Years improve him; the effervescence of youth foamed
away, what is really good in him still remains. His nature is like
wine of a good vintage: time cannot sour, but only mellows him. Such
at least was the character I meant to pourtray.
'Heathcliffe, again, of _Wuthering Heights_ is quite another
creation. He exemplifies the effects which a life of continued
injustice and hard usage may produce on a naturally perverse,
vindictive, and inexorable disposition. Carefully trained and kindly
treated, the black gipsy-cub might possibly have been reared into a
human being, but tyranny and ignorance made of him a mere demon. The
worst of it is, some of his spirit seems breathed through the whole
narrative in which he figures: it haunts every moor and glen, and
beckons in every fir-tree of the Heights.
'I must not forget to thank you for the _Examiner_ and _Atlas_
newspapers. Poor Mr. Newby! It is not enough that the _Examiner_
nails him by both ears to the pillory, but the _Atlas_ brands a token
of disgrace on his forehead. This is a deplorable plight, and he
makes all matters worse by his foolish little answers to his
assailants. It is a pity that he has no kind friend to suggest to
him that he had better not bandy words with the _Examiner_.
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