MR. EDITOR,--It is an incontestable truism that “It is an ill wind that blows nobody good;” but in this case it will be found the reverse. Owing to most terribly rough weather, in fourteen hours from our departure from Marseilles, _en route_ to Constantinople, we are brought up here by our prudent Captain, sheltering us in the bosom of the harbour of Ajaccio, the birthplace of the alliance now existing between the two great nations of France and England. Such reminiscences of the first of the great Napoleon’s family caused the shore to be invaded in a few minutes by the numerous passengers, particularly the distinguished military men of both nations. Many visited the Hôtel de Ville, full of objects of interest, reminding one of the late empire; others, the Letitia House; and some inquired, with great coolness, if it were possible to see either of the Corsican Brothers now in existence. In a very few minutes my curiosity was gratified by a cursory examination of the above-mentioned interesting subjects; and by a great deal of courtesy and perseverance, I obtained from La Signora Grossetti (who had been in the late Emperor’s family from her infancy) the rusted key of the kitchen-door of that interesting and now deserted domicile--such a request having never before been made by the numerous travellers who daily visit it. And it is, Mr. Editor, while writing upon the stove in this celebrated kitchen--which first alimented the brain of that great hero--that I beg to address you the following few lines at random, as the weather bids fair and our departure is immediate. On my left hand is a well-constructed charcoal stove, containing six nine-inch square cooking-places, covered with glazed red tiles (a piece of which I have procured, and intend placing in my kitchen at Scutari); an oval one, about eighteen inches long by about six inches wide, on which the most delicious fish, game, meat, and poultry, were no doubt submitted to the highest perfection of the culinary art. At the spot at which I am now writing, the roasting by wood fire, and the broiling by red ashes, were carried on, as I perceive, by the remains of the hearth. There is also the old Jack, with the pulley that supported the rope and weights. On my right is an old semi-circular oven, partly in ruins, with an old-fashioned wrought-iron door, in which no doubt the cakes and choice pastry were prepared to gratify the imperial infant’s palate. Larders, confectionery, and all the requisite appointments of a kitchen are not wanting; which, though in a most dilapidated state, still left an appearance of grandeur which none but a family of distinction could afford--very different from what has been often reported and