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reef. In other words, throughout the whole 1,114 feet there is nothing to show a passage upwards from deeper to shallower water, or from older to newer rocks, while the occurrence of reefbuilding corals at all depths obliges us either to assert that these can do constructive work at rather more than seven times the depth usually accepted as their limit, or that the lower part of the reef has subsided not less than 900 feet.
But an attempt might be made to avoid this dilemma by asserting that as the borehole is very near the seaward edge of the reef, it has mainly passed through talus, as a result of the fairy-ring growth already mentioned. Dr. Hinde kept a careful look-out for indications of this, without finding any sign either of the oblique stratification in the cores, which one would expect if that were so, or even of definite bedding, or that the corals and other organisms in the lower part had not lived on the spot just as much as those in the upper one. Nor is that all. In such an atoll as Funafuti we cannot separate a fairy-ring extension from the enlargement of the lagoon by corrosive action because of the narrowness of the islands and the width of the encircled sheet of water. In the shallower part of the latter the dead organisms do not seem to be more rotten than on the seaward side of the reef, and Dr. Hinde makes the following general remarks on the material brought up from Mr. Halligan's borings:
A striking feature is the large amount of the calcareous alga Halimeda opuntia, var. macropus, in the upper half of the borings. In a depth of over sixty feet the beds are principally composed of the detached joints of this alga, which are, judging from the samples, quite free, and not cemented together in any way. With the Halimeda there is a small proportion of foraminifera, corals, and fragments of other organisms. Between sixty-two and eighty feet the amount of Halimeda diminishes to about one-half, and the joints in this portion are no longer free, but cemented by calcite, together with foraminifera, into rubbly rock. At the level of ninety-four feet, and to the bottom of the boring, the Halimeda forms only a slight percentage of the rock; at the lower levels the minute structure is retained, as a rule, almost unchanged. There is no close parallel in the other borings at Funafuti to these Halimeda deposits beneath the lagoon; although some parts of the main boring, between 637 and 748 feet from the surface, consist chiefly of Halimeda and foraminifera, the relative amount of the former is much less than in the lagoon boring. The character of the rock in the lower fifty feet of the lagoon boring does not differ much from that in the higher part of the main boring. The same organisms are present in both, and the corals and foraminifera in the lagoon boring are better preserved and less altered than those at corresponding depths in the main boring.
These facts seem as antagonistic as possible to the hypothesis. of the enlargement of the lagoon by corrosion, and the atoll has
been pierced to a depth of over 1,100 feet without supplying any evidence of growth on a talus, or of being a merely superficial cap o a coraliferous rock, supported on a limestone of Tertiary age.
But if the Funafuti atoll is a continuous formation, the age of the cores increases in going downwards—that is, the time during which they have been exposed to the action of water under a slowly augmenting pressure. They should, therefore, afford an opportunity of studying the changes, chemical and mineral, produced by these agencies. This has been done by Professor Judd and Dr. Cullis, who have given us a valuable chapter in the history of the making of a limestone.1 Carbonate of lime crystallises in two forms, calcite and aragonite, the latter being the less stable, and often passing over, after a time, into the other. Some organisms incorporate the one form, some the other, in their solid parts, together with a small amount of organic tissue, the disappearance of which often makes them more or less incoherent. At Funafuti this ceases to be appreciable after a depth of one hundred feet. Carbonate of lime is deposited from the water on the calcareous organisms, ultimately cementing them together, and generally taking the form of aragonite or calcite, in correspondence with that beneath it. Presently the calcareous mud, which has been washed into the interstices of these organisms, itself begins to crystallise, and aragonite, whether it be in or among them, to change rather rapidly into calcite. The disappearance of the former mineral begins at about 100 feet, and by about 220 feet it is complete. This, however, is not the only mineral change exhibited in the cores. From top to bottom they contain some carbonate of magnesia (indicating the presence of the mineral dolomite), which is rather curiously distributed. This carbonate is, indeed, always present in calcareous organisms such as compose the reef rock at Funafuti, but its amount is generally under 1 per cent. Here, in the first fifty feet, the amount gradually rises to 16 per cent.; this occurs at depths of fifteen and twenty-five feet, between which it falls off to 12 per cent. After the latter maximum it declines, till at fifty feet only 1.5 per cent. is present; and that amount continues, with little change, down to 637 feet, when a rapid rise in the magnesia carbonate
We do not know the rate at which a rock like Funafuti is formed, but should probably be well within the mark in conjecturing that the lowest cores were at least as old as the Great Pyramid, perhaps very much more ancient.
percentage again commences, and is continued till a depth of 658 feet is reached, when the proportion of magnesium to calcium carbonate has attained the limit of 40 to 60. This high percentage of 40 of magnesium carbonate is maintained, with small variations, and two important interruptions, . . . quite to the bottom of the boring,' and no doubt is the chief cause of the greater solidity of the lower third of the core. To follow Professor Judd in his lucid discussion of the significance of these changes would involve too many technicalities for these pages; it will be enough to point out that the mineral change does not correspond with an organic one, and cannot be adduced as evidence in favour of the lower rock being much older than that which rests upon it.
Though this investigation at Funafuti was not the first attempt at boring into a coral reef, it is the only one in which the atoll has been studied as a whole, samples having been brought up from a considerable thickness of the lagoon bed, its growing portions carefully examined, and cores or materials obtained continuously down to a great depth, the whole of which have been subjected to the most careful biological and chemical study under the microscope. The results lead us to this conclusion that, though Funafuti and some similarly formed atolls crown a submarine mountain mass which may very probably have been built up from the ocean floor by volcanic action, the part investigated-viz. to a depth of over 1,100 feet-is unfavourable to a fairy-ring growth,' and indicates a considerable subsidence; in other words, Funafuti supports Darwin's views. We cannot, however, deny that work done elsewhere by later observers— Semper, Rein, Murray, Agassiz, and others-has shown that all coral reefs have not the same history, and that the theory formed during the voyage of the Beagle is less universally applicable than has been sometimes supposed.
BY MISS BETHAM-EDWARDS,
OFFICIER DE L'INSTRUCTION PUBLIQUE DE FRANCE.
FRENCH housekeeping may be described as the glorification of simplicity, a supreme economy of time, outlay, and worry. Nothing more conspicuously exemplifies the ply of the French mind. In no other field is so well evidenced French love of method, economy, and mental repose.
I will first describe a day's housekeeping in Paris, the household consisting of nine or ten persons, four of whom are domestics, less than half the number that would be found necessary in England. Having sent cups of tea or coffee and rolls upstairs, and prepared coffee for the kitchen, the cook is free to go to market. Her fellowservants help themselves to coffee from the hob and bread from the cupboard, each washing up his or her bowl when emptied. The milkwoman has deposited her can of milk, the baker has brought the day's huge supply of bread. No one will have business with the kitchen bell till next morning.
French meals, it must be remembered, are practically reduced to two; no elaborate breakfasts after English fashion, no nursery or school-room dinners, no afternoon teas. The wet-nurse dismissed, Bébé takes its place at the family board. The fashionable world certainly indulges in what is called a 'five o'clock,' but rarely, if ever, at home. The tea restaurant is a favourite rendezvous, and tea-drinking is strictly confined to its patronesses. In modest, middle-class homes, the pleasantest meal of the day with us is quite unknown.
We will now follow our cook on her errands. Having taken orders from the mistress, she sets forth provided with two capacious baskets or string bags. As there are no tradesmen to call for orders, neither fishmonger, greengrocer, butcher, nor grocer, she can take matters easily, which in all likelihood she does. The French temperament is not given to flurry and bustle, and a daily marketer will naturally have a vast acquaintance.
But our cook will ofttimes fill her panniers nearer home than even the nearest market.
A pictorial and heart-rejoicing sight is the Paris street barrow, ambulatory cornucopia piled high with fruit, flowers, and vegetables, the fertility of the most fertile country of Europe here focused on the city pavement. Small wonder if the caterer halts before one of these, tempted by freshest of green things in season-salads, herbs for flavouring, sorrel for soup, asparagus, artichokes or peas for her entremets. A halt, too, she will very likely make at a fruit barrow, providing herself with the dining-room dessert-luscious little wild strawberries (fraises de quatre saisons), melons, figs, whatever happens to be at its best.
But the day's provision of meat, poultry, fish, butter, and eggs has to be found room for, and in all probability she will conclude her purchases at the market, her joint or joints of meat wrapped in paper being consigned to the bottom of a pannier, lighter commodities lying on the top. Both receptacles being filled to the brim, she returns home, doubtless with aching arms, but well pleased to have enjoyed the fresh air and opportunities of chat. Thus it will be seen that in a French household the process is not, as with ourselves, one of elaboration, but the very reverse. The day's budget becomes as much a thing of the past as the day itself. There is no fagot of little red books for the mistress to look over and settle once a week, no possibility of erroneous entries, no percentage paid for the booking and sending of goods.
And our cook, having only four meals to prepare, instead of her English colleague's half score, can concentrate all her energies upon these.
The dinner, in French domestic economy, is as the sun to the planets. Every other operation is made subservient to it, every other incident revolves round it. For with our French neighbours the principal repast of the day is not merely a meal, it is a dinner. This nice distinction is happily indicated by the following story. A French friend was describing to me the fare of an English country inn and praising the day's fish, roast duck, and pudding, 'But,' she added as a rider, it was a meal, not a dinner.'
The mid-day déjeuner, now called lunch in fashionable society, is comparatively an insignificant affair, not deemed worthy of a tablecloth! Lunch, even in wealthy houses, is served on the bare table, and I must say that highly polished oak, mahogany, or walnut admirably set off plate, crystal, and flowers. We are all more or less slaves to conventionality and habit, and the things we