him his own state-room.  Head winds and boisterous seas kept the vessel beating about and tossing in the channel for many days.  The great man was very sick and still more alarmed.  At length, being persuaded that he should not survive the voyage, he asked the captain to run in and set him ashore on the coast of England.  The captain dissuaded him.  The old man urged his request at every opportunity, and said at last:  “I give you tousand dollars to put me aboard a pilot-boat.”  He was so vehement and importunate, that one day the captain, worried out of all patience, promised that if he did not get out of the Channel before the next morning, he would run in and put him ashore.  It happened that the wind changed in the afternoon and wafted the ship into the broad ocean.  But the troubles of the sea-sick millionaire had only just begun.  A heavy gale of some days’ duration blew the vessel along the western coast of Ireland.  Mr. Astor, thoroughly panic-stricken, now offered the captain ten thousand dollars if he would put him ashore anywhere on the wild and rocky coast of the Emerald Isle.  In vain the captain remonstrated.  In vain he reminded the old gentleman of the danger of forfeiting his insurance.

“Insurance!” exclaimed Astor, “can’t I insure your ship myself?”

In vain the captain mentioned the rights of the other passengers.  In vain he described the solitary and rock-bound coast, and detailed the difficulties and dangers which attended its approach.  Nothing would appease him.  He said he would take all the responsibility, brave all the perils, endure all the consequences; only let him once more feel the firm ground under his feet.  The gale having abated, the captain yielded to his entreaties, and engaged, if the other passengers would consent to the delay, to stand in and put him ashore.  Mr. Astor went into the cabin and proceeded to write what was expected to be a draft for ten thousand dollars in favor of the owners of the ship on his agent in New York.  He handed to the captain the result of his efforts.  It was a piece of paper covered with writing that was totally illegible.

“What is this?” asked the captain.

“A draft upon my son for ten thousand dollars,” was the reply.

“But no one can read it.”

“O yes, my son will know what it is.  My hand trembles so that I cannot write any better.”

“But,” said the captain,

“you can at least write your name.  I am acting for the owners of the ship, and I cannot risk their property for a piece of paper that no one can read.  Let one of the gentlemen draw up a draft in proper form; you sign it; and I will put you ashore.”

The old gentleman would not consent to this mode of proceeding, and the affair was dropped.

A favorable wind blew the ship swiftly on her way, and Mr. Astor’s alarm subsided.  But even on the banks of Newfoundland, two thirds of the way across, when the captain went upon the poop to speak a ship bound for Liverpool, old Astor climbed up after him, saying, “Tell them I give tousand dollars if they take a passenger.”