Her editorial connection with the Westminster Review continued for about two years, until the end of 1853.  For the next three years she was a contributor to its pages, where there appeared “Woman in France:  Madame de Sable,” in October, 1854; “Evangelical Teaching:  Dr. Cumming,” October, 1855; “German Wit:  Heinrich Heine,” January, 1856; “The Natural History of German Life,” July, 1856; “Silly Novels by Lady Novelists,” October, 1856; and “Worldliness and other-Worldliness:  the Poet Young,” January, 1857.  Two other articles have been attributed to her pen, but they are of little value.  These are “George Forster,” October, 1856, and “Weimar and its Celebrities,” April, 1859.  The interest and value of nearly all these articles are still as great as when they were first published.  This will justify the publication here of numerous extracts from their most salient and important paragraphs.  As indicating her literary judgment, and her capacity for incisive characterization and clear, trenchant criticism, reference may be made to the essay on Heine, which is one of the finest pieces of critical writing the century has produced.

Heine is one of the most remarkable men of this age; no echo, but a real voice, and therefore, like all genuine things in this world, worth studying; a surpassing lyric poet, who has uttered our feelings for us in delicious song; a humorist, who touches leaden folly with the magic wand of his fancy, and transmutes it into the fine gold of art—­who sheds his sunny smile on human tears, and makes them a beauteous rainbow on the cloudy background of life; a wit, who holds in his mighty hand the most scorching lightnings of satire; an artist in prose literature, who has shown even more completely than Goethe the possibilities of German prose; and—­in spite of all charges against him, true as well as false—­a lover of freedom, who has spoken wise and brave words on behalf of his fellow-men.  He is, moreover, a suffering man, who, with all the highly wrought sensibility of genius, has to endure terrible physical ills; and as such he calls forth more than an intellectual interest.  It is true, alas! that there is a heavy weight in the other scale—­that Heine’s magnificent powers have often served only to give electric force to the expression of debased feeling, so that his works are no Phidian statue of gold, and ivory, and gems, but have not a little brass, and iron, and miry clay mingled with the precious metal.  The audacity of his occasional coarseness and personality is unparalleled in contemporary literature, and has hardly been exceeded by the license of former days.  Yet, when all coarseness, all scurrility, all Mephistophelean contempt for the reverent feelings of other men, is removed, there will be a plenteous remainder of exquisite poetry, of wit, humor and just thought.  It is apparently too often a congenial task to write severe words about the transgressions committed by men of genius, especially when the censor has the