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can be no danger of a work of this kind being difagreeable. It offers, in a very small compass, the very flowers of our Poetry, and that of a kind adapted to the sex supposed to be its readers. Poetry is an art, which no young Lady can, or ought to be wholly ignorant of. The pleasure which it gives, and indeed the necessity of knowing enough of it to mix in modern conversation, will evince the usefulness of my design, which is to supply the highest and the most innocent entertainment at the smallest expence ; as the Poems in this collection, if sold singly, would amount to ten times the price of what I am able to afford the present.

THE

THE BEE

A SELECT

COLLECTION OF ESSAYS

ON THE

MOST INTERESTING AND ENTERTAINING SUBJECTS.

FIRST PRINTED IN THE YEAR 1759.

THE

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THE BEE, NO I.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1759.

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THERE is not, perhaps, a more whimsically difmal figure in Nature, than a man of real modesty who affumes an air of impudence ; who, while his heart beats with anxiety, studies ease, and affects good humour. In this situation, however, a periodical writer often finds himself, upon his first attempt to address the public in form. All his of pleasing is damped by solicitude, and his chearfulness dashed with apprehension. Impressed with the terrors of the tribunal before which he is going to appear, his natural humour turns to pertness, and for real wit he is obliged to substitute vivacity. His first publication draws a crowd ; they part dissatisfied, and the author, never more to beindulged with a favourable hearing, is left, to condemn the indelicacy

of his own address, or their want of discernment. For my part, as I was never distinguished for address, and have often even blundered in making my bow, such bodings as these had like to have totally repressed my ambition. I was at a loss whether to give the public specious promises, or give none; whether to be merry or fad on this folemn occasion. If I should decline all merit, it was too probable the hasty reader might have taken me at my word. If on the other hand, like labourers in the Magazine trade, I had, with modeft impudence, humbly presumed to promise an epitome of all the good things that ever were said or written, this might have disgusted

those

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