AN INVITATION TO DINNER. 339 



propounding, if only from the consideration that a little physiolo- 

 gical discussion is necessary before we can completely or satisfac- 

 torily find its reply. Smith's dinner will be doubly enjoyable if I 

 can satisfy myself why " dinner," or, to put it more generally, " food," 

 is a necessity of existence. Amongst the obvious uses of science, 

 I can conceive no more practical purpose than that which physio- 

 logy can subserve, in showing me not only that dinner is a sheer 

 necessity, but that the full enjoyment of that meal is a piece of 

 highest wisdom. One wants an answer to the ascetics who regard 

 the enjoyment of a good dinner as a "Philistine" proceeding, and 

 who profess to maintain, on reasonable grounds, that dining out 

 and dining well are equally barbaric and unnecessary customs. 

 Let us see whether or not we may find in the pages of physiology, 

 and in the daily experience of living and being, a full justification 

 for both of these practices. If I may justify the necessity for eating 

 dinner, and for enjoyment of the meal, as parts of the great order of 

 natural law, Smith's invitation and its inspiration will together not 

 have animated me in vain. 



A glance at the flower-stand in the window supplies me with 

 a fair starting-point for the argument and voyage of discovery. 

 An hour ago my housemaid watered the flowers, plucked away 

 the dead leaves, and set the vegetable kingdom in order for the 

 day. My plants grow and thrive lustily. A few weeks ago that 

 young fern plant, whose frond you see drooping gracefully over the 

 edge of the pot, appeared above the earth as a curious little rolled- 

 up bud, which, as it grew, appeared to mimic the head of the 

 bishop's staff in shape. I could go back in the history of that 

 fern frond if you wished, and could even show you that it sprang 

 from a microscopic living "spore," which dropped one day last 

 autumn from the back of a parent-frond. That spore grew into 

 a green leaf, and from the under surface of this leaf the young 

 fern was in turn produced. Now it has grown into a broad green 

 frond, and there are others appearing beside it, which will grow 

 to form, in time, a mass of fern foliage. Evidently, growth and 

 enlargement are marked features of plant life, as they are plain 

 facts of animal existence. As clearly one can see that growth in 

 plants cannot take place without the presence and supply of matter 

 to grow upon. So that, at the outset of our inquiry, we seem to 

 arrive at the plain conclusion that plants demand food, for growth, 

 equally with ourselves. 



Suppose, however, Smith could have invited my fern to dinner 

 instead of the fern's owner, the host would have discovered that the 

 tastes, desires, and necessities of fern-existence were somewhat sim- 

 pler, but not a whit less wonderful than his own. My plant would 

 not have been at home at Smith's hospitable board. It would have 



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