nxiety, and pain, her favorite pursuit drew her from herself, and she
firmly believed that writing relieved her headaches,--and this at a
period when she had grown too ill even to listen to music. But, all--all
her sufferings were borne with angelic patience, as the will of her
Heavenly Father, and she would console her mother with words of
cheerfulness and hope.

We have said her life had in it nothing to render it remarkable; surely,
we are in error, her patient, industrious, self-sacrificing life, was
remarkable not only for its sanctity, its talent, and its high purpose,
but for its earnest and beautiful simplicity, and perfect _womanliness_.

When the period of her departure for Germany had arrived, her friends
found it difficult to bid her farewell; for they thought it would be the
last time they should ever press her thin attenuated hand; but the
brightness of her eyes, the hopefulness of her smile, made them hope
against hope. She left England on the 16th of June, 1847, lingered in
the brilliant city of Frankfort for a few weeks, and then went to the
baths at Langen Schwalback. She persevered in her use of the baths and
mineral waters, but they afforded no relief; she was seized one night
with violent spasms, and the next day was removed to Frankfort.
Convinced that recovery was now impossible, she calmly and collectedly
awaited the coming of death: and though all power of speech was gone,
she was able to make her wants and wishes known by conversing on her
fingers. Her great anxiety was to soothe her mother; though her tongue
refused to perform its office, those wasted fingers would entreat her to
be patient, and trust in God. She would name some cherished verse in the
Bible, or some dearly-loved psalm, that she desired might be read aloud.
The last time her fingers moved it was to spell upon them feebly,
"_Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him_;" when they could no
longer perform her will, her loving eyes would seek her mother and then
look upwards, intimating that they should meet hereafter. Amen!

Her death occasioned deep regret among the Hebrews both in Europe and
America: foreign tabernacles poured forth their lamentations, private
friends gave voice to their grief in prose and poetry, and the various
journals of both hemispheres spoke of her with the respect and
admiration she deserved. But to those who really knew Grace Aguilar, all
eulogium falls short of her deserts; and she has left a blank in