As I’ve been writing for my bread-and-butter for the last few days, and as your letter called for no answer except I should receive one from Ford, which I should have forwarded promptly, and as nothing has come from Ford, I have taken my own time to talk with you. Had I written the day after receiving your letter, I hardly think we would have had any further correspondence or business together. As it is I’m not anxious to write this. But there are a few things I must say to you.

First. As to the American Publishing Co.

If Mr Bliss was a business man he would have sent me a statement of my a/c when it was due, and given me an opportunity of examining it—of knowing what he was doing and what he had done about my property, and what profit I was to expect from it. He would have exhibited his charge for “interest on advances”—a charge so preposterous and outrageous that if he will look at his contract he will see that it is so, and if he comes in contact with my lawyer he will find know that it is so.

Second—As to his sales of my book and the amount of copyright: No publisher of any of my works, at any day, or time has done as badly as he has. It is no answer to this to repeat your formula “that the book was delayed by me, that my reputation had waned suffered by it, that I had lost my popularity &c. &c. &c.” The only test is what other publishers are doing now, and since then, and at the time of Bliss’ publication, with my other books. Mr. Osgood offered Robson $250 advance (without interest, of course,) on the sale of the much abused play of “Sandy Bar”—which he would offer to the trade at 65¢. In fifteen days Inside of a month, Osgood had credited me on account of “Thankful Blossom”—a book published originally in a daily newspaper and sold by Osgood for 60¢—with one half the amount of copyright that Bliss shows for his sales in 5 mos of a book that a magazine paid $6000 for, and which he sells for $3.50. In brief, Osgood has sold more copies of “Thankful Blossom” than Bliss in a month, than Bliss has sold of “Gabriel Conroy” in five months,—and on looking over my copyright accounts, I find I have never in my literary experience sold less than four or five thousand copies in the first three months of publication. Either the Bliss must confess that he runs his concern solely in your interest, and that he uses the names of other authors to keep that fact from the public, or else he is a fool. No sane business man would advance $6000 dollars on a book, of which in 5 mos he sold only 2000 copies, unless he had some other reason for it. I dont think his friendship for me goes as far as that. Possibly he may have carelessly made up his accounts. Ticknor of J. R. Osgood & Co, to whom I stated the case, tells me that from his experience of the dealings of the regular trade with Subscription houses, that Bliss has probably already disposed of at least 2000 copies to the trade alone. Even Bliss’ advances of $6000 cannot cover the loss I shall have from respectable publishers by publishing with him. Now, this is somewhere wrong, Mark, and as my friend you should have looked into Bliss’s books and Bliss’s methods, quite as much with a desire of seeing justice done your friend, as with the desire of seeing what chance you had of recovering any possible advance of $500 on our mutual work, if that it failed.

I have written this on a separate page that you might show the preceding ones to Bliss. I only add one other fact (to yourself solely) which you may have forgotten. I had forgotten it, until looking for my contract with Bliss I found a letter from you of the same date. You requested me to tell Bliss that his contract with me was of your making and out of your influence with me as a friend, and you afterwards admitted to me that a disputed question of one or two thousand dollars was settled in your favor by virtue of that contract so made. I sha am willing to admit that your loan of $700 wipes out that obligation, nor should I have referred to it, but for the sting tenor of your letter the other day, which struck me as being inconsistent with the facts.

Now, as to “Ah Sin”! First:

Parsloe called here and showed me your letter. I don’t object to San Francisco as the place of début, except that from my own knowledge they prefer something with an Eastern endorsement, and I really can’t see how our main idea of bringing out the play in a small town so that we might be able to superintend rehearsals, is furthered by this.

Secondly.

If there is any one thing that we are sure about, regarding our play—anything that we do know, by actual experience, by general report, by universal criticism, by the consent and acknowledgment of the public—it is that Parsloe is a perfect Chinaman! Now to spend five or six hundred dollars for him to go to send him to San Francisco to study Chinese character is simply preposterous—so preposterous, that even the honest fellow himself saw it. Without waiting for my opinion, he told me he would n’t do it. And in saying this to you I think I have overlooked your implied insult—an insult I admit I felt keenly when he shewed me your letter—of your offering this actor, in a mere whim and idiotic impulse—the very sum you refused to advance your collaborateur who called your that actor into life, who had given already four or five weeks of his time to you. And you did this , and whom you refused on the plea of poverty!

No, Mark, I do not think it advisable for us to write another play together. Your offer of “$25 per week and board”—is flattering I admit—but I think that if I accepted it, even you would despise me for it. I can make about $100 per week for a few weeks here at my desk—my only idea of asking you for an advance was to save me from the importunity of my creditors, and give me that rest quiet, which as a nervous man yourself, you ought to know is essential to composition. I had not the slightest idea of your speculating out of my poverty, but as a shrewd man, a careful man, a provident man, I think you will admit that in my circumstances the writing of plays with you is not profitable.

Allowing even that I came to you on a salary of $25 per week, as I could not, after your letter, break bread or eat salt with you—don’t you see as an economic man, as a shrewd man, that my board at the cheapest hotel would cost me at least $◊.50 $7.50 per week and that I should only have $17.50 to support my wife and 4 children. I know it can be done cheaper than that, but I think I’ll struggle on here on $100 per week—and not write any more plays with you.

As to the play, already written,—except a protest against your marring it any more by alterations until it is rehearsed, and a special, and I think not improper request that you will try to allow me some understanding of the characters I have created, you can do with it, according to your business shrewdness and sagacity, as you may deem best for both of us—subject to my previous endorsement.

I think I object to San Francisco.

I have no answer from Ford. I shall telegraph him again to-morrow.

Mr. Saml L. Clemens

Hartford.