It need not be said that Chinese women have an ample share of this peculiar talent of their race, nor that they have very frequent occasion to exercise it. Nowhere, even in the East, are women more subject or more artful than in China. "When a son is born," as a Chinese authoress remarks, "he sleeps upon a bed, he is clothed with robes, and plays with pearls; every one obeys his princely cries. But when a girl is born, she sleeps upon the ground, is merely wrapped in a cloth, plays with a tile, and is incapable of acting either virtuously or viciously. She has nothing to think of but preparing food, making wine, and not vexing her parents." This arrangement the authoress _approves_, because it prepares the girl to accept without repining the humiliations of her lot. It is a proverb in China that a young wife should be in her house but "a shadow and an echo." As in India, she does not eat with her husband, but waits upon him in silent devotion till he is done, and then satisfies her own appetite with inferior food. Such is the theory of her position. But if we may judge from Chinese satires, women are not destitute of power in the household, and employ the arts of the oppressed with effect. Among the Chinese poems recently translated by Mr. G. C. Stent in the volume called "The Jade Chaplet," there are a few in the satiric vein which attest the ready adroitness of Chinese women in moments of crisis. According to an English author, "A woman takes as naturally to a lie as a rat to a hole." The author of these popular Chinese poems was evidently of the same opinion. The specimen subjoined, which has not been previously published in the United States, shows us that there is much in common between the jokes of the two hemispheres of our mundane sphere. "FANNING THE GRAVE. "'Twas spring--the air was redolent With many a sweet and grateful scent; The peach and plum bloomed side by side, Like blushing maid and pale-faced bride; Coy willows stealthily were seen Opening their eyes of living green-- As if to watch the sturdy strife Of nature struggling into life. "One sunny morn a Mr. Chuang Was strolling leisurely along; Viewing the budding flowers and trees-- Sniffing the fragrance-laden breeze-- Staring at those who hurried by, Each loaded with a good supply Of imitation sycee shoes, To burn--for friends defunct to use-- Of dainty viands, oil, and rice, And wine to pour in sacrifice, On tombs of friends who 'neath them slept. (Twas '3d of the 3d,' when the graves are swept.)