Abstract: THE AMATEtJH SPORTSMAN.1 a nice pair of horns we followed it ; saw the body, but not the head.As we were certain from the size of the track that it was a buck we shot, and got an immense doe.We had now killed all the deer and caribou that the law of Maine allows, and all we could now legally get was a moose.The next to the last morning before leaving the woods the snow was crusty and gave us poor hope, but we soon discovered tracks, following them we saw where a moose had broken branches with his horns.As it was impossible to step without making a noise, owing to the crisp snow, we returned to the camp to wait until the weather moderated.At eleven o'clock we followed out our trail back to where we had left his tracks.Slowly but surely we drew nearer, but he was leading us toward a swamp thicket.Hark ! a twig broke not far ahead.The rifle of the guide was covering something.He had his orders, " I must have the first shot, but do not let that moose getaway."I could see nothing, hear nothing but my beating heart, but kept my eye on the point covered by the guide's rifle.Were the trees moving ?No, it was the antlers of a monster moose and I could see the brown spot at the top of his forehead.Taking quick aim I fired.As the rifle spoke it was echoed by that of the guide.One shot through the brain and one near the heart, the noble beast dropped dead in his tracks less than one hun- dred feet from where we stood.He had heard or seen us and turned to see his danger, but too late.We took the head to camp, and returned the next morning to get. the hide and one hind quarter, and carried them to the nearest point, where a sled from the Oxbow met us and we were soon on our way from cold and snow back to dear old Wilkes-Barre with sunshine and comfort.Now as I sit in my little private den in an easy armchair, my slippered feet resting near the skin mat of old " Swift," now long gone, and leaning back with eyes fixed on many trophies of the chase, I can in fancy see through the curl- ing smoke all the stormy times, the excitement of each particular hunt, and each dear friend who was with us.Many now are gone to the " happy hunting grounds," but on this eve they all come back in memory to live and tell the same old stories over and over.Wilkes-Barre, Pa. RUFFED GROUSE SHOOTINQ.BY FRED SAXE.When the Summer, with its intense heat, has passed, and the first frost of Fall has changed the foliage to many golden hues; when the warblers, orioles and other insectiverous birds have migrated to their Winter homes, then enters, with its cool, invigorating air, the month of October.As the open season for grouse shooting commences this month, two friends and myself left here on the morn- ing of the last day in September with the intention of enjoying a few days of that sport in Monroe County.We arrived at our destination by six o'clock, and after eating supper retired early, as we were tired after our long walk from the railroad station to the boarding-house.When we arose next morning most unpropitious weather greeted us.We could see by the wet ground and the dark clouds that hovered overhead that it had been raining heavily, and from appearances it might rain