It is a strange thing to begin a “Log” when the voyage is nigh ended! A voyage without chart or compass has it been: and now is land in sight--the land of the weary and heart-tired! Here am I, at the Hôtel des Princes, _en route_ for Italy, whither my doctors have sentenced me! What a sad record would be preserved to the world if travellers were but to fill up, with good faith, the police formula at each stage of the journey, which asks, “the object of the tour!” How terribly often should we read the two short words--“To Die.” With what sorrowful interest would one gaze at the letters formed by a trembling hand; and yet how many would have to write them! Truly, the old Italian adage, “_Vede…
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