Two men rivet our attention. The one is _Chasdai ben Isaac_, one of those awe-and-respect-commanding and love-and-confidence-inspiring appearances we meet with but rarely in life. His features present an embodiment of three distinct races. His high and square forehead, his deep-set eye, his aquiline nose, his prominent chin, indicative of profound wisdom, of capacities to command and of great will power; these bespeak the Palestinian Hebrew. The grace and comeliness of the figure bespeak the Moor. His tall, majestic form, full of life and vigor, bespeak the European Visigoth. No less attractive is the person of Rabbi _Moses Ben Chanoch_. There is something strange and fascinating in his intelligent countenance. Some strange, sweet melancholy seems to hover about his eyes. The lines of his face fall into an expression of mild suffering, of endurance sweetened and sustained by holiness and resignation to God's will. He seems to be more deeply lost in meditation than any of the rest. Now and then his forehead wrinkles, and his lips quiver, as if in pain, and his teeth close, as if suppressing a cry of anguish. Is the great and learned and pious Rabbi, revered wherever a Jewish heart beats, whether in Asia or in Africa or in Europe, through whom the light of Eastern learning, which, by the dispersion of the illustrious teachers, and by the final closing of the great schools, seemed to have been extinguished forever, suddenly rose again in the West in renewed and undiminished splendor, is he really lost in pious meditations? We have our suspicions, and may God pardon us if we suspect him wrongfully. "There are moments when silence, prolonged and unbroken, More expressive may be than all words ever spoken, It is when the heart has an instinct of what In the heart of another is passing."[11] [11] Lucile, Pt. II., Canto I., St. 20.