Even so Karlkammer's red hair was a pillar of fire in the trackless wilderness of Hebrew literature.

Gabriel Hamburg was a mighty savant who endured all things for the love of knowledge and the sake of six men in Europe who followed his work and profited by its results.
Verily, fit audience though few.

But such is the fate of great scholars whose readers are sown throughout the lands more sparsely than monarchs.
One by one Hamburg grappled with the countless problems of Jewish literary history, settling dates and authors, disintegrating the Books of the Bible into their constituent parts, now inserting a gap of centuries between two halves of the same chapter, now flashing the light of new theories upon the development of Jewish theology.

He lived at Royal Street and the British Museum, for he spent most of his time groping among the folios and manuscripts, and had no need for more than the little back bedroom, behind the Ansells, stuffed with mouldy books.
Nobody (who was anybody) had heard of him in England, and he worked on, unencumbered by patronage or a full stomach.

The Ghetto, itself, knew little of him, for there were but few with whom he found intercourse satisfying.