There was at least no bettering of conditions at Niagara between 1850 and 1881, when more or less active steps began to be taken for the freeing of the beautiful shrine. True, Goat Island was kept ever in its primeval beauty, which by far counterbalanced the Porter mills on Bath Island; as William Dean Howells wrote, while these "were impertinent to the scenery they were picturesque with their low-lying, weatherworn masses in the shelter of the forest trees beside the brawling waters' head. But nearly every other assertion of private rights in the landscape was an outrage to it." [Illustration: Winter Scene in Prospect Park.] One of the strongest direct appeals to the nation's conscience in behalf of enslaved Niagara appeared in 1881 and is worthy of reproduction, if only for its vivid description of the status of affairs at the Falls at that time: The homage of the world has thrown a halo round Niagara for those who have not seen it, and Niagara has left its own impress upon every thoughtful person who has seen it, and every unpleasant feature therefore is brought into bold relief. Where the carcass is, there also will the eagles be gathered together. A continuous stream of open-mouthed travellers has offered rare opportunities to the quick-witted money-makers of all kinds; the contrast between the place and its surroundings, perceived at first by the few, has been for years trumpeted throughout the country by the number of correspondents who write periodical accounts of the season, and to-day every sane adult citizen may be said to know two things about Niagara: first, that there is a great waterfall there, and second, that a man's pockets will be emptied more quickly there than anywhere else in the Union. . . . Niagara is being destroyed as a summer resort. It has long since ceased to be a place where people stay for a week or more, and it is now given up to second-class tourists, and excursionists who are brought by the car-load. The constant fees, the solicitation of the hackmen, the impertinences of the store-keepers, have actually been so potent that it is a rare thing to find any of the best people here. The hotels are not to blame; the Cataract House for instance, is a quiet, comfortable hotel, excellently managed, and in the hands of gentlemanly proprietors, and it is probably by no means alone in this respect. The hotel-keepers are aware of the state of things; they do not encourage the excursion traffic. Some even seek to avoid the patronage of the excursionists. From all over the country--from places as far as Louisville--the railway company bring the people by thousands: they pour out of the station in a stream half a mile long. Of course, like locusts, they sweep everything before them. Several places--Prospect Park, for instance--cater to the tastes of this class alone. Several