When evening shades are falling O’er ocean’s sunny sleep, To pilgrims’ hearts recalling Their home beyond the deep; When rest, o’er all descending, The shores with gladness smile, And lutes, their echoes blending, Are heard from isle to isle: Then, Mary, Star of the Sea, We pray, we pray, to thee. The noonday tempest over Now ocean toils no more, And wings of halcyons hover, Where all was strife before; Oh, thus may life, in closing Its short tempestuous day, Beneath heaven’s smile reposing, Shine all its storms away: Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea, We pray, we pray, to thee. --THOMAS MOORE. THE REINDEER Adapted from “The Red Book of Animal Stories.” Copyright, 1899, by Longmans, Green, & Company. Used by permission. nourishing excellent sinews immense delicacy especially crevices sociable [Illustration] There is perhaps no other animal in the world so useful as the reindeer, at least none that can be put to so many uses. The flesh of a sheep is eaten, and its wool is woven into cloth; but then we should never think of harnessing a sheep even to a baby carriage. A camel serves, in the desert, the purpose of a van and of a riding horse in one, and his hair makes warm garments; but he would give us a very ill-tasting dinner, and the same may be said of some other useful creatures. A reindeer, however, is good to eat, and makes an excellent steed; its milk is nourishing; the softer parts of its horns, when properly prepared, are considered a delicacy; the bones are turned to account as tools; the sinews are twisted into thread, and, all the long winter, the skin and hair keep the dwellers in the far North snug and warm. Take away the reindeer, and the inhabitants of every country north of latitude 60° would feel as helpless as we should in England if there were no more sheep or cows! Reindeer live, by choice, on the slopes of mountains, and require no better food than the moss, or little alpine plants, which they find growing in the crevices of the rock. Sometimes, in very cold places, or when the winter is particularly severe, they take shelter in the forest; but when spring is in the air once more, out they come in great herds, thin and sore from the bites of newly awakened insects, and wander away in search of fresher pasture. In August and September, when the sun has grown too strong for them, they seek the shade of the woods again.