Yes, I read incessantly, often under difficulties. Recently I had selected “Paradise Lost.” Ah, it was a venerable tome—ragged and bethumbed; dog-eared and tattered was that volume in the Sing Sing prison library. I believe its back was also broken. Many cells had it visited. Apparently it was appreciated by the inhabitants thereof. Poor creatures, they too had lost their paradise; but, alas, others had found it—and had moved into the book itself—generations of them! I perused Milton’s matchless epic. The stately iambus, the exceptional trochee, dactyl, amphibrach, and anapest rolled and sang solemn music in my soul. I read: “Thus they, Breathing united force, with fixèd thought, Moved on in silence----” What is that! What _is_ that!! On my wrist, up my arm! Another, another! Not _that_, but _those_—the myriad hosts of Apollyon’s army. They were starved, _they_ entered their paradise! Ah, that book was unusually lively reading, for while holding the volume, while improving my mind, the inhabitants—the appreciative ones—had improved their opportunity. They ascended my sleeves for lunch—the book was intellectual food for me, I was food for—I will spare the reader’s feelings, the good housewife is their enemy. Just as Satan with appropriate taunts hurled his mighty javelin at the archangel, so I flung the sweet singer’s poem into the corridor, thereby adding to its appearance of usage. It was returned in triumph to the library with a pair of tongs. Some day, perhaps, an interested visitor may see this volume, the librarian may even indicate it with pride, and judging by appearances (which are quite deceptive) will remark how fond the poor “cons” must be of good reading, of classic literature, of standard works. As for me, my fad is _new_ books.