“I want to build a hotel,” said he.  “I have got all the other lots.  Now name your own price.”

Mr. Coster replied that he would sell for sixty thousand dollars if his wife would consent, and that Mr. Astor could see her the next morning.  Mr. Astor was punctual to the appointment, and his offer was accepted by the good lady, who said to him, condescendingly, “I don’t want to sell the house, but we are such old friends that I am willing for your sake.”

Mr. Astor used to remark with great glee that any one could afford to exhibit such condescension after receiving double the value of a piece of property.

Having got possession of the entire block, he commenced the demolition of the old buildings, and on their site reared the Astor House, then the largest and most elegant hotel in the country.  This building, when completed, he gave to his eldest son, William B. Astor.

In 1832, Mr. Astor sailed for Europe to visit one of his daughters, who had married a nobleman, and remained abroad until 1835.  In that year he was compelled to return home by the action of General Jackson with regard to the Bank of the United States.  “He reached Havre,” says Mr. Parton, “when the ship, on the point of sailing, had every stateroom engaged, but he was so anxious to get home, that the captain, who had commanded ships for him in former years, gave up to him his own stateroom.  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 him that if he did not get out of the channel before 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, now thoroughly panic-stricken, 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 my self?’