it could have attended cat-assizes on the
shed-roof nights, for recreation, when no one was
noticing, and have harvested a knowledge of cat court-forms
and cat lawyer-talk in that way: it could
have done it, therefore without a doubt it did;
it could have gone soldiering with a war-tribe
when no one was noticing, and learned soldier-wiles
and soldier-ways, and what to do with a mouse when
opportunity offers; the plain inference, therefore,
is that that is what it did. Since all
these manifold things could have occurred, we
have every right to believe they
did occur. These patiently and painstakingly
accumulated vast acquirements and competences needed
but one thing more—opportunity—to
convert themselves into triumphal action. The
opportunity came, we have the result; beyond shadow
of question the mouse is in the kitten.
It is proper to remark that when we of the three cults
plant a “We think we may
assume,” we expect it, under careful watering
and fertilizing and tending, to grow up into a strong
and hardy and weather-defying “There isn’t
A shadow of A doubt” at last—and
it usually happens.
We know what the Baconian’s verdict would be:
“There is not A rag of
evidence that the kitten has
had any training, any education,
any
experience qualifying it for the
present occasion, or is indeed
equipped
for any achievement above lifting
such unclaimed milk as comes
its way;
but there is abundant evidence—unassailable
proof, in fact—that
the
other animal is equipped, to
the last detail, with every
qualification
necessary for the event.
Without shadow of doubt the
tom-cat contains
the mouse.”
When Shakespeare died, in 1616, great literary productions
attributed to him as author had been before the London
world and in high favor for twenty-four years.
Yet his death was not an event. It made no stir,
it attracted no attention. Apparently his eminent
literary contemporaries did not realize that a celebrated
poet had passed from their midst. Perhaps they
knew a play-actor of minor rank had disappeared, but
did not regard him as the author of his Works.
“We are justified in assuming” this.
His death was not even an event in the little town
of Stratford. Does this mean that in Stratford
he was not regarded as a celebrity of any kind?
