In the course of his Pacific Mail campaigning Mr. Gould was much more frequently a bear, than a bull. He used to say he had never found but one unerring bull point on Pacific Mail, and that was to report that the company had lost one of its ships. Perhaps his biggest drive at this stock was when he discomfited Leonard Jerome and played smash with the uptown corps of speculators who made up what was a dozen years ago known as “the Fifth Avenue Hotel party.” Just after that famous clean-out Leonard Jerome went abroad. In the course of his meanderings he came upon the famed Temple of Karnak. “There, Mr. Jerome,” quoth a companion, “are the most remarkable ruins in the world.” “No; oh, no; don’t tell that to me,” answered Leonard Jerome feelingly; “you ought just to have seen Pacific Mail last summer!” Mr. Gould did not have any of that quality which descriptive persons call “presence.” No stranger would have ever been impressed by any mere look at him that he was much of a man. He was courteous always. In public he was never known to get mad, or, indeed, even to say a rude thing, except it be on one occasion, when, with more or less quietness, he remarked to an ambitious young gentleman who more recently became a figure in Wall street: “You make me feel very sorry that I am so busy. If I had time I’d really enjoy taking a day off to send you to State prison.” Of course, Mr. Gould was in lots of scenes where passion ran high. Everybody in Wall street recalls the historic day after Black Friday when Mr. Gould’s old partner, Henry N. Smith, shaking his finger in Mr. Gould’s face, shouted: “I’ll live to see the day, sir, when you have to earn a living by going around this street with a hand organ and a monkey.” “Maybe you will, Henry, maybe you will,” was the soothing response. “And when I want a monkey, Henry, I’ll send for you.” In the book of Mr. Clews quoted before, is found the following: “There is a story told with several variations, in regard to a sensational interview between Mr. Gould and Commodore Vanderbilt. The scene is laid in the parlor of the commodore’s house. It was about the time that the latter was making desperate efforts to get a corner in Erie, and at that particular juncture when having been defeated in his purpose by the astute policy of the able triumvirate of Erie, Gould, Fisk and Drew, he had applied to the courts as a last resort to get even with them. “They had used the Erie paper-mill to the best advantage, in turning out new securities of Erie to supply the Vanderbilt brokers, who vainly imagined that they were getting corner in the inexhaustible stock. Mr. Vanderbilt was wild when he discovered the ruse, and had no remedy but law against the perpetrators of this costly prank. These adroit financiers usually placed the law at defiance, or used it to their own advantage, but this time they were so badly caught that they had to fly from the state, and take refuge in Taylor’s hotel in Jersey City.