Seamlessly, timelessly, Mrs. Lindbergh's diaries flow gently on -- having distances well beyond the girlish glow of the first volume and now attempting to leave behind the tragedy with which the second half of the second volume so forcefully concluded. She sees all life as the irreducible ""going from-toward."" Not that from will exclude the memory of the child she lost or as she puts it, once again, so affectingly. . . ""Dead child. . . . No -- the child who died."" Toward covers the timespan 1933-1935 when she makes many flights with Charles; when Harold Nicolson appears to do the biography of her father and encourages her in her own writing in spite of her sometimes despondent reactions toward it (""I feel wretched, doomed never to be anything but an amateur"") while at other times she is resentful of the interruptions since she is always put in the position of backstopping her more famous husband (""Damn, damn, damn! I am sick of being this 'handmaid to the Lord' ""). And toward will also include the death of her sister Elisabeth and finally the acceptance of her first book -- North to the Orient. Here and there although less by far, there are the overprettified/oversensitized touches but le style c'est la femme -- a woman who by now has traveled on (a primary goal) beyond the favored world of her youth. She will take a steadfast audience with her.