Feb. 26.--I sit at the captain's right hand at table. The sea is perfectly smooth; I wonder if this broad expanse can be rolled up into mountains. 4 P.M.--The wind and waves are beginning to roar. The priest shows signs of surrender. Mar. 2.--Sea calm and dishes no longer have to be fastened to table. It seems like freedom again. I can think of nothing beyond shipboard, can see no moves to be made when we reach Liverpool. Mar. 4.--Winds fair, sea smooth, whole company at breakfast. Captain Burton read the church service. Rachel played the piano and led the singing. ON BOARD THE BRITISH PRINCE, March 5. MY DEAR SISTER MARY: At lunch the captain said, "I'll soon show you land! It will be Mizzenhead, the farthest southwest point of Ireland." This is the first pen put to paper since I wrote you at the Delaware breakwater, eleven days ago. Think of it, oh, ye scribbling fairies, almost two weeks and not a letter written by S. B. A.! Well, we are thus far and have had no more than what the sailors call a "stiff breeze" and only two whiffs of that sort. Since Thursday the weather has been lovely--bright sun and crisp air. Rachel succumbed one night when the "stiff breeze" first opened upon us, and I felt a little squalmy. The next morning a sudden lurch of the ship took both feet from under me and I was flat on my back. The following day while I was lying on a seat, reading and half-dozing, the first I knew I was in a heap on the floor. Then I learned it wasn't safe to lie down without a board fence in front. Again, in the evening I had taken the one loose chair in the saloon, drawn it under a lamp and seated myself very complacently to read, when lo, I was pitched over as if propelled from a ten-pounder! Three times and out--all in rapid succession--taught me to trust not to myself at all, but always to something fast to the ship. I haven't lost a meal during the whole trip. Another time I should take a larger stock of oranges, lemons and other fruit.