hawthorns blown slantingly by south-west storms into a close, solid
mass of shoots and prickles. They are dwarfed in their struggle,
but have thick trunks, many of them covered with brilliant yellow
lichen.

For miles and miles before it comes to Axmouth, and above Axminster,
the Axe flows in singular loops, often returning almost upon itself,
reluctant to quit the lovely land of its birth, youth, and maturity;
but now it is straighter, for it is in the lowlands and feels the
tide. Flocks of seagulls wade or float in it. It passes quietly
under its last bridge, but beyond it is confronted by a huge shingle
barrier. Sweeping alongside it, it suddenly turns at right angles,
cuts its way through with an exulting rush, holds back for a few
yards the sea waves that ripple against it, and is then lost.



THE PREACHER AND THE SEA



This morning as I walked by the sea, a man was preaching on the
sands to about a dozen people, and I stopped for a few minutes to
listen. He told us that we were lying under the wrath of God, that
we might die at any moment, and that if we did not believe in the
Lord Jesus we should be damned everlastingly. 'Believe in the
Lord,' he shouted, 'believe or you will be lost; you can do nothing
of yourselves; you must be saved by grace alone, by blood, without
blood is no remission of sins. Some of you think, no doubt, you are
good people, and you may be, as the world goes, but your