the West, intending to evangelize and educate the Indians of the
"Summer Islands," but the ship lost her course, and landed him at
Newport, R.I., instead of the Bermudas. Here he was warmly welcomed, but
was disappointed in his plans and hopes of founding a native college by
the failure of friends in England to forward funds, and after a
residence of six years he returned home. He died at Cloyne, Ireland,
1753.

The house which Bishop Berkeley built is still shown (or was until very
recently) at Newport after one hundred and seventy-eight years. He wrote
the _Principles of Human Knowledge_, the _Minute Philosopher_, and many
other works of celebrity in their time, and a scholarship in Yale bears
his name; but he is best loved in this country for his _Ode to America_.

Pope in his list of great men ascribes--

To Berkeley every virtue under heaven.

"SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL."

One would scarcely guess that this bravura hymn of victory and "Come, ye
disconsolate," were written by the same person, but both are by Thomas
Moore. The song has all the vigor and vivacity of his "Harp That Once
Through Tara's Halls," without its pathos. The Irish poet chose the song
of Miriam instead of the song of Deborah doubtless because the sentiment
and strain of the first of these two great female patriots lent
themselves more musically to his lyric verse--and his poem is certainly
martial enough to convey the spirit of both.

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah hath triumphed, His people are free!
Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken;
His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave--
How vain was their boasting, the Lord hath but spoken,
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.

_THE TUNE._

Of all the different composers to whose music Moore's "sacred songs"
were sung--Beethoven, Mozart, Stevenson, and the rest--Avison seems to
be the only one whose name and tune have clung to the poet's words; and
we have the man and the melody sent to us, as it were, by the lyrist
himself. The tune is now rarely sung except at church festivals and
village entertainments, but the life and clamor of the scene at the Red
Sea are in it, and it is something more than a mere musical curiosity.
Its style, however, is antiquated--with its timbrel beat and its
canorous harmony and "coda fortis"--and modern choirs have little use in
religious service for the sonata written for viol