The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No. 2, August, 1862

Astor's boldness increased with years. He bought government loans at a time when other capitalists shrunk, and the price had run down to the lowest mark. He bought claims against old estates—one of which paid an enormous profit, and would have been accounted a splendid fortune of itself—while the gradual increase of the city brought his waste lands into demand; and the opening of the Erie Canal may be said to have at one stroke added a million of dollars to the value of his estate. Whatever was bought was held with determined grasp, however small the prospect of advance. For instance, a friend of ours (now dead) purchased, in company with Mr. Astor, two lots on Broadway, of which they took separate deeds, and held for an advance. Year after year passed by, but no advance appeared, while assessments were continually made for city improvement. At the end of this period our friend called on Mr. Astor and stated that he was weary of such long delay in getting return for his investment, and asked him if he would not take the lot and give him its simple cost. Mr. Astor calmly acceded to the proposal. Had our friend held the same views as the great land operator, he would have realized a fortune from this single lot, since what then cost one thousand dollars is now worth fifty thousand dollars.

The Napoleonic character of Mr. Astor's mind is shown by the great commercial schemes which shared the claims of real estate. He was extending the ramifications of his trade through the North-west wilderness and competing with the Hudson Bay Company for the peltry taken by the numerous tribes of savages, while at the same time a vast export trade was carried on with Europe, and also with China, whence he brought teas in exchange for furs. It was this broad ambition which prompted the grand scheme of a new station at the mouth of the Columbia. And this scheme, though it failed, was not without great national results. Its misfortunes were chronicled by the pen of Irving, and in his pages the story of the crew murdered, and the ship plundered and burned, was recorded among the tragedies of commerce.

Mr. Astor lived to old age, and his life was one of few changes. From his humble shop in Little Dock street (now Water street near Coenties Slip) he removed his place of business to Liberty street, (Number 71,) and subsequently to Broadway. His longest place of abode was Number 223 Broadway, now a part of the site of the Astor House, whence, after a residence in Hoboken, he removed up-town to a block in Broadway near Prince street. Here he remained until death, but he lived long enough to see the progress of the city covering his lands with dwellings, and bequeathed to his son the largest estate in America. Mr. Astor had a literary taste, and was fond of book-men. He gave Fitz-Green Halleck a snug and profitable clerkship, and on the death of the capitalist, William B. Astor presented to the poet the sum of ten thousand dollars. Mr. Astor also sought the acquaintance of Washington Irving on the return of that distinguished gentleman from Europe, and it was at his especial request that the Astoria was written. The friendship between these two distinguished men continued until death, when it was found that Mr. Irving had been appointed one of the executors of the will. The fees connected with this office could not have been less than one hundred thousand dollars, and the executors (six in number) at one time received ten thousand dollars apiece.

Mr. Astor's project of the library was conceived long before his death, and he had Dr. Cogswell for several years engaged in the collection of books for this purpose. The full provisions, however, were not known until the reading of the will developed the plan and funds. The plan was not carried out in detail, but was left to the judgment of the trustees, who modified it considerably, making an institution for reference instead of a mere circulating library.

To the original bequest Mr. William B. Astor has since added a large conveyance of real estate, and the institution is nearly double its original size. Speaking of Mr. William B. Astor, we may be led to a few references of a personal nature. As the ordinary street-passenger is traversing Prince street, he is not likely to be struck by any of its surroundings. The street itself is but of third-rate character, and the houses are but of a common stamp. Near Broadway, however, one may notice a small brick office, neatly built, of one story, with gable to the street, but with doors and windows closed, and the whole appearance one of security. Near the door may be seen a little sign which reads thus: 'Entrance next door: office hours from nine to three.' The next door, to which we are referred, is a plain three-story brick dwelling, with no name on the door, and might be taken for the residence of some well-to-do old-fashioned family. Hence one is quite startled to find that this is the headquarters of the chief capitalist of America. Entering the street-door, one will find himself in a small vestibule, neatly floored with checkered oil-cloth, and opening a door on his left, he will enter a well-lighted front-room, destitute of any furniture but a counting-house desk and a few chairs. At this desk stands an accountant (or perhaps two) working at a set of books, and evidently enjoying an easy berth. He will answer all ordinary inquiries, will do the duty of refusing charitable demands, and will attend to any thing in the ordinary run of business; but if one has any thing special on hand, he will point to a door opening into a rear office. This apartment is of moderate size and of simple furniture. On the table are a few books, and on opening one of them, which appears well thumbed, it will be found to contain maps of plots of city property, carefully and elegantly executed, and embracing the boundaries of an enormous estate. Seated by the table may generally be seen a stout-built man with large and unattractive features, and upon the whole an ordinary face. He is plainly dressed, and has a somewhat care-worn look, and appears to be fifty or sixty years of age. One naturally feels (that is, if he be a poor man) that it is quite a rare thing to address a capitalist, and especially when that capitalist is the representative, say of twenty-five millions of dollars. Such, at least, was our experience at our first interview with William B. Astor.

Mr. Astor occupies an imposing mansion in Lafayette Place, and immediately adjoining is the magnificent library to which we have referred, and which should commemorate the name of the son as well as that of the father. At this house he spends that small portion of his time which is not occupied by his duties in Prince street, where he does a full day's work (Sundays excepted) every day in the week. Thus the daily routine of the richest man in America is a walk to and from home, of a half-mile or so, and close attention to business.

The care of Mr. Astor's estate is a vast burden. His tenements of all grades number several hundreds, ranging from the dwelling at three hundred dollars per annum to the magnificent warehouse or hotel at thirty thousand dollars. To relieve himself from the more vexatious features of his business, he has committed his real estate collections to an agent who does the work well, and who is, no doubt, largely paid. He, with his clerks, collects rents, and makes returns of a rent-roll, whose very recital would be wearisome. As a matter of course, such a man must employ a small army of painters, carpenters, and other mechanics, in order to keep up suitable repairs. As Mr. Astor pays no insurance, the work of rebuilding after fires is in itself a large item.

A large part of Mr. Astor's property consists of vacant lots, which are in continual demand, and which he generally prefers to hold rather than sell; hence he is much employed with architects and master-builders, and always has several blocks in course of erection. This is a very heavy burden, and were it not for the help derived from his family, would, we believe, crush him. However, his son, John Jacob, is quite a business man, and bears his share of the load. This young gentleman has shown his patriotism by serving in the army for the Union, in which he bears an important commission. In addition to this, Mr. Astor has the aid of a gentleman of business character and habits, once a member of one of the largest shipping houses in the city, who has become connected with the family by marriage. The labors of all these parties would not be more than adequate to the task of collecting interest on bonds, looking after dividends, etc., since that little fire-proof office in Prince street contains several millions of Government and State securities.

In order to give something like an estimate of the immense income rolling in upon this family, we must commence with the fact that two dollars per day is considered fair wages for working men; that the man who makes five dollars per day all the year round may be considered very fortunate; that ten dollars per day is attained by that few who are more favored and gifted, and whose proportion to the mass is about one to a thousand. Starting from this estimate, we may be better prepared to rate Mr. Astor's position by comparing any of the above sums with six thousand dollars, which is said to be his daily income. Bless me! one can not but exclaim; here Crœsus himself might die with envy. Yet we reply, after a moment's pause, let no one envy the man of gold. It is said that when John Jacob Astor was once congratulated by a certain person for his wealth, he replied by pointing to his pile of bonds, and maps of property, at the same time inquiring: 'Would you like to manage these matters for your board and clothes?' The man demurred to the idea. 'Sir,' continued the rich man, 'it is all that I get!' Hence, thinking on these things, we have never envied Mr. Astor, and would not bear the burden of his wealth for all its glory. It is not the possession but the use of money, which affords enjoyment, and this is a secret which the rich seldom learn. Alas! among the annals of moneyed men, how seldom do we meet a Stuart or a Lenox—men who have learned what Goldsmith calls 'the luxury of doing good.'

It is one of the peculiar misfortunes of the rich, to be subject to the attentions of parasites and flatterers, and hence they can not possess that same certainty of the value of friendship enjoyed by the poor. The latter of these classes know that when a kind act is done to them, it comes from a pure motive; the other seldom can be sure that it is not from selfish ends. To illustrate the idea which wealth suggests, as to the motive of friendly visitors, we may state that among Mr. Astor's class-mates in Columbia College was a young man who became a preacher. The students separated—the one to handle millions, and to touch the springs of the money-market, and become the colossus of wealth; the other to his flock, as a poor domestic missionary, whose history was indeed a 'shady side.' The latter struggled on through thick and thin, and never in all his privations thought of sending a begging-letter to his old class-mate. But being once upon a time in New-York, he yielded to the inclination to make him a visit. Mr. Astor received him courteously, and the two conversed on the scenes of their early days. As the pastor arose to depart, an idea struck the capitalist's heart, which we mention to his credit. 'Can I do any thing for you?' he inquired. He had, in fact, misconceived the object of the visit, and supposed that under the guise of a friendly call, lurked an inclination to beg, which fear of refusal had suppressed. The poor clergyman at once perceived the drift of the question. Nothing could have been farther from his mind, and blushing at the thought, he acknowledged the suggestion with an expression of gratitude, and retired.

Perhaps a view of the unrest of the human heart appears most terrible when contrasted with the almost fabulous heaps of surrounding wealth, and one is thus led to the conclusion arrived at by Goldsmith:

'Vain, very vain, my weary search to findThat bliss which only centres in the mind;With secret course which no loud streams annoy,Glides the smooth current of domestic joy;Still to ourselves in every place consigned,Our own felicity we make or find.'

THUNDER ALL ROUND!

'When it once begins to thunder,You will hear it all around!'And we waited—till in wonderSoon we heard the awful sound:Crashing cannon, rifle-rattle,Bowing many a traitor-head:On, McClellan, with the battle!Strike the Typhon-serpent dead!

WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?

'Do but grasp into the thick of human life! Every one lives it—to not many is it known; and seize it where you will, it is interesting.'

—Goethe.

'Successful.—Terminating in accomplishing what is wished or intended.'

—Webster's Dictionary.

CHAPTER V

SOME ACCOUNT OF JOEL BURNS OF BURNSVILLE

You will find, as you travel through the country, but few very poor people in New-England. Rarely are the 'selectmen' called to act either on applications for admission as one of the 'town's poor,' or to 'bind out' a boy or girl till one-and-twenty.

One evening—it was the close of a cold, raw day in the latter part of November—the stage deposited a woman, and a lad perhaps twelve years old, at the village tavern in Sudbury. She was intending to ride all night; indeed, she had paid her 'fare' through to New-Haven, but, seized with sudden illness, she was compelled to stop. Her malady proved to be typhus fever. The doctor was summoned, who subjected his patient to the terrific treatment then in vogue for that disorder, and in due course she died. It turned out on inquiry, that the woman, whose name was Burns, was on her way to a married sister's in Pennsylvania; further, that she was a widow, the lad her only child, and the sister in Pennsylvania the only near relation she had in the world. This sister was by no means in affluent circumstances, but she could offer a home to 'Sarah,' which the latter was glad to accept. After disposing of the trifling articles unsuitable to carry with her, she had barely money enough to defray the expenses of herself and 'Joel' to their new abode. The poor woman's journey was interrupted, as we have explained, at Sudbury, and a new direction given to it. She departed for 'the undiscovered country,' leaving little Joel to cry himself asleep; for the time quite heart-broken, and desolate enough.

There was not time to write to the married sister; so the selectmen, after ascertaining what money still remained in the purse of the deceased, undertook the burial. They ordered a cheap pine coffin, scantily 'stained.' It cost but a quarter of a dollar to dig the grave, and old Sally agreed to 'lay the woman out' for the comfortable dress she wore on arriving at the inn. Of the three selectmen of Sudbury, two were from the east part of the town—thrifty, hard-working farmers; the third was a Mr. Bellows, a popular store-keeper of the village. The latter had not interfered with the action of his colleagues, because he himself was very busy, and they, having very little to do at that season, were pleased with the excitement the affair afforded them. But passing the inn the morning Mrs. Burns was to be buried, Mr. Bellows stepped in a moment at the request of the landlord, who was a kind-hearted fellow, and did not feel quite satisfied with the arrangements. Ascending to the chamber, he saw a sad but handsome-looking boy standing over a rudely constructed coffin, a picture of sorrow and despair. The little fellow had witnessed the action of the coarse-hearted men who took the direction of the funeral. He heard their private discussion as to the 'cost of burying the woman.' He was a witness to their haggling with Aunt Sally about laying her out. He could hear various propositions as to what was to be done with him. He saw his mother hurriedly draped for the coffin and placed inside of it. He did not sob nor cry; a dreadful reality had so overcome him, that he lost the power of doing either. Once or twice, when every body had left the room, he had stolen softly up and kissed the face of the corpse, and some tears would then roll down his cheeks. It was at such a time that Mr. Bellows entered, and his heart smote him that he had not sooner looked in. He spoke kindly to Joel, which seemed to loose the flood-gates of his grief, and for a time he continued to cry in the most piteous manner. Mr. Bellows soon decided what to do. His own family was small; he had a wife and one child—a little girl nine years old. He took Joel in his lap, told him not to cry—that he should go home with him, and be his boy. The tone in which this was uttered had more effect to soothe the lad than what was said to him. After a few minutes, Joel was persuaded to leave the room and to accompany his new friend to the house. Mr. Bellows then called on his minister, and requested him to perform the funeral rites at the grave; for so little interest had been shown in the fate of the strange woman, that her illness had not even been communicated to the clergyman, and the selectmen did not think it 'worth while to have any funeral'! Mr. Bellows hurried hack to the inn. The coffin was placed in a wagon. It was followed by the clergyman and Mr. Bellows, the two other selectmen, the landlord of the inn, and his wife. The burying-ground was soon reached, a short prayer made, and the company dispersed, leaving the man to fill up the grave according to contract. Mr. Bellows and his two associates returned to the tavern together, in order, as the latter expressed it, to settle up the business. Going into the sitting-room, and taking seats around a small table, one of them opened the subject in a serious and important tone, indicative of the weight of responsibility he felt was resting on his shoulders, by asking what was to be done with the boy.

'What do you think best to do with him?' said Mr. Bellows.

'Well, I suppose there is room in the town-house. There is nobody there now but Aunt Lois and foolish Tom, and we can probably bind him out next spring.'

'I don't think we have a right to charge the town with the expense,' said selectman number two. 'We know where the boy came from; the best way is to send him back to Granby.'

'He has got an aunt,' said the other; 'hadn't we better write to her?'

'Gentlemen,' said Mr. Bellows, 'I will cut this matter short. I will take the lad myself. You shall bind him out to me in the regular way. I do not think you need fear any interference from the town of Granby. As to his aunt, I propose first to write and get her consent. If she prefers to take the boy, why, she will send for him.'

This question disposed of, the spokesman next proposed to go into the accounts; which meant his own and his neighbor's charge for time and personal expenses twice from East-Sudbury with horse and wagon. They thought six dollars about right.

'How do you propose to be paid?' quoth Mr. Bellows.

'Twenty dollars and seventy-two cents was in their possession, taken from the pocket of the woman after she died.'

'And how did you dare interfere with property of any kind,' exclaimed Mr. Bellows, his smothered indignation bursting forth, 'without consulting with me? Don't you know the landlord has the first claim on every thing till his bill is paid? Don't you know, too, you are simply doing the town business, and if you have any claim, the town must pay you for it?'

Well, that is so, I guess,' said the third. 'It is agin the town. I'll take my chances, for one—had rather settle it that way, any how.'

The result of the conference was, that the whole business, including the twenty dollars and seventy-two cents, was handed over to Mr. Bellows, leaving his colleagues to make out and collect their bill at leisure. Joel's aunt was written to, and freely gave her consent that the boy should go with his new friend. The latter promptly paid the bill at the inn, and the doctor for his services, and soon after paid his colleagues what they claimed, lest it might in the future be a subject of comment when Joel grew up.

He was a good man, this Mr. Bellows; not specially refined in manner, but possessing a delicacy of character and a lively sensibility which placed him among the ranks of nature's noblemen. He had been fortunate in business, and owned the principal store in the place, where he exercised a decided influence.

Little Joel gave promise of not disappointing his patron's expectations. In fact, he was a child of most engaging manners. His features were not regular, nor indeed handsome; but he had bright black eyes, a fine complexion, and an open, ingenuous countenance. He was treated by Mr. Bellows as considerately as if he were his own son. To be sure, Joel had some unpleasant scenes to pass through. As nothing is ever lost sight of in a small country village, the story of how he came to be living with Mr. Bellows was not forgotten. At school, occasionally, one of the boys would, on some slight provocation, point at him and call him 'Bellows's nigger,' or make faces and cry 'charity boy,' 'town's poor.' Now, fortunately, Joel had a happy, joyous nature—somewhat fiery and irascible, but still joyous—else he might have become morbidly miserable. As it was, these manifestations only provoked his anger, and led him forthwith into a rough-and-tumble fight, in which, whether victor or not, he always showed unquestionable pluck. If he came off second-best a dozen times, he went confidently into the thirteenth trial, brave as Bruce, and equally successful. At length the voice of gossip was hushed. Joel became the most popular lad in the village. Every body liked him, and what is better, he deserved it.

But the evil days came at last to good Mr. Bellows—came after years of happy, moderate, unclouded prosperity. First his wife died. This was when Joel was twenty years old, and Ellen Bellows seventeen. The illness was short, and the daughter was summoned from boarding-school in time only to attend her mother's funeral. Mr. Bellows, after that, as every body said, was an altered man. He could not bring his mind to business. Some people thought at times he acted strangely, by which they meant he was a little out of his head. Still, his affairs could not suffer while such a young man as Joel Burns was about. The fact is, in some things matters were even better managed than before. But great mistakes were made in the purchase of goods, which Mr. Bellows continued to attend to, and which Joel had too much respect for his benefactor to criticise. The succeeding year, speculation in wool ran high. Mr. Bellows was anxious to go into it. Joel took the freedom of begging him not to do so. The latter appeared to be persuaded; but he did what was worse than engaging actively in purchases, for then he would have had Joel's tact and energy to aid him. He lent his name to an acquaintance, for a very large amount, who was to go extensively into the scheme with him and divide the profits. The result was disastrous. Wool fell rapidly. An attempt was made to borrow money on it and hold it over to the next season—worse and worse; Mr. Bellows was ruined.

One morning, very early, several attachments were levied on his goods, and the store was shut up. One of the officers next proceeded to the house and took possession there, so that Mr. Bellows was now tied hand and foot.

I suppose few of my readers can appreciate what it is for a man to 'fail up' in the country. In our large cities, it is regarded, to be sure, as a misfortune, but one to which every merchant is exposed; and the usual course is to propose a compromise, obtain a release, and set cheerfully to work again, with loss of property, doubtless, but not with any damage to reputation. But in the country, failure is regarded as a disgrace, and a 'failed man' is looked and pointed at something as a felon would be.

When Joel Burns awoke in the morning and found every thing in the hands of the sheriff, he was astounded, for Mr. Bellows had not told him a word about his last year's operations. He perceived the amounts were larger than could ever be realized. He took in the whole situation at a glance. He hastened to consult with Mr. Bellows, but he was listened to with entire apathy. The merchant would say but little, and that was so incoherent and unintelligible, it was evident he was laboring under mental aberration. He continued moody through the day, and the next morning was found dead in his bed. He had severed an artery.

At this time Joel was in his twenty-second year. Already displaying extraordinary capacity in affairs, this event served to call out all his resources.