A preface to the first edition of “Jane Eyre” being unnecessary, I gave his sed edition demands a few words both of aowledgment and miscellaneous remark.
My thanks are due in three quarters.
To the Public, for the indulgent ear it has ined to a plain tale with few pretensions.
To the Press, for the fair field its ho suffrage has opeo an obscure aspirant.
To my Publishers, for the aid their tact, their energy, their practical sense and frank liberality have afforded an unknown and unreended Author.
The Press and the Public are but vague personifications for me, and I must thank them in vague terms; but my Publishers are definite: so are certain generous critics who have enced me as only large-hearted and high-minded men know how to ence a struggling strao them, i.e., to my Publishers and the select Reviewers, I say cordially, Gentlemen, I thank you from my heart.
Having thus aowledged what I owe those who have aided and approved me, I turn to another class; a small one, so far as I know, but not, therefore, to be overlooked. I meaimorous or carping few who doubt the tendency of such books as “Jane Eyre:” in whose eyes whatever is unusual is wrong; whose ears dete each protest against bigotry—that parent of crime—an insult to piety, that regent of God oh. I would suggest to such doubters certain obvious distins; I would remind them of certain simple truths.
ventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is nion. To attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the of Thorns.
These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are as distinct as is vice from virtue. Men too often found them: they should not be founded: appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human does, that only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not be substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is—I repeat it—a difference; and it is a good, and not a bad a to mark broadly and clearly the line of separatioween them.
The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it has been aced to blend them; finding it veo make external show pass for sterling worth—to let white-washed walls vouch for shrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinise and expose—to rase the gilding, and show base metal u—to pee the sepulchre, and reveal el relics: but hate as it will, it is ied to him.
Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied good ing him, but evil; probably he liked the sycophant son of aannah better; yet might Ahab have escaped a bloody death, had he but stopped his ears to flattery, and opehem to faithful sel.
There is a man in our own days whose words are not framed to tickle delicate ears: who, to my thinking, es before the great ones of society, much as the son of Imlah came before the throned Kings of Judah and Israel; and who speaks truth as deep, with a porophet-like and as vital—a mien as dauntless and as daring. Is the satirist of “Vanity Fair” admired in high places? I ot tell; but I think if some of those amongst whom he hurls the Greek fire of his sarcasm, and over whom he flashes the levin-brand of his denunciatioo take his warnings in time—they or their seed might yet escape a fatal Rimoth-Gilead.
Why have I alluded to this man? I have alluded to him, Reader, because I think I see in him an intellect profounder and more uhan his poraries have yet reised; b
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