"No tobacco for me.

No cigar, no pipe, no cigarette, no cheroot.

For me, a book--a volume of poems, perhaps.
Verses, rhymes, lines metrical and cadenced--those are my dissipation.
Tennyson by preference: 'Maud,' or 'Idylls of the King'-- poetry of the sound Victorian days; there is none later.

Or Longfellow will rest me in a tired hour.

Yes; for me, a book, a volume in the hand, held lightly between the fingers." Mr.Kinosling looked pleasantly at his fingers as he spoke, waving his hand in a curving gesture which brought it into the light of a window faintly illumined from the interior of the house.