red 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 artistic fiction, 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 a