Of all the amusements which can possibly be imagined for a hardworking man, after his daily toil, there is nothing like reading an entertaining book - a thriller, a murder mystery or even a travelogue. It calls for no bodily exertion of which he had enough through the day. It relieves his home of its dullness. It transports him to a livelier and more interesting scene, and while he enjoys himself there he may forget the evils of the present moment, be it personal or general. It accompanies him to his next day's work and if the book he has been reading be anything above the very idlest and the dullest, it gives him something to think about, besides the drudgery of his everyday occupation, his day to day frustration, the fuss that people make over insignificant happenings, etc. If I were to play for a taste which should stand me in good stead under every variety of circumstances and be a source of happiness and cheerfulness through life, it would be a taste for reading. This habit of reading once developed brings lifelong happiness and companionship, a contentment which can only be believed once experienced. Give the man this taste, and the means of gratifying it, and you can hardly fail to make him happy unless indeed you put into his hand a most perverse selection of books. This perverse selection however would put him off books completely for the rest of his life. It is thus the right book which makes his leisure hours not only rewarding but gives him a new lease of life.