Little Captain Trott

IT has become fashionable to write sketches of the lives of really existing worthies, who are at present acting their parts with more or less success on the stage of this mortal life. Among them all there is none who, as we think, exerts a more perceptible influence, makes more commotion, more confusion, more comfort, more perplexity, more laughing, and more crying than our sprightly, ingenious, omnipresent, ever-active little friend, Captain Trott.

His title indicates that he is in a position of responsibility and command. Nobody would infer this, from his short body, his dumpy little hands, and his square, padding little feet, his curly head, his ivory-fine complexion, and his rather singular modes of treating the English language ; yet, should the question be put at this moment by the electric telegraph, to the million families of our land, " Who governs and rules you ?” the reply would come back, as with the voice of many waters, " Little Trott.” Little Trott has more influence at this hour in these United States than General Grant himself !

In giving a sketch of his personal appearance, we are embarrassed by the remembrance of the overweening admiration he always contrives to excite in the breasts of the feminine part of creation. A million women, we do believe, at this very hour, if we should draw his picture, would be ready to tear our eyes out for the injustice done him. That the picture of our little Trott, forsooth ? What is the woman thinking of ? She does not know, she never can know, she had no senses to perceive, half how beautiful he is ! So say all the mothers ; and the grandmothers doublesay it, and are ready to shoot you if you doubt it; and the aunties and sisters reiterate it ; and even the papas — who, as heads of the women and lords of creation, are supposed to take more sensible and impartial views of matters and things — go hook and line, bob and sinker into the general current. The papas are, if anything, even sillier and more beside themselves with admiration than the mammas. Trott is, in their eyes, a miracle of nature. They gaze at him with round eyes of wonder ; they are really ashamed of themselves for their inebriate state of admiration, and endeavor to draw over it a veil of reticent gravity ; but it leaks out of every cranny, and oozes out of every pore, that the man is, as our negro friends say, “done gone over” in admiration of little Trott. His administration, therefore, is a highly popular one, and we run some risk in instituting anything like a criticism upon it. There is, of course, as in all popular governments, an opposition party, composed principally of older brothers and sisters, crabbed old bachelors, and seriousminded maiden ladies, who leel it their duty, with varying success, to keep up a protest against Trott’s proceedings, and to call on his besotted admirers to be on their guard against his wiles, and even go so far as to prophesy that, if not well looked after, he may one day ruin the country. Under these circumstances, it is a delicate matter to deliver our opinion of Trott, but we shall endeavor to do it with impartial justice. We shall speak our honest opinion of his accomplishments, his virtues, and his vices, be the consequences what they may.

And first we think that nobody can refuse to Captain Trott the award of industry and energy.

He is energy itself. He believes in early rising, and, like all others who practise this severe virtue, is of opinion that it is a sin for anybody to sleep after he is awake. Therefore he commences to whistle and crow, and pick open the eyes of papa and mamma with his fat fingers, long' before “ Aurora crimsons the east,” as the poet says. For those hapless sinners who love the dear iniquity of morning naps Trott has no more mercy than a modern reformer ; and, like a modern reformer, he makes no exceptions for circumstances. If he is wide-awake and refreshed, it makes no difference to him that mamma was up half a dozen times the night before to warm his milk and perform other handmaid offices for his lordship ; or that papa was late at his office, and did not get asleep till twelve o’clock. Up they must get ; laziness is not to be indulged ; morning naps are an abomination to his soul; and he wants his breakfast at the quickest conceivable moment, that he may enter on the duty of the day.

This duty may be briefly defined as the process of cultivating the heavenly virtue of patience in the mind of his mother and of the family and the community generally. He commences the serious avocations of the day after a shower of kisses, adorned by fleeting dimples and sparkling glances. While mamma is hastily dressing, he slyly upsets the wash-pitcher on the carpet, and sits a pleased spectator of the instant running and fussing which is the result. If there is a box of charcoal tooth-powder within reach, he now contrives to force that open and scatter its contents over his nightgown and the carpet, thus still further increasing the confusion. If he is scolded, he immediately falls on his mother’s neck, and smothers her with sooty kisses. While taking his bath, he insists on sucking the sponge, and splashing the water all over his mother’s neat morning-wrapper. It this process is stopped, he shows the strength of his lungs in violent protests, which so alarm the poor woman tor the character of the family, that she is forced to compromise with him by letting him have a bright pincushion, or her darling gold watch, or sonic other generally forbidden object, to console him. This, of course, lie splashes into the water forthwith, and fights her if she attempts to take it away; for Trott is a genuine Red Republican in the doctrine of his own right to have his own way. Then he follows her up through the day, knowing exactly when and where to put himself in her way, in fulfilment of his important mission of perfecting her in patience. If she be going up stairs with baby in her arms, Trott catches her about the knees, or hangs on to her gown behind, with most persistent affection.

In the kitchen, if she be superintending verdant Erin in the preparation of some mysterious dish, Trott must be there, and Trott must help. With infinite fussing and tiptoe efforts, he pulls over on his head a pan of syrup, — and the consequences of this movement all our female friends see without words.

Is there company to dinner, and no dessert, and stupid Biddy utterly unable to compass the difficulties of a boiled custard, then mamma is to the fore, and Trott also. Just at the critical moment, — the moment of projection, — a loud scream from Trott announces that he has fallen head-first into the rain-water butt ! The custard is spoiled, but the precious darling Trott is saved, and wiped up, and comes out, fresh and glowing, to proclaim to his delighted admirers that he still lives.

Thus much on Trott’s energy and industry, but who shall describe the boundless versatility of his genius ? Versatility is Trott’s forte. In one single day he will bring to pass a greater variety of operations than are even thought of in Congress, — much as they may do there, — and he is so persevering and industrious about it !

He has been known, while mamma is busy over some bit of fine work at her sewing-machine, to pad into the pantry and contrive machinery for escalading the Hour-barrel, which has enabled him at last to plump himself fairly into the soft, downy interior, which he can now throw up over his head in chuckling transport, powdering his curls till he looks like a cherub upon a Louis Quatorze china teacup. Taken out. while his mother is looking for fresh clothes in the drawer, he hastens to plunge his head into the washbowl, to clean, it. He besets pussy, who runs at the very sight of him. He has often tried to perform surgical operations on her eyes with mamma’s scissors ; but pussy, having no soul to save, has no interest in being made perfect through suffering, and therefore gives him a wide berth. Nevertheless, Trott sometimes catches her asleep, and once put her head downward into a large stone water-jar, before she had really got enough awake to comprehend the situation. Her tail, convulsively waving us a signal of distress, alone called attention to the case, and deprived her of the honor of an obituary notice. But, mind you, had pussy died, what mamma and grandma and auntie would not have taken Trott’s part against all the pussies in the world ? “ Poor little fellow ! he must do something” ; and “After all, the cat was n’t much of a mouser; served her right; and wasn't it cunning of him ; ” And, my dear friend, if Trott some day, when you are snoozing after dinner, should take a fancy to serve you as Jael did Sisera, your fate would scarcely excite any other comment. The “poor dear little fellow would still be the hero of the house, and you the sinner, who had no business to put yourself in his way. This last sentence was interpolated here by my crabbed bachelor uncle, Mr. Herod Killchild, who cannot, of course, be considered as dispassionate authority. In fact, an open feud rages between Uncle Herod and Trott ; and he only holds his position in the family circle, because tire womeu-folks are quick-witted enough to perceive that, after all, he is in his heart as silly about Trott as any of them. He has more than once been detected watching the little captain’s antics over the top ot his newspaper, and slyly snickering to himself as he followed his operations, while at the same moment his mouth was ostensibly full of cursing and bitterness. Once, when Trott was very, very sick indeed, Uncle Herod lost his rest nights,—he declared it was only indigestion ; his eyes watered, — he declared that it was only a severe cold. But all these symptoms marvellously disappeared when Trott, as his manner is, suddenly got well and came out good as new, and tenfold more busy and noisy than ever. Then Uncle Herod remarked dryly that “he had hoped to be rid of that torment.'’ and mamma laughed. Who minds Uncle Herod? We have spoken of Trott’s industry, energy, and versatility; we must speak also of his perseverance.

This is undeniably a great virtue, as all my readers who have ever written in old-fashioned copy-books will remember. Trott’s persistence and determination to carry his points and have his own way are traits that must excite the respect of the beholder.

When he has a point to carry, it must be a wise mamma, and a still wiser papa, that can withstand him, for his ways and wiles are past finding out. He tries all means and measures, — kissing, cajoling. coaxing ; and, these proving ineffectual, storming, crying, threatening, fighting fate with both of his chubby fists, and squaring off at the powers that be with a valor worthy of a soldier.

There are the best hopes of the little captain, if he keeps up equal courage and vigor, some future day, when he shall lead the armies of the Republic.

If, however, Trott is routed, as sometimes occurs, it is to be said to his credit that lie displays great magnanimity. He will come up and kiss and be friends, after a severe skirmish with papa, and own himself beaten in the handsomc-st manner.

But, like a true, cunning politician, when beaten, he does not give up. There is many a reserved wile under his mat of curls vet, and he still meditates some future victory ; and, sooth to say, after a running fire of some weeks. Trott often carries his point, and establishes his right to take certain household liberties, in spite of the protest ot the whole family republic.

“Well, what can you do with him ? we can’t be fighting him always,” are the usual terms which announce the surrender.

And did not our Congress do about the same thing with President Johnson ? The fact is, when you’ve got a chief magistrate, you can’t fight him all the time, and Trott is the chief magistrate of the family state.

The opposition party in the government, consisting always of people who never had or are like to have Trotts of their own to take care of, are always largely blaming those who submit to him. They insist upon it that minute rules should be made, and Trott made to understand what is meant by the reign of law.

Law ? We would like to see the code that could compass and forbid Trott’s unheard-of inventions. He always surprises you by doing just the thing you never could have conceived of, and through it all his intentions are so excellent ! He sees mamma rubbing her head with hair-oil, and forthwith dips his hand in a varnish-pot and rubs his own mat of curls. He sees Biddy squeeze bluing into the rinsingwater, and, watching his opportunity, throws the bluing-bag into the soupkettle. You have oil paints put away in a deep recess in the closet Of course he goes straight to them, squeezes all the tubes together, and makes a pigment with which he anoints his face and hands, and the carpet, giving an entirely new view ot a work of art. " Who would have thought, now, that he could have ?” &c., is the usual refrain after these occurrences.

The maxim that “ silence is golden " does not apply to Trott. Much as his noise may make mamma’s head ache, it is nothing to the fearful apprehensions excited by his silence. It Trott is still ten minutes, or even five, look out for a catastrophe. He may be tasting bug-poison, or clawing the canary-bird out of the cage, or practising writing on papa’s last Art Union, or eating a whole box of pills, or picking mamma’s call a bud, or, taken with a sudden fit of household usefulness, be washing the trout ot the bureau drawer with a ten-dollar bill which he has picked out of it !

Sleep is usually considered a gracious state for Trott, but he has too intense a sense of his responsibility to lose much time in this way, especially if mamma is to have company to dinner, or has any very perplexing and trying bit of household work to do. Under these circumstances Trott never can sleep. He is intensely interested ; he cannot let her go a moment.

There have been as many books written as there are stars in the skies concerning the vexed question of Trott’s government, and concerning the constitutional limits of his rights and those of the older and bigger world.

And still that subject seems to he involved in mystery. Some few points only are clear, — Trott must not be allowed to make a bonfire of the paternal mansion, or stick the scissors in his mother’s eyes, or cut his own throat with his father’s razor. Short of this “ the constitutional limits,” as we say, are very undefined. And it you undertake to restrict him much, you will have all the fathers and mothers in the land on your back, who with one voice insist that, though Trott may have his faults, like all things human, yet he is a jolly little fellow, and they prefer, on the whole, to let him do just about as he does do, and don’t want any advice on that subject.

Of course, his administration bears hard on the minority, and it is sometimes a question whether anybody else in the house has any rights which Trott is hound to respect. So much the worse lor the minority. We should like to know what they are going to do about it ?

There is one comfort in this view of the subject. All the wonderful men of the world have been Trotts in their day ; have badgered and tormented their mammas till they trained them up into a meetness for Heaven, and then have come, in their turn, to be governed by other Trotts, —for in this kingdom the king never dies, or, rather, to put it in a modern form, in this republic there is always a president.

Well, after all, our hearts are very soil toward the little deluding Captain. The very thought that the house might some day be without his mischief and merriment, and the patter of his little stubbed feet, causes us a hard lump in our throats at once. No noise of misrule and merriment, however deafening, where Trott reigns triumphant, can be so dreadful as the silence in the house where he once has been, but is to be no more.

When we think of those short little mounds in Greenwood and Mount Auburn, we go in for patient submission to Trott with all his faults, rather than the dismalness of being without him. His hold is on our heart-strings, and reign over us he must.

We are reminded, too, how, years and years ago, the Dearest, Wisest, and Greatest that ever lived on earth took little Trott on his knee, and said, “ Whosoever shall receive one of such children, in my name, receiveth me" ; "for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

Trott was doubtless as full of motion and mischief in those days as in these ; but the Divine eyes saw through it all, into that great mystery making little Trott the father of whatever is great and good in the future.