Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. Ta-khai, Prince of Tartary, dreamt one night that he saw in a place where he had never been before an enchantingly beautiful young maiden who could only be a princess. He fell desperately in love with her, but before he could either move or speak, she had vanished. When he awoke he called for his ink and brushes, and, in the most accomplished willow-leaf style, he drew her image on a piece of precious silk, and in one corner he wrote these nes: The flowers of the paeony Will they ever bloom? A day without her Is like a hundred years. He then summoned his ministers, and, showing them the portrait, asked if any one could tell him the name of the beautiful maiden; but they all Shook their heads and stroked their beards They knew not who She was.

Ta-khai, Prince of Tartary, dreamt one night that he saw in a place where he had never been before an enchantingly beautiful young maiden who could only be a princess. He fell desperately in love with her, but before he could either move or speak, she had vanished. When he awoke he called for his ink and brushes, and, in the most accomplished willow-leaf style, he drew her image on a piece of precious silk, and in one corner he wrote these nes: The flowers of the paeony Will they ever bloom? A day without her Is like a hundred years. He then summoned his ministers, and, showing them the portrait, asked if any one could tell him the name of the beautiful maiden; but they all Shook their heads and stroked their beards They knew not who She was.