Long years after the occurrence of the foregoing events, and when Napoleon was no more master of Europe,—when Louis XVIII. was seated on the throne of France, and “Le Grand Monarque,” was a prisoner, confined for life on the island of St. Helena—the lovely and accomplished Josephine,—the injured wife,—ended a virtuous life at the villa of Malmaison, near St. Germain, whither she had retired after the divorce. Her death was attributed to disease of the body; but it is likely it was not altogether that, or at least a secret sorrow had so weakened and enfeebled her mortal frame that the least rude touch of disease overthrew the structure. Differently died the repudiator and the repudiated. Sketcher. Philadelphia, 1841. * * * * * LAKE GEORGE. There is a clear and bright blue lake Embosom’d in the rocky north; No murmurs e’er its silence break, As on its waves we sally forth; The mountain bird floats high aloft, Above his wild and craggy nest, And gazes from his towering throne, Upon the torrent’s sparkling breast; While far beneath, in light and shade, The bright green valleys frown and smile, And in the bed sweet nature made, The lake sleeps soft and sweet the while. O’er many a green and lovely wild, The golden sun-beams gaily smile; But ’mid them all he doth not break, As on his race he sallies forth, On fairer scene, or sweeter lake, Than that within the rocky north. M. T. Lake George, Feb., 1841. * * * * * THE REEFER OF ’76. BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUIZING IN THE LAST WAR.” PAUL JONES. “Steady, there, steady!” thundered the master of the merchantman, his voice seeming, however, in the fierce uproar of the gale, to die away into a whisper. I looked ahead. A giant wave, towering as high as the yard arm, its angry crest hissing above us, and its dark green bosom seeming to open to engulph our fated bark, was rolling down toward us, shutting out half the horizon from sight, and striking terror into the stoutest heart. It was a fearful spectacle. Involuntarily I glanced around the horizon. All was dark, lowering, and ominous. On every hand the mountain waves were heaving to the sky, while the roar of the hurricane was awfully sublime. Now we rose to the heavens: now sunk into a yawning abyss. But I had little time to gaze upon the fearful scene. Already the angry billow was rushing down upon our bows, when the master again sang out, as if with the voice of a giant.