landed thereon: approach the cave of the wretched Polipsile; lose not a word of her complaints; and then tell me, if any one circumstance draws you out of the illusion. Name me a modern piece that can bear the same examination, and pretend to the same degree of perfection; and I grant you the victory."
"By Brama," cried the Sultan, yawning, "madam has made an academical dissertation."
"I do not understand the rules," continued the favorite; "and much less the learned words, in which they are expressed: but I know that nothing but the True can please and touch. I also know that the perfection of a dramatic piece consists in the exact imitation of an action, so that the spectator, continually deceived, imagines he is present at the very action. Now, pray, is there any thing like this in the tragedies which you extol to us?
"Do you admire the manner in which they are