the safest? Is it better to reveal
the snares and pitfalls of life to the young and thoughtless traveller,
or to cover them with branches and flowers? Oh, reader! if there were
less of this delicate concealment of facts--this whispering, 'Peace,
peace,' when there is no peace, there would be less of sin and misery to
the young of both sexes who are left to wring their bitter knowledge from
experience.

I would not be understood to suppose that the proceedings of the unhappy
scapegrace, with his few profligate companions I have here introduced,
are a specimen of the common practices of society--the case is an extreme
one, as I trusted none would fail to perceive; but I know that such
characters do exist, and if I have warned one rash youth from following
in their steps, or prevented one thoughtless girl from falling into the
very natural error of my heroine, the book has not been written in vain.
But, at the same time, if any honest reader shall have derived more pain
than pleasure from its perusal, and have closed the last volume with a
disagreeable impression on his mind, I humbly crave his pardon, for such
was far from my intention; and I will endeavour to do better another
time, for I love to give innocent pleasure. Yet, be it understood, I
shall not limit my ambition to this--or even to producing 'a perfect work
of art': time and talents so spent, I should consider wasted and
misapplied. Such humble talents as God has given me I will endeavour to
put to their greatest use; if I am able to amuse, I will try to benefit
too; and when I feel it my duty to speak an unpalatable truth, with the
help of God, I _will_ speak it, though it be to the prejudice of my name
and to the detriment of my reader's immediate pleasure as well as my own.

One word more, and I have done. Respecting the author's identity, I
would have it to be distinctly understood that Acton Bell is neither
Currer nor Ellis Bell, and therefore let not his faults be attributed to
them. As to whether the name be real or fictitious, it cannot greatly
signify to those who know him only by his works. As little, I should
think, can it matter whether the writer so designated is a man, or a
woman, as one or two of my critics profess to have discovered. I take
the imputation in good part, as a compliment to the just delineation of
my female characters; and though I am bound to attribute much of the
severity of my censors to this suspicion, I make no effort