ad ever been, her solace and
delight; but she was obliged to relinquish her practice of the harp, and
to exercise her voice but seldom; still her spirit cried "On, on," and
every hour she could command was devoted to her pen.

"The Records of Israel," "The Women of Israel," and "The Jewish Faith,"
separately and together, show how, heart and soul, she labored in the
cause she had so emphatically made her own. The first publication
relating so particularly to her own people, met with but a cool
reception from the English Jews; but in America (where the Hebrews enjoy
perfect equality with their Christian brethren) they hailed this rising
star with joy, and looked anxiously for its meridian. Letters and
congratulations came to her across the Atlantic; and those who had read
only her fugitive pieces, were astonished at the concentrated zeal and
pious energy which animated her when writing of the Hebrews.

A little "History of the English Jews," published by the Messrs.
Chambers, is perhaps superior to her other writings in style and
finish--the sentences are more condensed--the information more full of
interest. It was, we believe, her last labor of love, and she greatly
rejoiced in its publication. When it was finished, she had resolved to
visit the German baths, and enjoy, as much as her increased debility
permitted, the society of her eldest brother, who at the time was
studying music (the art in which he now so much excels) at Frankfort.
Her youngest brother was at sea. There were times, even before her
departure for Germany, that she felt as if her days were numbered; but
this feeling she studiously concealed from her mother, and bore her
sufferings with the sweet and placid patience which rendered it a
privilege to see her and to hear her speak. At times she thought she
might be spared a little longer to comfort her mother, to witness the
distinction certain to reward her brother, and enjoy the reputation
which now rushed upon her, especially from her own people, both here and
in America.

Devotedly attached to her friends, she bitterly regretted that she could
not take leave of them all; but her weakness increased daily; propped up
by pillows she still continued to write, until her medical advisers
expressly commanded that she should abstain from this--her "greatest and
last luxury." She obeyed, though expressing her conviction that writing
did her good, not harm; she frequently said that when oppressed by care,
a