MR. JEROME K. JEROME, or, more easily pronounced, “Mr. JERUMKY JERUM,” is occasionally very amusing in his book for Christmastide, entitled Told After Supper.  What he wants, that is, what he ought to have whether he wants it or not, is judicious editing.  Had this process been applied to this eccentric haphazardy book, scarcely more than a third of it would have been published.  “His style, in this book at least, and, for my part,” says the Baron, “I say the same of his Three Men in a Tub, suggests the idea of his writing being the work of a young man who, among his companions and admirers, has earned the reputation of being a ‘deuced funny chap,’ and so has to struggle to live up to this reputation, or to live it down.”  JERUMKY JERUM still somewhat affects Yankee humour, not, however, in so forced and vulgar a manner as in his overpraised Three Men in a Boat.  Two of the Ghost Stories are humorous, but their setting is unworthy of them.  Had they been introduced into a tale as DICKENS (of whose style there is a very palpable attempt at imitation in the description of a stormy winter’s night) brought in his story of Tom Smart, and of the inimitable Gabriel Grub, their mirth-raising value would have been considerably enhanced.  As it is, these choice morsels—­sandwich’d in between heavy slabs of doughy material—­stand a chance of not being tasted.  To anyone who comes across the book the Baron says, “read about the Curate and the Card-trick, and JOHNSON and EMILY.  The tinted paper on which it is printed is a mistake, as are also most of the amateurish illustrations.”

[Illustration:  Goblins.]

WOMAN—­not “lovely woman” who “stoops to folly”—­nor woman who in our hour of ease is uncertain, coy, and hard to please.  But Woman, the weekly Woman who is doing uncommonly well and in her fifty-third number, gave the week before Christmas, her idea of a Christmas dinner, and, but for “sweetbread cutlets,” a very good and simple dinner it was.  The same Woman gave also, among a variety of next-day’s treatments of Turkey, Turkey in Aspic, Turkey in Europe, and Turkey in Asia—­yes—­but what about “Turkey in Aspic”?  It doesn’t look well; much better in French.  But we dare say it’s very good, though, for breakfast or supper, “devilled Turkey” is “hard to beat.”

I have been trying to read LEIGH HUNT.  His Biography interested me muchly, and I had always heard, in time past, so much of his writings, though I do not remember ever having heard the titles of his works mentioned, that, when a neat-looking volume was sent me by Messrs. PATERSON & Co. of Leigh Hunt’s Tales, I anticipated great pleasure from their perusal.  Alas! the pleasure was only in anticipation.  I have tried, as the song says, “A little bit here, and a little bit there—­Here a bit, There a bit, And everywhere a bit,”—­but, hang me, says the Baron, if I can tackle any one of them.  The matter doesn’t interest me, and the style doesn’t fascinate me.  This may be rank heresy, but I can’t help it.  I have tried, and failed.  Well, better to have tried, and failed, than never to have tried at all.  But I shan’t try again,—­at least, not on this collection of Tales.