harbour, so picturesquely surrounded by its beautiful _petite ville_, the cradle of the first Napoleon--Ajaccio--so well situated in that savage and energetic island of poetically ferocious heroism, habits, and eternal vendettas, so interesting to all since the revival of that illustrious dynasty in the person of Napoleon the Third. All of course were anxious to visit this celebrated spot; and on inquiring of the commander, he told us he should sail the next morning early if the weather was more favourable. We formed ourselves into parties of five or six, and as it was only three o’clock, we had plenty of time before us: our greatest anxiety was to visit the house in which the great Napoleon was born. Our party arrived first, as we had a very clever guide, who promised if possible to introduce us to La Signora Grossetti, saying we should have a great treat, as the old lady, who was then eighty-three years of age, had been all her life in the Buonaparte family in Corsica. We luckily met the old lady just coming out, and upon being introduced, she immediately returned to do us the honours of the house. She has been housekeeper there for above thirty years. After visiting the apartments which are always on view--viz., the drawing-room, dining-room, concert and ball room, library, and the small bed-room in which that almost fabulous hero was born, I asked the old gentlewoman, as a special favour, to show me the kitchen. No one was ever more astonished than she appeared to be at my request. “Why, surely there is nothing to be seen there but ruins, and I don’t even know where the key is.” All this redoubled my interest. We went up stairs, and found in an old drawer three rusty keys, which we brought down; one of them opened the door, which, on being pushed rather forcibly, fell from its hinges. We then descended, and opened the shutters, which likewise tumbled from their fastenings. After visiting the various departments which constitute a gentleman’s kitchen, I wrote upon the stove the following letter to the public press, which, through the mismanagement of my servant, who threw it into the post without paying the postage, never reached its destination:-- _Twenty Minutes in the Kitchen of the House of the Emperor Napoleon the First._