in. This was in the commencement of September, 1847; it came out
before the close of October following, while 'Wuthering Heights'
and 'Agnes Grey,' my sisters' works, which had already been in the
press for months, still lingered under a different management.

They appeared at last. Critics failed to do them justice. The
immature but very real powers revealed in 'Wuthering Heights' were
scarcely recognised; its import and nature were misunderstood; the
identity of its author was misrepresented; it was said that this
was an earlier and ruder attempt of the same pen which had produced
'Jane Eyre.' Unjust and grievous error! We laughed at it at
first, but I deeply lament it now. Hence, I fear, arose a
prejudice against the book. That writer who could attempt to palm
off an inferior and immature production under cover of one
successful effort, must indeed be unduly eager after the secondary
and sordid result of authorship, and pitiably indifferent to its
true and honourable meed. If reviewers and the public truly
believed this, no wonder that they looked darkly on the cheat.

Yet I must not be understood to make these things subject for
reproach or complaint; I dare not do so; respect for my sister's
memory forbids me. By her any such querulous manifestation would
have been regarded as an unworthy and offensive weakness.

It is my duty, as well as my pleasure, to acknowledge one exception
to the general rule of criticism. One writer, endowed with the
keen vision and fine sympathies of genius, has discerned the real
nature of 'Wuthering Heights,' and has, with equal accuracy, noted
its beauties and touched on its faults. Too often do reviewers
remind us of the mob of Astrologers, Chaldeans, and Soothsayers