Sabbath Night, Mar. 28. Lat. 51°, Long. 25° 7' Miles made 219. Last night our easterly storm increased to a gale, and blew with hurricane fury. It was utterly impossible to sleep, we were all so rudely jostled in our berths. The motion of the ship was so great that we were in constant danger of being rolled from our beds upon the floor. Every timber in the iron-bound ship creaked and groaned, and occasionally a sea would strike our bows, which would make the whole fabric shiver. It was, indeed, an exercise in gymnastics to perform one's toilet this morning. Every thing which was not a fixture was rolling hither and thither. It was utterly impossible to stand for a single moment, without catching hold of something for support. The ship now keeling in one direction, now in another; at one time rising ten or fifteen feet into the air, and again as suddenly sinking; now, apparently stopping, as struck by a heavy sea, and again plunging forward with the most sullen and determined resolution, presented a series of movements which defied all calculations. Early in the morning I clambered upon deck, and leaning against the mast, and clinging to the ropes, looked out upon the wild, wild scene. The roar of the gale through our shrouds was almost terrific. It seemed like the voice of an angry God. But five persons sat down at the breakfast-table at the usual hour. It was, indeed, a curiosity to see the waiters attempt to move about upon the unstable footing of our floor. One would take a cup of coffee, and, clinging to the side of the cabin, and carefully watching his opportunity, would dart toward a pillar, to which he would cling, until he was prepared to take another start. But with all his precautions, he would frequently be thrown upon one of the cushioned seats of the dining-room, and the liquid contents of his dishes would be any where. A gentleman would attempt to raise a cup of tea to his lips. Alas! there is many a slip. A sudden lurch of the ship ejects the hot beverage into his bosom instead of his mouth. It is almost dangerous to attempt to move about, you are thrown to and fro with so much violence. Every thing is made fast which can be secured. It is a wild scene of uproar and confusion, and I have no desire again to witness a storm at sea. Nausea sadly detracts from all conceptions of the sublime. Very many are sick. I am very far from feeling comfortable. As I look around me upon this tumultuous scene, listening to the uproar of the elements, I feel how utterly impossible it is for the pen to communicate to the distant reader any idea of this midnight ocean-storm. By clinging to the table, so as to become, as it were, a part of it, I succeed, with much difficulty, in writing. The wind seems still to be rising as we advance into the hours of the night, and the ship struggles and plunges more and more violently. We have had a dismal, dismal day. There is no comfort any where. One can neither walk, nor stand, nor sit, nor lie.