During the rebellion, Commodore Vanderbilt was one of the stanchest supporters of the Government.  Early in the struggle he equipped his splendid steamer, the “Vanderbilt,” as a man-of-war, and offered her to the Navy Department at a fair price.  He found that, in order to sell the vessel, he would have to pay a percentage of the price received for her to certain parties who stood between the Government and the purchase, and levied black mail upon every ship the Government bought.  Indignant and disgusted, he withdrew his ship, and declared she was not for sale.  Then, satisfying himself that she was in perfect condition, he presented her to the Navy Department as a free gift to the nation.

Says a recent writer, whose fondness for courtly similes the reader must pardon, for the sake of the information he imparts:  “No man is felt in Wall Street more than Commodore Vanderbilt, yet he is seldom seen there.  All of his business is done in his office in Fourth Street.  Here his brokers meet him, receive their orders, and give reports.  Here the plans are laid that shake the street, and Wall Street trembles at the foot of an invisible autocrat.  If the reader would care to visit the court of that great railroad king, whose name has become the terror of Wall Street, he may accompany us to a plain brick residence in Fourth Street, near Broadway, and distant from Wall Street nearly two miles.  No sign indicates its imperial occupant, except that the upper story being occupied as a millinery establishment bears a legend of that character.  However, as we enter the hall, we notice the word ‘office,’ and open the door thus inscribed.  Here we see a table, a few chairs, and a desk, at which a solitary clerk of middle age is standing at work.

“The walls are bare, with the exception of a few pictures of those steamships which originated the title of ‘Commodore,’ This is the ante-chamber, and a pair of folding doors screen the king from vulgar gaze.  He is closeted with his marshals, and this privy council will last an hour or so.  One after the other they depart, and before three o’clock the effect of this council will not only be felt in Wall Street, but will be flashed over the Union.  At length you are permitted to enter.  The folding door is opened, and you behold an office as plain in appearance as the one just described.  It contains a few arm-chairs and a long business-table, thrown flush before you, on the opposite side of which sits a large man, with his face fronting you.  He is writing, and his eyes are fixed on the paper, so that you have a moment to note the dignity of frame and the vast development of brain.  In a few minutes the countenance raises, and you meet its expansive and penetrating glance.