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Nine days has been set as the proverbial duration of a world wonder, but twelve days have elapsed since Captain Charles Lindbergh flew from New York to Paris, and still the tide of popular laudations is at flood. But praise and honor are becoming adulterated by that morbid interest which the public loves to take in its heroes. The old policy of sentimental advertising is followed: a popular song has appeared in his honor, and Parisian cafes have doubtless added a dash to absinthe to some drink and christened the concoction after the flyer.
This form of hero-worship as old as time itself, is unhealthy. It tends to obscure and to cheapen the cause of the worship, which is the only legacy of the man himself, but which is lost in the tumult and the shouting that tomorrow will be raised over another perhaps less worthy hero.
Human nature is fair enough not to impute to its leaders the desire for glory as a motivating force, but it does insist that glory be the consequence of a brave advance. Where thought of honor played no part in the inspiration to action, honor, especially of the tawdry vaudeville variety, is out of place following the consummation of the deed. All glory adulation and honor to the pioneers, but when humanity makes step onward and upward without ringing bells whose clamor grows harsh, and firing too loud cannon, that will be news.
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