in
spidery hieroglyphics, and a slovenly scribble is no proof of
cleverness, but rather of carelessness and a tendency to 'scamp'
work.

'_ON THE STAGE AND OFF_'

BY JEROME K. JEROME

The story of one's 'first book' I take to be the last chapter of one's
literary romance. The long wooing is over. The ardent young author has
at last won his coy public. The good publisher has joined their hands.
The merry critics, invited to the feast of reason, have blessed the
union, and thrown the rice and slippers--occasionally other things. The
bridegroom sits alone with his bride, none between them, and ponders.

The fierce struggle, with its wild hopes and fears, its heart-leapings
and heart-achings, its rose-pink dawns of endless promise, its grey
twilights of despair, its passion and its pain, lies behind. Before him
stretches the long, level road of daily doing. Will he please her to all
time? Will she always be sweet and gracious to him? Will she never tire
of him? The echo of the wedding-bells floats faintly through the
darkening room. The fair forms of half-forgotten dreams rise up around
him. He springs to his feet with a slight shiver, and rings for the
lamps to be lighted.

Ah! that 'first book' we meant to write! How it pressed forward an
oriflamme of joy, through all ranks and peoples; how the world rang with
the wonder of it! How men and women laughed and cried over it! From
every page there leaped to light a new idea. Its every paragraph
scintillated with fresh wit, deep thought, and new humour. And, ye
gods! how the critics praised it! How they rejoiced over the discovery
of the new genius! How ably they pointed out to the reading public its
manifold merits, its marvellous charm! Aye, it was a great work, that
book we wrote as we strode laughing through the silent streets, beneath
the little stars.

And, heigho! what a poor little thing it was, the book that we did
write! I draw him from his shelf (he is of a faint pink colour, as
though blushing all over for his sins), and stand him up before me on
the desk. 'Jerome K. Jerome'--the K very big, followed by a small J, so
that in many quarters the author is spoken of as 'Jerome Kjerome,' a
name that in certain smoke-laden circles still clings to me--'On the
Stage--and Off: The Brief Career of a would-be Actor. One Shilling.'

I suppose I ought to be ashamed of him, but how can I be? Is he not my
first-born? Did he not come to me in the da