copy sold, and pay all the costs of publication himself. The

book is to be retailed for a dollar and a half, and the publisher
is very well pleased with a new book that sells fifteen hundred

copies. Whether the author has as much reason to be so is a
question, but if the book does not sell more he has only himself

to blame, and had better pocket in silence the two hundred and
twenty-five dollars he gets for it, and bless his publisher, and

try to find work somewhere at five dollars a week. The publisher
has not made any more, if quite as much as the author, and until

a book has sold two thousand copies the division is fair enough.
After that, the heavier expenses of manufacturing have been

defrayed, and the book goes on advertising itself; there is
merely the cost of paper, printing, binding, and marketing to be

met, and the arrangement becomes fairer and fairer for the
publisher. The author has no right to complain of this, in the

case of his first book, which he is only too grateful to get
accepted at all. If it succeeds, he has himself to blame for

making the same arrangement for his second or third; it is his
fault, or else it is his necessity, which is practically the same

thing. It will be business for the publisher to take advantage
of his necessity quite the same as if it were his fault; but I do

not say that he will always do so; I believe he will very often
not do so.

At one time there seemed a probability of the enlargement of the
author's gains by subscriptionpublication, and one very

well-known American author prospered fabulously in that way. The
percentage offered by the subscription houses was only about half

as much as that paid by the trade, but the sales were so much
greater that the author could very well afford to take it. Where

the book-dealer sold ten, the book-agent sold a hundred; or at
least he did so in the case of Mark Twain's books; and we all

thought it reasonable he could do so with ours. Such of us as
made experiment of him, however, found the facts illogical. No

book of literary quality was made to go by subscription except
Mr. Clemens's books, and I think these went because the

subscription public never knew what good literature they were.
This sort of readers, or buyers, were so used to getting

something worthless for their money, that they would not spend it
for artisticfiction, or indeed for any fiction all, except Mr.

Clemens's, which they probably supposed bad. Some good books of
travel had a measurable success through the book agents, but not

at all the success that had been hoped for; and I believe now the
subscription trade again publishes only compilations, or such

works as owe more to the skill of the editor than the art of the
writer. Mr. Clemens himself no longer offers his books to the

public in that way.
It is not common, I think, in this country, to publish on the

half-profits system, but it is very common in England, where,
owing probably to the moisture in the air, which lends a fairy

outline to every prospect, it seems to be peculiarly alluring.
One of my own early books was published there on these terms,

which I accepted with the insensate joy of the young author in
getting any terms from a publisher. The book sold, sold every

copy of the small first edition, and in due time the publisher's
statement came. I did not think my half of the profits was very

great, but it seemed a fair division after every imaginable cost
had been charged up against my poor book, and that frail venture

had been made to pay the expenses of composition, corrections,
paper, printing, binding, advertising, and editorial copies. The

wonder ought to have been that there was anything at all coming
to me, but I was young and greedy then, and I really thought

there ought to have been more. I was disappointed, but I made
the best of it, of course, and took the account to the junior

partner of the house which employed me, and said that I should
like to draw on him for the sum due me from the London

publishers. He said, Certainly; but after a glance at the
account he smiled and said he supposed I knew how much the sum

was? I answered, Yes; it was eleven pounds nine shillings, was
not it? But I owned at the same time that I never was good at

figures, and that I found English money peculiarly baffling. He
laughed now, and said, It was eleven shillings and nine pence.

In fact, after all those charges for composition, corrections,
paper, printing, binding, advertising, and editorial copies,

there was a most ingenious and whollysurprisingcharge of ten
per cent. commission on sales, which reduced my half from pounds

to shillings, and handsomely increased the publisher's half in
proportion. I do not now dispute the justice of the charge. It

was not the fault of the half-profits system, it was the fault of
the glad young author who did not distinctly inform himself of

its mysterious nature in agreeing to it, and had only to reproach
himself if he was finally disappointed.

But there is always something disappointing in the accounts of
publishers, which I fancy is because authors are strangely

constituted, rather than because publishers are so. I will
confess that I have such inordinate expectations of the sale of

my books which I hope I think modestly of, that the sales
reported to me never seem great enough. The copyright due me, no

matter how handsome it is, appears deplorably mean, and I feel
impoverished for several days after I get it. But then, I ought

to add that my balance in the bank is always much less than I
have supposed it to be, and my own checks, when they come back to

me, have the air of having been in a conspiracy to betray me.
No, we literary men must learn, no matter how we boast ourselves

in business, that the distress we feel from our publisher's
accounts is simply idiopathic; and I for one wish to bear my

witness to the constant good faith and uprightness of publishers.
It is supposed that because they have the affair altogether in

their hands they are apt to take advantage in it; but this does
not follow, and as a matter of fact they have the affair no more

in their own hands than any other business man you have an open
account with. There is nothing to prevent you from looking at

their books, except your own innermost belief and fear that their
books are correct, and that your literature has brought you so

little because it has sold so little.
The author is not to blame for his superficialdelusion to the

contrary, especially if he has written a book that has set
everyone talking, because it is of a vital interest. It may be

of a vital interest, without being at all the kind of book people
want to buy; it may be the kind of book that they are content to

know at second hand; there are such fatal books; but hearing so
much, and reading so much about it, the author cannot help hoping

that it has sold much more than the publisher says. The
publisher is undoubtedly honest, however, and the author had

better put away the comforting question of his integrity.
The English writers seem largely to suspect their publishers (I

cannot say with how much reason, for my English publisher is
Scotch, and I should be glad to be so true a man as I think him);

but I believe that American authors, when not flown with
flattering reviews, as largely trust theirs. Of course there are

rogues in every walk of life. I will not say that I ever
personally met them in the flowery paths of literature, but I

have heard of other people meeting them there, just as I have
heard of people seeing ghosts, and I have to believe in both the

rogues and the ghosts, without the witness of my own senses. I
suppose, upon such grounds mainly, that there are wicked

publishers, but in the case of our books that do not sell, I am
afraid that it is the graceless and inappreciative public which

is far more to blame than the wickedest of the publishers. It is
true that publishers will drive a hard bargain when they can, or