The recent death of Col. Stebbins, who brought out many years ago Miss Kellogg as a prima donna, reminds me that it has been within the last thirty or forty years quite the thing for New York millionaires to bring out prima donnas.
It seems to be âthe thingâ when you get richâreal richâfirst to have your yacht, then your newspaper, then your stable of fast horses, and then your prima donna. Ech of these four hobbies cost a pile, but probably the prima donna is the most lastinâ of the lot.
     Leonard Jerome tried the yacht, and the newspaper (the Times), and the horse business (Jerome Park), and also tried the introduction of Minnie Hauk to the New York public.
     Minnie was very expensive, but very tractable. She didn’t kick in operatic harness and did what she was told; so Jerome had some comfort in his honorable connection with her as her musical foster-father, as it were, and has never regretted his ventures in that quarter.
Lake, tooâonce the head of the dry goods firm of Lake & McCrearyâtook a notion to Emma Abbott and brought her out at the expenditure of a good deal of time and money. In this he was at first assisted materially by Mrs. Lake. Lake also procured a handsome and clever husband for Emma, and the married couple lived for a while at his elegant house on Fifth avenue. It was while residing under Mr. Lakeâs roof that a certain âeditorâ of a musical sheet undertook to blackmail Miss Abbott for $25, which he didn’t get, but it got kicked out of New York for his pains. Emma got a first-class advertisement out of the blackmailinâ scheme and the man who exposed the blackmail in the papers got $75 for his share of the âadvertisementâ.
     Lake was âa fatherâ to Miss Abbott for years, and one way or another expended some fifty thousand dollars to get her placed properly before the public.
Altogether the relations of these two millionaires to their proteges were very credible to both.
The late John Anderson at one time tried to introduce a young lady to the New York public as a prima donna, but the lady herself, strange to say, âbacked outâ because she did not consider herself fully âcapable.â Probably this is the only case on record of a woman ever thinking herself ânot capableâ of anything.
     As for Colonel Stebbins, he did more for Clara Louise Kellogg than any other one man probably has ever done, unselfishly, for any one woman.
He first got her father a place in the Custom House, and then he stood all the expenses of the daughter’s musical education. He was then president of the board of directors of the Academy of Music, and he took every advantage of his position to get the young lady a chance to sing. If anybody âtripped upâ he was sure to suggest Kellogg to supply the vacancy. He got her an engagement, at one time, on a guarantee, which he paid like a man. Some of the directors âkicked,â but they had to endure what they couldn’t help. They had to swallow Kellogg, whether or no; and really she wasn’t so very hard to swallow. The public liked her, as well as Stebbins.
Finally she got a chance to go to Europe, and then Stebbins came to the front once more. He went to Europe with his protege and âstormedâ the critics, dinedâ em and wined âem till they surrendered. There is just as much of that sort of thing done in Europe as in America.
Kellogg was a success, and Stebbins rejoiced. In due time Kellogg got rich, and gave her money to Stebbins to invest for her. The colonel did the best he could with the prima donna’s money, but his Investments proved somewhat unfortunate. The lady lost a good deal of money, and then somethinâ of a coolness sprang up between the millionaire and the singinâ bird.
Stebbins thought, naturally, that as Kellogg had made her money through him, she ought to be satisfied to lose some of it through him. But Kellogg, naturally, didn’t see it in that peculiar light. But on the colonelâs death the affair was settled, and the most costly and affectionate tribute to her benefactor’s memory was sent by Miss Kellogg and deposited on the rich man’s coffin.
Other rich men in New York have followed the example of the colonel. Mr. Hoyt, one of our richest men, has contributed largely and unselfishly to the advancement of a popular favorite, and there is really no point whatever in the charge sometimes made that deservinâ artists, if women, have no honorable chance in New York.
     Talking of Col. Stebbins, when he was a young man he became much attached to Captain Marryatt, the great British novelist who visited New York. The Americans were a little afraid of Marryatt at first, rememberinâ how many English writers had treated âem. But he soon overcame any prejudice against him and made his way on his own merits, which were considerable. Boston, particularly, went wild over Marryatt, havinâ discovered that some of his mother’s ancestors had once been âin Bostingâby accident.â Philadelphia, too, made a fuss over Marryatt, and tried to get him away from New York.
     One Fourth of July, Captain Marryatt, although an Englishman, was invited to a public dinner given by the Mayor and Aldermen of New York to celebrate the declaration by this country of its independence of Great Britain.
Under the circumstances, it was a funny invitation to give, but Marryatt accepted it in the friendly spirit in which it was offered, and made a capital speech. All this was almost as good as recently salutinâ the British flag at Yorktown, or salutinâ the American flag at the Lord Mayor’s show.
Marryatt got into some trouble, though, about a toast he gave about the steamer Caroline, which had taken part in the trouble between the United States and Canada, and quite a heated controversy was wagered about the matter, especially as it was very warm weather at the time,
But he got out of this scrape satisfactorily and left a very pleasinâ impression behind him.
Durinâ his stay in New York he went to the Bowery Theatre to see his own play of âThe Ocean Wolf, or The Channel Outlaw.â It was well produced, and Marryatt said that he had no idea what a good play it was till he had seen it at the Bowery, a speech which pleased the âgodsâ immensely.
A very pleasant instant occurred at one of the dinners given to Captain Marryatt. An old sea captain named PierceâJoseph Pierceâgot up and said he wanted to tell a story of Marryatt. It seems that, in the War of 1812, with England, this Joseph Pierce had been taken prisoner by a British man-of-war, and treated very cruelly by everybody on board exceptinâ Marryatt, who was then a midshipman. Marryatt had taken quite a fancy to this Pierce, and had done all he could to lighten the miseries of his imprisonment. Years had passed since then, and Marryatt had forgotten all about it, but Joseph Pierce had not. So he told the dinner company all about the matter, and everybody present at once rose to their feet and gave three times three cheers for Captain Marryatt, the honored friend and the honorable enemy. So, for once a good action met with its reward.
Dininâ and wininâ was all very well, and Marryatt liked it all very much, but he didn’t like to see his novels, though, selling all over New York, and he gettinâ nothinâ for them but glory, on account of there being no international copyright.
     But he couldn’t help himself, and all he could do was to call it âpiracy,â which was just about what the Thackeray called it when he was over in this country.
The story goes that one evening Thackeray was dining with one of the Harper Brothers, and takinâ the pet daughter of the publisher (who was printinâ all his novels for nothinâ–to Thackeray) on his lap, and fondlinâ her, he said:
âHow sad it is to look at her and thinkâŚâ
âHerâandâthinkâwhat do you mean, Mr Thackeray?â gasped the astonished father.
âHow sad to think that young, and innocent, and fair as this child is, she is butâŚ
âBut what, Mr. Thackeray?â
âA pirate’s daughter!â
[Editor’s notes: The lack of international copyright likely hurt American authors more than British authors. American authors found that American publishers would rather print British writers–to whom they paid nothing–rather than publish homegrown writers. Likewise, American writers earned nothing on their titles published in England, though that was a much bigger market.]
