hey are
encased in salt crystals which were formed upon them in those fifteen
years.

No one can go down a salt mine without asking, How did this salt come
here? And no one can fail to be impressed by the answer. AEons before the
footfall of man was heard upon the earth there stretched across Cheshire
a great salt lake; and under the hot sun of a semi-tropical age the salt
crystallised out of the water and rested at the bottom of the lake. How
many years it is since the first layer was deposited can hardly be
imagined, for it was formed under deep waters, while now it is over 300
feet beneath the earth's crust. But there are few finer fields for the
exercise of the imagination than in trying to conceive the vastness of
time and change which have elapsed since then. And when one does realise
something of the eternity of that time one ceases to wonder that
Northwich has fits when its heart of salt is taken from it.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THAT FIVE HUNDRED POUND PRIZE.

THE STORY OF A GENIUS.

BY RICHARD MARSH.

_Illustrated by John H. Bacon._

To him, the idea, from all points of view, suggested nothing but
objections. He told her so.

"You know, Philippa, I don't believe, as the cant of the day has it,
that a woman ought to earn for herself her daily bread; and that a woman
should earn her husband's daily bread as well--to me, the mere idea of
such a thing is nauseous. There may be men who are content to take the
good which their wives provide. Thank goodness, I am not one of them. In
this matter I am old-fashioned in my notions. I look at woman from a
point of view which is, perhaps, my own. To me, the woman who, urged
even by necessity, works for money, soils her womanhood, falls away from
her high estate. I pity her, but--not _that_ woman, if you please, for
me. Necessity, Philippa, surely does not urge you. Am I not always at
your side? Believe me, my day will come--come shortly! Only wait!"
Putting his arm about her waist, he looked up into her face, with, in
his eyes, a certain light of laughter. "Besides, in the great army of
the workers, what work do you think there is for you? Do you think that
in you there is the making of a woman of letters, Philippa?"

So he kissed her, and she said nothing. She could say nothing. She could
only let him fondle her, as though they still were sweethearts. For she
loved him, and he loved her. But though she loved him, in her heart
there was a hot