e in heaping up enormous masses
of capital.

Having retired from business, Mr. Astor determined to fulfil the vow
of his youth, and build in Broadway a house larger and costlier than
any it could then boast. Behold the result in the Astor House, which
remains to this day one of our most solid, imposing, and respectable
structures. The ground on which the hotel stands was covered with
substantial three-story brick houses, one of which Astor himself
occupied; and it was thought at the time a wasteful and rash
proceeding to destroy them. Old Mr. Coster, a retired merchant of
great wealth, who lived next door to Mr. Astor's residence, was
extremely indisposed to remove, and held out long against every offer
of the millionaire. His house was worth thirty thousand dollars. Astor
offered him that sum; but the offer was very positively declined, and
the old gentleman declared it to be his intention to spend the
remainder of his days in the house. Mr. Astor offered forty thousand
without effect. At length the indomitable projector revealed his
purpose to his neighbor.

"Mr. Coster," said he, "I want to build a hotel. I have got all the
other lots; now name your own price."

To which Coster replied by confessing the real obstacle to the sale.

"The fact is," said he, "I can't sell unless Mrs. Coster consents. If
she is willing, I'll sell for sixty thousand, and you can call
to-morrow morning and ask her."

Mr. Astor presented himself at the time named.

"Well, Mr. Astor," said the lady in the tone of one who was conferring
a very great favor for nothing, "we are such old friends that I am
willing for your sake."

So the house was bought, and with the proceeds Mr. Coster built the
spacious granite mansion a mile up Broadway, which is now known as
Barnum's Museum. Mr. Astor used to relate this story with great glee.
He was particularly amused at the simplicity of the old lady in
considering it a great favor to him to sell her house at twice its
value. It was at this time that he removed to a wide, two-story brick
house opposite Niblo's, the front door of which bore a large silver
plate, exhibiting to awestruck passers-by the words: "MR. ASTOR." Soon
after the hotel was finished, he made a present of it to his eldest
son, or, in legal language, he sold it to him for the sum of one
dollar, "to him in hand paid."

In the decline of his life, when his vast fortune was safe from the
perils of business, he was still as sparing