Word: breeding
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Here, no bar of classes or creed Here, no lines of club or breed Here, one common cry, God-speed To every Harvard...
...those who believe that "the world of words," rather than a tissue of shadows and reflected passions," is the only source of intensity, vitality, truth. If, indeed, as Mr. Jencks says, the world is irrational, of what use is the constructive mind, save perhaps to depict it, to "breed one work that wakes." Mr. Jencks' fundamental error, I believe, was in allowing an aesthetic criticism of the proundity of Mr. Levin's method of literary analysis to develop into a moral issue denouncing withdrawl into the world of words as a sin of deprivation against mankind. Far from sinning...
Last week a U.S.-Canadian committee called the Whooping Crane Advisory Group gathered in Washington to consider some schemes for keeping the whooping crane from going the way of the heath hen and the passenger pigeon. Shelved: a proposal to capture several pairs of cranes and try to breed them in captivity. Left pending: a more modest proposal to capture a lone crane and try to mate it with the one in San Antonio. A difficulty in this scheme: since adult whooping cranes look alike to human eyes, the chances would run only 50-50 that the new pair would...
...ancient Pharaohs, who knew and admired the Afghan breed, used a different descriptive phrase-a papyrus from 4000 B.C. refers to the swift dogs that roamed the Sinai desert as "monkey-faced." No one knows how or when the seed of the breed was transported to Afghanistan, but all along the wild, high borderland of northern India the great hounds became a royal canine family. They were smart enough to herd sheep, swift enough to run down deer, sturdy enough to tangle with leopards. Their broad, high-set hips lent unusual agility to their natural speed. They have been called...
...still the angering hum of change, Duncan listens only to the harmonic rhythm of the seasons, the shrill "kree kree" of a crying hawk, the explosion of hot sun on ripe tobacco leaf. He scours the countryside to breed an aging mare of a great blood line, and his father's death is somehow symbolically salvaged by the birth of a perfect colt. A second marriage of his own turns to ashes when he discovers that his wife is his neighbor's castoff doxy. Lonely and alone, he rides Chief, the young stallion, deeper into his estate where...