192 



THE HEBREW'S PRAYER. 



A Hebrew knelt in the dying light, 



His eye was dim and cold, 



The hairs on his brow were silver-white, 



And his blood was thin and old — 



He lifted his look to his latest sun, 



For he knew that his pilgrimage was done,— 



And, as he saw God's shadow there, 



His spirit poured itself in prayer. 



Towards the close of a dark November day in the year 16*^, 

 I was returning home through one of those narrow streets at the 

 back of the Minories, which are inhabited principally by Jews, 

 when my attention was suddenly awakened by a low moan, 

 which seemed to come from the opposite pathway. 



The deep gloom of the evening, and the profound stillness, in 

 which all around was enveloped, imparted an almost unearthly 

 character to that which at an earlier hour would probably have 

 escaped unheard, or if heard would have been scarcely noticed. 

 My iSrst impulse naturally was to cross the street, and endeavour 

 to ascertain the cause of so unusual a sound ; but the recollec- 

 tion of the numerous robberies which had been committed in the 

 neighbourhood, and of the success with which* the same or 

 similar stratagems had been attended, banished all feelings of 

 curiosity, and I was proceeding on my path homewards, when 

 a repetition of the same extraordinary noise so far overcame all 

 feelings of caution as to induce me to hasten to the other side of 

 the street, in the direction of the spot whence it seemed to issue. 

 I had scarcely reached the centre of the causeway, when a stifled 

 sob from an adjoining house convinced me that I had not been 

 mistaken in my conjectures. Upon looking round, I perceived 

 that I was standing near the portal of a curious old building, 

 which I had previously remarked, as being one of the few speci- 

 mens of Elizabethan architecture that had escaped the ravages 

 of time, and of the great fire. At this moment, the lanthorn of 

 the night-watch, who was going his rounds, shone on the gilded 

 hammer, and other devices emblematical of the goldsmith's craft, 

 which were suspended over the door, and I then recollected that 

 it was the abode of the wealthy Benoin. 



I was on the point of knocking at the door to offer my assist- 

 ance to the sufferer, if sufferer there were, and of that the 



* The stratagem here particularly alluded to, is one, which, even now, is frequently 

 employed by the robbers in the interior of India. They post one of their band, 

 generally a woman, by the road side, with instructions to howl and make other 

 audible demonstrations of suJBFering. Should the solitary traveller be so incautious 

 as to approach the pretended sufferer, a noose is thrown over his head by an accom- 

 plice, who is concealed close by, and he becomes an easy prey to the band. 



