n its own fashion as
the Falls themselves. He visited the big, white stone power-house to
examine with the greatest interest the machinery that traps the
tremendous latent power of the plunging water, harnesses it, and so
turns the wheels of a thousand industries, and lights hundreds of towns.

Partly walking, partly riding in a car of the scenic tramway, he
followed the line of the Falls and river downward to where the
Whirlpool Rapids curdle and eddy within the deep walls of the gorge.
Over on the American side he saw the castles and keeps of modern
industry: power-houses and factories, springing up from the very rock
of the cliff, and almost forming part of it. On the Canadian side the
people have not let their utilitarian sense run away with them to such
an extent. Where America edges the gorge with commercial buildings,
Canada has constructed her beautiful promenade, which continues the
comeliness of the Falls Park through a pretty residential district.
America has Prospect Park and the very beautiful Goat Island Park on
its side, but these are not extended along the gorge.

Below the Whirlpool Rapids the Prince descended to the level of the
river; later, he came to the top of the gorge again, and crossed,
swinging two hundred feet above the water on the spidery ropes of the
aerial railways, the great pool at the end of the river canyon, into
which the pent-up water pushes swirling before turning at right angles
towards Lake Ontario.

The Prince did not go over to the American side, but America came to
him. The white number-plates of New York State seemed to be everywhere
on automobiles, even outnumbering the yellow of Ontario. One had the
impression that every American motor-owner within gasolene radius had
decided that he would take his Sunday spin to Niagara Falls, and on to
the Canadian side of the Falls to boot.

American cars were coming over the bridges all day, and American owners
waited cheerfully along the route to get a glimpse of "The Boy," as the
American papers called the Prince. They joined themselves to the very
friendly crowd of Canadians who gathered everywhere along the route,
and their cheering, mingling with Canadian cheering, showed that
friendliness is not an affair that frontiers can manipulate.

As a matter of fact, the frontier at Niagara is the most imaginary of
lines. Now that the war is over there is no difficulty in getting to
either side. And there is no change in atmosph