I’ve had it in my mind that you
   Perchance would like to know
Some things about our old hotels
   Of sixty years ago ;
Some have felt the blight of fire,
   Of some there’s now no trace,
And some have passed to other use,
   And some to new give place.

So let us take a jaunt along
   The old way into town,
From Lewiston and Rochester,
   Along Ontario down
To where it joined and made the turn
   From old-time end of Main,
Ere new built road from Buffalo
   Put Falls street on the gain.

First at the bend as we came in,
   Pleased comment to arouse,
Now out of use, then looming up,
   The New Niagara House ;
And many noted hotel men
   Kept it with varied luck,
As long ago as sixty-three
   ’Twas kept by Alvah Gluck.

Now let us pass along the road
   About a block or so,
The old St. Lawrence of that time
   But few of it may know ;
’Twas bought by Averil, genial host,
   Well known ’mong traveling men,
By him the house was newly named,
   Was called ‘The Averil’ then. 

But changing times came on apace,
   Its hotel life was o’er,
There E. M. Clark for many  years
   Kept furniture in store ;
When our Salvation Army came
   To give us goodly care,
Till their new citadel was built
   They had their barracks there.

A little farther ’long the street
   The Western Hotel, then
The cradle of success ’twas for
   Our prince of hotel men;
’Twas there in ’51, I think,
   That Alvah Gluck began
In modest way his long career
   As successful hotel man.

Adjacent, corner Falls and Main,
   The old-time Falls Hotel,
A grand three-storied structure ’twas,
   As such I mind it well ;
Three stories of piazzas,
   On front and side, L-shape,
To prove in time of danger
   A handy fire escape.

And so it proved one summer morn,
   As guests their safety find,
Fast fleeing from their smoke-filled rooms,
   With surging flames behind ;
For where the long piazzas end
   Their safety soon is found
On lattice work, for ladder steps,
They safely reach the ground.

And high above the cupola
   Old Glory floated out,
And as it waved ’mid smoke and flame
   Woke many a loyal shout ;
Dense rolls the smoke, the sparks leap high,
   And flames the cupola fill,
But higher, as if held on high,
   Old Glory triumphs still.

But not for long, the tongues of flame,
   Reach higher for their prey,
The tense line snaps—in shreds of flame
   Old Glory floats away ;
And flaming shreds of glory
   Were waited on the breeze.
Or were hung in fiery festoons
   Upon the nearby trees.

Across the way, as one might say,
   The International stood,
A good hotel, as hotels went,
   In fact some said too good ;
For village days were not the days
   That some would proudly vaunt,
And many found it, on their hands,
   A hotel elephant.

Rathbone of Buffalo began
   In Eighteen forty-nine,
Foundations walls were quickly built,
   All seemed progressing fine ;
Financial difficulties came,
   A halt was forced to call,
They had a good foundation wall,
   But simply, that was all.

Then Childs thought he would take a hand
   And better the condition,
’Twas finished, but financially,
   Seemed but a repetition ;
Then Osborne, Coleman, Bush, et al,
   Each tried the hotel game,
But everything seemed coming right
   When J. T. Fulton came.

And all went swimmingly at first,
   Success seemed crowding fast,
Out fell the bottom all at once,
   The dream again was past.
But for a time firm hands took hold,
   And things were bound to go,
Progressive men took hold of it—
   Gluck, Ware and Delano.

John F, McDonald, now we find,
   Good fortune he compels,
It seems to be with him a fad 
   This owning big hotels ;
He’s taken our ancient hostelrie,
   All olden parts revised,
And turned it out a grand hotel,
   In all things modernized.

’Tis but a step I take you now,
   Corner of Bridge and Main,
For trace of what I write of now
   You’d look today in vain ;
But here upon this corner stood
   Till Eighteen fifty four,
The first of village day hotels,
   The Eagle Hotel of yore.

No grand hotel was it at all,
   But just a village inn,
And yet, what guests assembled there,
   What sumptuous fare within ;
For it was in the plenteous time
   Of fish and forest game,
High cost of living troubled not
   The favored guests who came.

In Eighteen fifty-five ’twas moved,
   For time such changes bring ;
The great hotel extended then
   By south and western wing ;
As billiard parlor, servant’s hall,
   A laundry at the last,
So served the Eagle, till torn down,
   Its history was past.

Now move along till we have reached
   The end of Old Main street,
And here, most famous of them all,
   The Cataract we meet ;
’Twas built in Eighteen thirty-two,
   Full long before our day,
For half a century and more,
   Its name and fame held sway.

It’s fame had traveled far afield,
   Not only here at home,
In Europe you would hear of it,
   Where’er you chanced to roam ;
’Twas added to as years went on,
   As wing by wing it grew,
Until, most famous of them all,
   No rivalry it knew.

The river wing reached out until
   The rapids laved its base,
But, ah ! the State took that away,
   Of it there’s now no trace ;
How oft the patrons left the heat
   Of sun-scorched thoroughfare,
On balconies breathed purest air
   From river breezes there.

’Tis antiquated now and old,
   Out-dated one might say ;
And still, by guests of long ago,
   ’Tis sought for e’en today ;
And if today it were rebuilt
   On modern hotel plan,
No introduction it would need,
  Its name the years would span.

One hotel more, beyond the race,
   How many hold in mind ?
The River House, well known indeed,
   in years far left behind ;
Their baths, well known to all who came,
   They came again, who knew,
Returning patrons, year by year,
   Sure patronage they drew.

The Cataract House cast envious eyes
   For years upon the place,
Then came their chance, they bought it in,
   Removed of it all trace ;
For such is life, and worldly strife,
   We sip Dame Fortune’s cup,
And all the world is just the same—
   Big eat the little up.

Up Falls street way, that early day,
   Hotels indeed were few,
As memory traces back the street
   It brings to mind but two ;
The Franklin House, long, rambling, old,
   Substantial though, of stone,
From 1840 to that time
   Its ups and downs had known.

And still as years went on, what change
   Of managers it knew,
And as the years kept creeping by,
   More antiquated grew ;
Then Wm. Maher the corner bought,
   Took half the building neat,
Rube Porter took the other half,
   Extending down Falls street.

Across the way, diagonal,
   The new built Empire stood,
And as hotels went at that day,
   Might well be counted good ;
Here Wm. Samways then essayed
   A try at hotel life,
Two seasons so, it proved no go,
   He then gave up the strife.

Ransome and Avery next essayed
   To see what could be done,
Dropped the Empire from the sign,
   Called it the Clarendon ;
It was a grand high-sounding name,
   But yet it would not do,
A two years’ test, it proved enough,
   And they as well were through.

Then Alvah Gluck, whose hotel life,
   Had been successful, planned,
Sized up the venture carefully,
   Then boldly took a hand ;
Refitting and refurnishing
   Till all was spick and span.
He dropped the grand high-sounding name,
   Called it The American.

Success attended from the first,
   Each year increased its fame,
Then sad mischance, it felt the blight
   Of fierce devouring flame ;
’Twas war time then, and ’twas not thought
   Expedient to rebuild,
So for a time the cellar lay
   With stone and debris filled.

Now Manager Gluck was not the man
   To idly stand and wait,
So he made ready for a bout
   At fisticuffs with fate.
He kept the Franklin and Niagara,
   And set each one in order,
And for a time the Clifton House,
   Far famed, across the border.

’Tis Sixty-five, things now revive,
   The American site is cleared,
A larger and a finer house
   New enterprise has reared ;
When lo! ere it was finished quite,
   While shavings strewed the floor,
It fell a prey to flames again,
   In ruins lay once more.

But this time enterprise would not
   By adverse fate be held,
Ere scarce the walls have touched the ground
   They’re starting to rebuild ;
Again the new hotel is built,
   And famous it became,
’Twas known by travellers far and wide,
   The Spencer, now the name.

A quarter of a century here
   By Proprietor Gluck was spent,
Until in spring of ’92
   Once more by flame it went ;
Three times and out, it was enough,
   No more they tempt fate’s shock,
A business, office building now,
   You find the great Gluck block.

While on the subject of hotels,
   Perchance ’twere well that I
Should mention some old nearby ones,
   Just give their names and try
And bring them back into the mind
   Of those who knew them there,
Or make it plain, to newer friends,
   The places once they were.

Now, in our North End village days,
   When Bellevue was its name,
Two fair hotels stood oposite ;
   One fell a prey to flame.
The American, a goodly house,
   Long since it passed away,
Where it once stood now stands the stores
   Of Silberbergs today.

The United States, across the way,
   Conjestedly is set
’Mong buildings crowding on each side,
   But there it’s standing yet ;
The old Frontier, top of the hill,
   That led down to the boat,
’Twas built in Eighteen fifty-four,
   Was then a place of note.

When the great Suspension Bridge was built,
   And trains first crossing there,
The grand Monteagle House was built
   With prospects more than fair ;
But when you come to buck with fate
   You’ll find you simply can’t ;
The hotel’s gone, now in its place
   A great cold storage plant.

When the North End depot first was built,
   Two new hotels there came,
The Western Hotel one, and one
   The Central House by name ;
The Western’s standing there today,
   The Central House is gone,
Went up in smoke and flame one night,
   But more of that anon.

Now, over “ome,” the Clifton House,
   That could not well be missed,
’Mong earliest built of our hotels,
   I find upon the list ;
First built in Eighteen thirty-four,
   Remodeled Forty-eight,
Burned Sunday morn, June 26th,
   Of Eighteen ninety-eight.

’Twas thought ’twould quickly be rebuilt,
   But there was nothing doing,
For years the walls lay as they fell, 
   A sad, unsightly ruin ; 
But enterprise at length woke up,
   The walls arose once more,
Again the Clifton is itself,
   Rebuilt in Nineteen Four.

The Prospect House, for royal style,
   Acquired a world-wide fame,
And from the prospect there obtained
   It well deserved its name ;
The government must have a park,
   Removal was in order,
Dave thought ’twould be the best to move
   His house this side the border.

The Union House, I near forgot,
   Sure, Dennis Lane would rise
In ghostly form and gaze at me
   With sorrow in his eyes
Should I forget the goodly house
   Where old Hibernians met,
Methinks in cellar corners, songs
   Of Cdan-na-Gael ring yet.

For years ’twas called the Windsor House,
   D’ye moind the windy pane
We voted through at ’lection times,
   While we stood in the rain.
The hotel’s now the Pittsburg called,
   It shows of time the wear,
How different from the palmy days
   When it was first built there.

Now here, perchance, I well might rest,
   And call my task well done,
Though village days are not yet o’er
   Nor city days yet won ;
From Seventy-one to Ninety-one,
   Years twenty intervene,
We’ll look ’mong hotels’ of those years
   And see what may be seen.

The Hotel Kaltenbach was built
   Full thirty years ago,
first class can only be applied,
   The only class they know ;
Location fine, the prospect grand,
   Each guest remembers well,
Located far from traffic’s din,
   The quiet, home hotel.

The Temperance House began quite small,
   Improving bit by bit,
The original has disappeared,
   There’s nothing left of it ;
Each year that passes, it would seem,
   Of new annexes tells,
Until it only may be classed
   Among our grand hotels.

The Hotel Porter came apace,
   Might well be counted fine ;
The Imperial quickly followed it,
   Imposing in design ;
The Hotel Porter burned complete,
   Imperial damaged, too ;
The Hotel Porter built no more,
   The Imperial starts anew.

Across the way, McMahon’s Hotel,
   Which really was a part
Of our first business building here,
   The old-time Frontier Mart ;
Called first the Prospect, Isaacs bought
   Sole right to use the same ;
Mike called it then United States,
   The Empire now its name.

There’s many more that I might name,
   And make a long review,
The Cosmopolitan, Colonnade,
   And there’s the Park Place, too,
The Hotel Mayle and State Park,
   The Clifton called today,
The European, Rapids and Cascade,
   Along the Riverway.

The Schwartz Hotel on Falls street, too,
   Of village days can tell,
And Tugby’s grand Goat Island House,
   E’en yet remembered well ;
I think that’s all ; but hold ; alack !
   John’s wrath I might arouse,
For still they’re serving “ham and eggs”
   At the famous Harvey House.

Salt’s New Hotel, there also was,
   The Waverly now, you know,
The Hotel Atlantique, which was built
   By Hengstler long ago ;
The Niagara Falls House, Ferguson’s,
   On Main street near to Falls,
These, with the New Columbia,
   Is all my mind recalls.

But ere I close, one more I’d note,
   Down hy the river stood,
’Twas built near Hill and Murray’s mill,
   Well might they call it good ;
For in its base, as I’ve been told,
   Each toughened, oaken sill,
Was from the firm foundation of
   Our first built paper mill.

I mind me of the merry time
   When this hotel was done,
How o’er their hocus corner-stone
   They had such heaps of fun ;
Mind how the master builder came,
   And fashioned it with care,
And how the records of the time
   Were carefully placed there.

Mind how the builders laid it out
   And spared nor time nor money,
And how they laid that corner-stone
   With proper ceremony ;
Mind how the eminent jurist spoke,
   When they enshrined the treasure
Within the crypt, cut in that stone,
   Of good and ample measure.

When ages pass, and things of now,
   Should have a different glow,
There, even then, was talk about
   The State Park, as you may know ;
Then o’er this, then, dismantled house
   These things might all be shown,
When workmen find the treasure of
   That “grin-stun” corner-stone..

But as the Reservation came
   And State was paramount,
The treasure of plain citizens
   Was deemed of small account ;
The hotel soon was moved away,
   Foundation walls laid prone,
I wonder, in the juggling change,
   How fared that corner-stone.

Now was some knowing one on hand,
   To mark it well with eye ?
And carefully removed the same,
   And cribbed it on the sly ;
If such the case, long time has passed,
   ’Twould be no harm to say,
Or e’en admit the truth and tell
   Who has that stone today.

Source: John R. Barlow.  Village Days in Old Niagara Falls, volume two, 1912.  Cover title: Reminiscent Rhymes of Village Days in Old Niagara Falls, volume two. [no publisher or place of publication listed]

John Barlow was the chief guide at the Cave of the Winds for many years.