Alone in seven thousand dollars worth of machinery and the upper spaces of the Atlantic heavens a man is pushing his way from New York to Paris on a non-stop flight. Captain Charles A. Lindbergh in his plane. The Spirit of St. Louis, keeps alive and energetic an ancient tradition, the tradition which sent men into peaks in Darien and sends men up the frigid sides of Mt. Everest.

Much has been made of the "luck" of the "flying fool". Yet not luck but courage, heroism will inspire those who remember what the son of a Detroit school teacher has done in attemptiny this sensational experiment not alone in aviation but in manliness.

In an age when people have most things fairly well analyzed and the rest fairly well conjectured, no one dares deny the almost divine whimsicality which now sends men voyaging through the fogs of the Atlantic in tiny planes like the Spirit of St. Louis. Were Conrad still living he would see in this what he saw in the passsage of the Narcissus. It smacks of the hardboiled days of the Spanish Main; it has no touch of the mauve decade. And thus, if for no other reason, is it worth while.