the interest that might, from certain circumstances, have been temporarily attached to it some six or twelve months ago, has now passed away, and some other writer's "Tour in the Torrid Zone, or Glances at Gorillas," may have taken the wind out of the publisher's sales, and stranded Auctor on his ice-bed with three-fourths of his Frozen Deeps unsold. All this the publisher has to think of and forecast, reckoning up the various items in a dry matter of-fact rule-of-three manner that may be very distasteful to the fervid imagination of Auctor, but is absolutely necessary for the business tactics of publisher; and this, too, before he can see his way to make any offer of £ s. D. for the MSS. But, when this arithmetical computation has been disposed of, the publisher will perhaps eventually be enabled to address Auctor in these terms: "I am willing to bring out your work; to print an edition of one thousand five hundred copies; to preserve your right of copyright for future editions; to take upon myself all risk and expenses of publication, and to produce your work with the best resources of typography and art. But, as the expense of the illustrations will be large, and the various trade deductions to the selling price are so considerable, I find that I cannot, in justice to myself, bring out the two volumes of the work for a less sum than twenty-five shillings, and the utmost that I can offer you for the first edition will be the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds." And, although the greater portion of this sum may have already been consumed on the expenses of the Frozen Deep journey, yet Auctor may consider himself remarkably fortunate in having secured this ready-money sum on terms which involve him in no present or future liability. But, though the sum sounds large, it represents no more than three and sixpence per copy out of the twenty-five shillings; whereas the bookseller's profit from each copy will not be less than six and threepence, but will probably amount to at least seven shillings. Here is the reason why the publisher, in justice to himself, cannot give the author more for his work; and here is the reason why the public is forced to pay so much more for a work than its legitimate worth; and here also is the reason why, from this added charge, the sale of many books is reduced to far narrower limits than it otherwise would have been, and publisher and author are consequently compelled to view the profits and honours of a second edition in a very remote perspective. I confess that I do not envy Auctor's feelings when he goes into his county town and orders a copy of his own work from the respectable and old established firm of Sosii Brothers, who, in return for their mental and physical exertion of handing the book across their counter, pocket double the sum that Auctor has received on that copy, and who have had no more trouble in the matter than is implied in a line of penmanship in the order to their town agent, and who run no more risk with the publication than is involved in the possibility of Auctor's levanting without paying his bill or affording them the opportunity to "County-court him." I say that I do not envy Auctor's feelings in this mercantile transaction; for it is very evident that the country bookseller is the bigger man, and receives a shilling for every one of Auctor's sixpences and groats. And this, from no stinginess, illiberality, or harsh dealing of the publisher, to whom no blame attaches beyond that of yielding to the tyranny of the Sosiial system. But, it may be pleaded: how can it be otherwise? There must be a middle-man to come between the great publishing houses and the purchaser you surely would not have the great Mr. Wholesale stoop to the tradesman's shop of Mr. Retail. And then, too (say Sosii Brothers), look at our shop expenses, our plate-glass windows and mahogany fittings, our bad debts, our long credits, the competition of the trade, the swamping that we get from circulating libraries, the few high-priced books that people buy. "And no wonder !" we may here interpose; "when you compel the purchaser to present you with so valuable a douceur for the privilege of buying a book at your shop. If you would be content with less percentage, you would gain more customers." In fact, so long as such a Sosiial system lasts, how is it possible for the publisher to remunerate himself, to say nothing of the long-suffering author and the patient paying public, as he might, and ought to do, for the risk of publication? The bookseller levies his trade-tax on the several pockets of the publisher, author, and purchaser, three persons, who, if they effected that combination, that I should imagine it was possible for them to accomplish, might abolish the system altogether, or so reduce the burden of its galling yoke as to make it well-nigh imperceptible. But, so long as the publishers will comply with the exacting demands of "the trade," so long will the booksellers be arrant simpletons not to avail themselves of the concessions made to their Sosiial system. Then, how would you remedy it? it may be asked. Well, I confess that it is sometimes easier to point out the disease than to prescribe the remedy. And, in this case, I can, of necessity, only look at the subject from two of its four sides,—those of the author and purchaser; and must leave the contemplation of the bookseller's and publisher's points of view to the dim obscurity of partial revelations and " guesses at truth." But it seems to me, that the great Mr. Wholesale might, to his own advantage, condescend to copy the shop-manners of Mr. Retail, and that the purchaser might be allowed to procure a work of its publisher without the intervention of the taxing middle-man. The book-post gives extraordinary facilities for such transactions, and even railway transit would be found less expensive than the toll paid over a bookseller's counter. But, even if publishers either could not, or would not agree to let the public purchase of them their publications minus the “trade discount," yet another way is placed within the reach of the public whereby they can gain a partial victory over the Sosiial system. It is this. Certain booksellers having discovered the virtue of Small Profits in engendering Quick Returns, make a present to the purchaser of twopence in every shilling; in other words, they are content with a lesser percentage than their brethren, and yet pocket a very fair profit on every copy of the works vended by them, instead of receiving from threepence to fivepence out of every shilling, they are so moderate in their desires that they are satisfied with from one penny to threepence. And they find this to answer their purposes so well, that, not only can they meet the ordinary expenses of their trade, but they are also enabled to encounter the heavy expenditure of daily and weekly advertisements, and of the printing and dissemination of sale catalogues. Such booksellers who will take off "twopence in the shilling" are now to be found, not only in London,* but in every large town; and, if book-purchasers would wholly take their custom to such shops, until the large percentage booksellers consent to trade upon the same terms, I think that it requires but little demonstration to show the probability of the present Sosiial system being shattered beyond the possibility of its re-adjustment on its present basis. No doubt but what all booksellers would do so, even now, if the purchaser put on a determined front. It was but the other day that I had an instance of this. I had arrived at a country town on my way to a friend's house, and stopped at the chief bookseller's shop in order that I might purchase one of the gift books for the Christmas season. were but two to select from, so that the purchaser was limited in his choice, but both were so beautiful and attractive that he could hardly fail to be happy with either. I selected one, and asked its price. "A guinea." "But don't you take off anything for a ready-money payment?" I asked, as I fingered my purse. "No, sir." "Then you can't let me have this book for less than a guinea?" "No, sir. You see it is so expensively got up, and quite new-only received it yesterday-that we really could not afford it for less." "As for being expensively got up, that is the publisher's expense and not yours; your profit and percentage * There Take, for example, a recent instance from the advertisements of Messrs. Gilbert, 4 Copthall Buildings, London, in the Times for December 16, 1863. In their list of this season's books, to be had from them quite new, and less the discount of twopence in the shilling, they mention the following: Andersen's The Ice Maiden, 8s. 9d., pub. at 10s. 6d. ; Art Journal, Volume for 1863, 26s. 3d., pub. at 31s. 6d.; Ayton's Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers and other Poems, 17s. 6d., pub. at 21s.; Cartoons from Punch by J. Tenniel, 17s. 6d., pub. at 21s.; Chronicle of England, by J. E. Doyle, 35s., pub. at 42s.; Floral Gift, an illuminated Souvenir, 11s. 8d., pub. at 14s.; Good Words, new Volume ending Dec. 1863, 6s. 3d., pub. at 7s. 6d.; Ingoldsby Legends, illustrated by Cruikshank, Tenniel, and Leech, 17s. 6d., pub. at 21s. ; Leech's Pictures of Life and Character, fourth series, 10s., pub. at 12s. ; Leisure Hour, Volume for 1863, 5s. 10d., pub. at 7s.; Our English Lakes, with photographs, 15s., pub. at 18s.; Parables of Our Lord, illustrated by Millais, 17s. 6d., pub. at 21s.; Robinson Crusoe, new edition, illustrated by Watson, 17s. 6d., pub. at 21s.; Ruined Castles of Great Britain and Ireland, by Howitt, second series, 17s. 6d., pub. at 21s.; Smith's Dictionary of the Bible, vols. 2 and 3 completing the work, £2, 12s. 6d. pub. at £3, 3s.; Sunday at Home, Volume for 1863, 5s. 10d., pub. at 7s.; Tennyson's Poetical Works, new edition, illustrated, 17s. 6d., pub. at 21s.; Tennyson's Welcome to H. R.H. Alexandra, Princess of Wales, illuminated by Owen Jones, 17s. 6d., pub. at 21s." Surely, if one bookseller can afford to sell new books at such reduced prices (and also to incur the expense of extensive advertisements), other booksellers could do the same. VOL. IV. U ; remains the same whatever may have been the cost of this work to its publisher. As, I daresay, you are aware, the town of is distant from this only ten miles by rail; and, in that town, I know, at least, five book sellers who will take off twopence in the shilling. Instead, therefore, of giving you a guinea for this book, I shall write to Sosii, Brothers, at sending them a post-office order for seventeen-and-sixpence, and telling them to forward the book by railway parcel, for fear its beautiful cover should be injured if it came to me by book-post. The cost of this will be a penny for my letter, threepence for the order, and sixpence or not more than a shilling for the parcel. I shall therefore be a gainer by the transaction of nearly half-a-crown; and, at the same time, Sosii Brothers will have made a fair trade profit by the sale. I wish you good morning." "You shall have the book for seventeen-six, sir!" gasped the country bookseller, as he handed it alluringly across the counter. "Oh, but I have no desire to rob you; and you told me that you could not possibly afford to let me have it for less than a guinea." "Well, sir, you see that I might have it left on hand; and sooner than keep it in stock, I would consent to a sacrifice." "But I have no more wish that you should be a sacrifice than that I should be a victim. Sosii Brothers won't use such ridiculous expressions, but will take the seventeen-and-sixpence as a matter of course, and will thank me for it. If you like to make your charge similar to theirs, here is the money." "And there is the book, sir." "But don't talk of sacrifices in connection with yourself, so long as victims are to be found in the publisher, the author, and the purchaser. The sacrifice is on their side, and not on yours." Now this really happened to me as I have here stated it; and, if this bookseller could so immediately drop his price to the extent of three-andsixpence, I think it may be fairly argued that his fellow-booksellers, if similarly dealt with, would do the same. And, if so, and if the bookseller's percentage was universally reduced to rational limits, then, away would go the present clog upon publishers and authors, and the greatest evil of our modern Sosiial system. MISSES AND MATRIMONY. EDITED BY W. W. KNOLLYS. CHAPTER X. BOTH RIVALS CALL AT THE SAME TIME AWKWARD POSITION OF EMILY BY PLAY-A FORTUNATE INTERRUPTION—AFTERNOON DRIVE-BOULTBEE November 185-. I SAID SO, and sure enough it did happen. Exactly at twelve o'clock Mr. M'Clusky drove up to the door, and asked whether the Miss Baba was in. You may depend upon it I was, and sitting ready to receive him in the nicest and coolest dress I had. I chose a cool one on purpose, for in this hot country something cool to look at is as pleasant to the eyes as an ice is to the taste. I wouldn't tell aunt he was here, for she is so tiresome; she always does all the talking herself. M'Clusky was by way of being very lover-like, but he is so uncouth; a Polar bear would make love better than him. The first thing he did was to give me such a squeeze in shaking hands, that he pinched the rings into my flesh. Oh, my! how he hurt. He began by telling me I looked "very bonnee," at which I tried to blush, but couldn't. Then the conversation turned on the ball, and I told him I had enjoyed it so, and that I thought people managed that sort of thing much better in India than in England. Anglo-Indians are very easily flattered. "I suppose though, Mr. M'Clusky," I added, "a person in your important position has very little time to think about amusement." He said I was "richt" there, but that he thought it right to countenance them, for it would give great offence if he did not go. Somehow or another we then began to talk about different coloured hair, and he said that "for his part he was very proud of his red hair. Every M'Clusky has it, and indeed I should not think I was a true M'Clusky if I hadn't. Some people pretend to object to it, but I wouldn't change to be Duke of Argyll." I assured him I thought it extremely becoming, that black or brown was very insipid in a man, but that red gave him a noble appearance. The ancients, I believed, considered it a great mark of beauty. Being a very ugly fellow, of course he is also very vain, and he looked so pleased. He asked me if I had ever seen the McClusky tartan? "No." He thought it would make me such a pretty dress. Would I like one? "Oh! so much;" I replied; "I quite dote |