Gentlemen at pic-nics must consent to become waiters, guides, servants to the ladies; must "scale mountains," climb trees, perform any feats desired by the fair tyrants, if they fancy "that lovely flower," or "exquisite bunch of sea-weed," in impossible- to-get-at places. If on a fishing party, it is the gentlemen's place to bait the hooks for the fair anglers, to assist them in landing their prey, to find them shady nooks for seats, and in every way to assist them. If nutting or berrying are the objects of the party, the gentlemen must climb the nut-trees, seek out the berry-bushes, carry double allowances of baskets and kettles, and be ready for any assistance required in climbing fences or scrambling over rocks. By the way, the etiquette for climbing a fence is for the gentleman to go over as gracefully as possible, turn his back upon the lady, and not look round until she claims his hand to spring from the topmost bar. She will not thank him if he insists upon shoving her over first, or watches her while she climbs up. Boisterous deportment is not in good taste. Even the most romping games may be conducted as becomes ladies and gentlemen, not as clowns. Couples should avoid straying too long or too far from their companions. Even if the luncheon or dinner is spread on the grass, or eaten out of a basket, gentlemen will see to the comfort of the ladies before eating themselves, and, need I say, the freedom from the restraints of the table affords no excuse for gluttony or rudeness of any description. On returning from a pic-nic, the thanks of the party are due to the originators of it, and should be paid by each one before the company disperses. Singing a comic song is a dangerous experiment, as you may be personal without intending it. An English lady of rank, speaking of an evening party, says: "At an evening party, given expressly in honor of a distinguished lady of color, we heard a thoughtless amateur dash into the broadly comic, but terribly inappropriate' nigger' song of' 'Sally, Come Up.' Before he had got through the first verse, he had perceived his mistake, and was so overwhelmed with shame that he could scarcely preserve sufficient presence of mind to carry him through to the end." A modern writer of talent says: "Your pleasure at any party will depend far more upon what you take with you into the room than upon what you find there. Ambition, vanity, pride, will all go with anxiety, and you will probably carry them all home again, with the additional burden of disappointment. Even if they are all gratified, you will know that others are disliking you, even if envious of you. To go with a sincere desire to please others by amiability, good-nature and sympathy will probably result in your own popularity, and if you entirely forget yourself, you will be astonished to find how much others insist upon remembering you."