The real danger in aviation lies in the chances men take as desire lays hold upon them; chances the dangers of which they fully realise, but disregard for various causes. There are so-called "holes in the air," but they are hardly more numerous than gullies in the road. High wind is dangerous, but the aviator can often avoid its perils if he will. Briefly, aviation confined to its now well-defined limitations, is a thoroughly rational sport. The "queer" sensation of flight comes in a quick rise, dip or short turn, and you can experience the same sensation in the elevator of a New York sky-scraper, Ferris wheel, shoot-the-chutes or even the back yard swing, for that matter! Dizziness from height is not experienced, for one sees the landscape spread out from high up and afar off, as if from a sheltered balcony; the tendency is not to look down but away. While the rush of air is tremendous, it is not disagreeable, and one even forgets the deafening, unmuffled motor in the indescribable joys, mainly because of the wondrous charm and variety of the landscape which we have known only in detail, ignorant of its beauty as a mass. Apprehension, shuddering, gruesome, childish apprehension perhaps, at the starting, replaced by profound security as mastery, perfect mastery, is apparent; a sense of joyous freedom following as the marvellous world below is revealed. Like an exquisite monotone in low relief it is, each note of colour with its value and in perfect harmony with the whole; ever subtly changing, always some new surprise, some unexpected revelation, lifting one on the wings of exaltation. The popular literary vehicle of to-day, rivalling the "fairy coach of Cinderella," is without question the alluring aeroplane, fitted with all the latest improvements: tachometer, inclinometer, animometer, barograph, aneroid, compass with map holders, lights, and all the modern conveniences and aviation equipment, including a wire-less telegraph outfit, having shock absorbers for landing and an enclosed limousine cabin with mica or celluloid windows, in which not only can our spirits be wafted about, but in which we may enjoy all the material comforts of speedy travel, free from present annoyances and inconveniences, and without requiring the inflated rubber suits which Mr. Rudyard Kipling so kindly provided for his passengers on board the now famous "Night Mail." Vehicles of this description already exist and an "aero-bus" has carried as many as thirteen passengers besides its driver. It is confidently predicted that twenty passengers will soon be carried in an aeroplane at one time.