
feeling of the mutual respect that was the basis of the real
understanding between the French-speaking and the English-speaking
sections of the Canadian nation.

The reality of that mutual respect was borne out by the throngs that
gathered in the streets when the Prince left the hotel. It was through
a mere alley in humanity that his car drove to La Fontaine Park, and at
the park there was an astonishing gathering.

In the centre of the grass were several thousand veteran soldiers who
had served in the war. They were of all arms, from Highlanders to
Flying Men, and, ranked in battalions behind their laurel-wreathed
standards, they made a magnificent showing. Masses of wounded soldiers
in automobiles filled one side of the great square, humanity of both
sexes overflowed the other three sides. Ordinary methods of control
were hopeless. The throng of people simply submerged all signs of
authority and invaded the parade ground until on half of it it was
impossible to distinguish khaki in ranks from men and women and
children sightseers in chaos.

In the face of this crowd Montreal had to invent a new method of
authority. 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. The
motor-cycle police were sent against the throng. The cycles, with
their side-cars, swept down on the mass, charging cleverly until the
speeding wheels seemed about to drive in