A wonderful little remembrance of D.P. Moynihan by the equally brilliant W.F. Buckley. I have to say, there's something a little bit marvelous about the meandering, impossibly verbose little essays Buckley is writing these days. They're very much the writings of an old man, informal, bereft of violence, and more then a bit nostalgic. Noone else seems to be writing anything quite like them at the moment, and certainly not in the world of political discourse.