Last night was a hideous night. A dreadful storm blew—rain, hail and sleet against the house, and thunder added to the horror of it. A storm sounds so loud against this hollow wooden case, as if it were a drum. We were all awake throughout the night, and most of us afraid that the whole building would go over bodily. Andy was (strange to say) the most persuaded of this. But morning came and the house was still standing, though the gale had not abated and is still raging. The wind dashes the rain, and even the hail, through the shingles and weatherboards, and drips come on our heads and beds as in the old house. The day was passed in misery, as it was wretchedly cold; I was even too cold to write to page break page 193 Mary, though I tried it for an hour. Andy did several jobs about the house, painting the chimney pieces, &c. Through the glass we can see a good deal of damage among the small shipping in the Port. A large schooner is on shore with the sea breaking over her very mast-heads. This is winter in earnest, which we have expected so long, and even begun to despise or doubt. To-night the gusts are just as furious, but not quite so frequent. The glass is rising, and is indeed very high. I am going to bed at half past eight! the time I used to retire at Killinchy when I was a good boy.