The Soviet train was filled with spacious compartments. Each car had a giant samovar full of hot tea that was served along with black bread by an elderly woman. I shared my berth with an interesting man who had been the coach of the Estonian boxing team in the 1936 Olympics, three years before the Soviet union absorbed the Baltic states. We both spoke enough German to communicate a little. He was a lively fellow who told me with absolute confidence that one day Estonia would be free again. In 2002, when I traveled to Tallinn, Estonias beautiful old capital, I told this story to the audience I addressed. My friend, former president Lennart Meri, was at the speech and did some quick research for me. The mans name was Peter Matsov. He died in 1980. I think often of him and our New Years Eve train ride. I wish he had lived another decade to see his dream come true. Along with the excitement of a new baby in the house was the thrill of the new TV. There were lots of shows and entertainers for kids: cartoons, Captain Kangaroo and Howdy Doody, with Buffalo Bob Smith, whom I especially liked. And there was baseball: Mickey Mantle and the Yankees, Stan Musial and the Cardinals, and my all-time favorite, Willie Mays and the old New York Giants. Still, there were signs of a new day. While campaigning in Arkadelphia, thirty-five miles south of Hot Springs, I met the leading candidate for the south Arkansas congressional seat, a young man named David Pryor. He was clearly a progressive who thought if he could just meet enough people he could persuade most of them to vote for him. He did it in 1966, did it again in the governors race in 1974, and again in the Senate race in 1978. By the time he retired, much to my dismay, from the Senate in 1996, David Pryor was the most popular politician in Arkansas, with a fine progressive legacy. Everybody thought of him as their friend, including me. Tenth of Sixth Month. -- We set out early this morning and crossed thewestern branch of Delaware, called the Great Lehie, near Fort Allen. The waterbeing high, we went over in a canoe. Here we met an Indian, had friendlyconversation with him, and gave him some biscuit; and he, having killed a deer,gave some of it to the Indians with us. After travelling some miles, we metseveral Indian men and women with a cow and horse, and some household goods, who were lately come from their dwelling at Wyoming, and were going to settleat another place. We made them some small presents, and, as some of themunderstood English, I told them my motive for coming into their country, withwhich they appeared satisfied. One of our guides talking awhile with an ancientwoman concerning us, the poor old woman came to my companion and me, and tookher leave of us with an appearance of sincere affection. We pitched our tentnear the banks of the same river, having laboured hard in crossing some ofthose mountains called the Blue Ridge. The roughness of the stones and thecavities between them, with the steepness of the hills, made it appeardangerous. But we were preserved in safety, through the kindness of Him whoseworks in these mountainous deserts appeared awful, and towards whom my heartwas turned during this day's travel. They shall hunger after vanities and still an-hungered go. And the other earlier and homelier picture from the low coast lands: 无码手机线免费观看,一本道本线中文无码,日本av电影在线观看,日本免费的视频 We had come to the boundaries of Dougherty, and were about to turn west along the county-line, when all these sights were pointed out to us by a kindly old man, black, white-haired, and seventy. Forty-five years he had lived here, and now supports himself and his old wife by the help of the steer tethered yonder and the charity of his black neighbors. He shows us the farm of the Hills just across the county line in Baker,鈥攁 widow and two strapping sons, who raised ten bales (one need not add "cotton" down here) last year. There are fences and pigs and cows, and the soft-voiced, velvet-skinned young Memnon, who sauntered half-bashfully over to greet the strangers, is proud of his home. We turn now to the west along the county line. Great dismantled trunks of pines tower above the green cottonfields, cracking their naked gnarled fingers toward the border of living forest beyond. There is little beauty in this region, only a sort of crude abandon that suggests power,鈥攁 naked grandeur, as it were. The houses are bare and straight; there are no hammocks or easy-chairs, and few flowers. So when, as here at Rawdon's, one sees a vine clinging to a little porch, and home-like windows peeping over the fences, one takes a long breath. I think I never before quite realized the place of the Fence in civilization. This is the Land of the Unfenced, where crouch on either hand scores of ugly one-room cabins, cheerless and dirty. Here lies the Negro problem in its naked dirt and penury. And here are no fences. But now and then the crisscross rails or straight palings break into view, and then we know a touch of culture is near. Of course Harrison Gohagen,鈥攁 quiet yellow man, young, smooth-faced, and diligent,鈥攐f course he is lord of some hundred acres, and we expect to see a vision of well-kept rooms and fat beds and laughing children. For has he not fine fences? And those over yonder, why should they build fences on the rack-rented land? It will only increase their rent. "One of the ship boys on the largest ship, a native of Lepe, cried 'Fire!' cheer the wea-ry trav-el-ler "As looking over the minutes made by persons who have put off this body hathsometimes revived in me a thought how ages pass away, so this list may probablyrevive a like thought in some, when I and the rest of the persons above namedare centered in another state of being. The Lord who was the guide of my youth hath in tender mercies helped me hitherto; He hath healed my wounds; He hathhelped me out of grievous entanglements; He remains to be the strength of mylife, to whom I desire to devote myself in time and in eternity. However, in 1966 a lot of the white segregationists were still southern Democrats, people like Orval Faubus and Jim Johnson and Governor George Wallace of Alabama. And the Senate was full of them, grand characters like Richard Russell of Georgia and John Stennis of Mississippi and some others who had no grandeur at all, just power. But President Johnson was right about the impact of the Voting Rights Act and the other civil rights efforts. By 1968, Richard Nixon and George Wallace, running for President as an independent, would both outpoll Humphrey in the South, and since then, the only Democrats to win the White House were two southerners, Jimmy Carter and I. We won enough southern states to get in, with huge black support and a few more white voters than a non-southerner could have gotten. The Reagan years solidified the hold of the Republican Party on white conservative southerners, and the Republicans made them feel welcome.