Bedtime Tale: The Water Babies Ch 8/Part 2

Enjoy this bedtime tale to help you drift off into a peaceful slumber. Tonight we read Chapter 8/Part 2 of the classic, The Water Babies, by Charles Kingsley. This reading describes Tom's journey to find Mr. Grimes.

This audio is perfect for children or adults who want to relax, discover magic, or find adventure before a great night's sleep.

Note: This practice may include some strong language.

Transcript

The Water Babies,

By Charles Kingsley,

Chapter 8,

Part 2 Then Tom came to a very famous island,

Which was called,

In the days of the great traveller Captain Gulliver,

The Isle of Laputa,

But Miss Be Done By As You Did has named it over again the Isle of Tom Toddies,

All Heads and No Bodies.

And when Tom came near it,

He heard such a grumbling and grunting and growling and wailing and weeping and whining,

That he thought people must be ringing little pigs,

Or cropping puppies' ears,

Or drowning kittens.

But when he came nearer still,

He began to hear words among the noise,

Which was the Tom Toddies' song,

Which they sing morning and evening,

And all night too,

To their great idle examination.

I can't learn my lesson,

The examiner is coming,

And that was the only song which they knew.

And when Tom got on shore,

The first thing he saw was a great pillar,

On one side of which was inscribed,

Playthings Not Allowed Here,

At which he was so shocked that he would not stay to see what was written on the other side.

Then he looked round for the people of the island,

But instead of men,

Women,

And children,

He found nothing but turnips and radishes,

Beet,

And man-gold worzel,

Without a single green leaf among them.

And half of them burst and decayed,

With toadstools growing out of them.

Those which were left began to cry to Tom,

In half a dozen different languages at once,

And all of them badly spoken,

I can't learn my lesson,

Do come and help me.

And one cried,

Can you show me how to extract this square root?

And another,

What is the latitude and longitude of Snooksville,

In No Man's County,

Oregon,

U.

S.

?

And another,

How long would it take a school inspector of average activity to tumble head over heels from London to York?

And another,

Can you tell me the name of a place that nobody ever heard of,

Where nothing ever happened,

In a country which has not yet been discovered?

And another,

Can you show me how to correct this hopelessly corrupt passage,

On the cause why crocodiles have no tongues?

And so on,

And so on,

And so on,

Till one would have thought they were all trying for tide-waiters' places.

And what good on earth will it do,

If I tell you,

Quoth Tom.

Well,

They didn't know that.

All they knew was the examiner was coming.

Then Tom stumbled on the hugest and softest nimble-come-quick turnip you ever saw,

Filling a hole in a crop of swedes,

And it cried to him,

Can you tell me anything at all,

About anything you like?

About what?

Says Tom.

About anything you like.

For as fast as I learn things,

I forget them again.

So my mama says that my intellect is not adapted for methodic science,

And says that I must go in for general information.

Tom told him he did not know general information,

Nor any officers in the army.

Only he had a friend once,

That went for a drummer,

But he could tell him a great many strange things,

Which he had seen in his travels.

So he told him prettily enough,

While the poor turnip listened very carefully.

And the more he listened,

The more he forgot,

And the more water ran out of him.

Tom thought he was crying,

But it was only his poor brains running out,

From being worked so hard.

And as Tom talked,

The unhappy turnip streamed down all over with juice,

And split and shrank till nothing was left of him,

But rind and water.

Whereat Tom ran away in a fright,

For he thought he might be taken up,

For killing the turnip.

But on the contrary,

The turnip's parents were highly delighted,

And considered him a saint and a martyr,

And put up a long inscription over his tomb,

About his wonderful talents,

Early development,

And unparalleled percocity.

Were they not a foolish couple?

But there was a still more foolish couple next to them,

Who were beating a wretched little radish,

No bigger than my thumb,

For sullenness and obstinacy,

And willful stupidity,

And never knew that the reason why it couldn't learn,

Or hardly even speak was,

That there was a great worm inside it,

Eating out all its brains.

But even they are no foolisher than some hundred scores of papas and mamas,

Who fetch the rod when they ought to fetch a new toy,

And send to the dark cupboard instead of to the doctor.

Tom was so puzzled and frightened with all he saw,

That he was longing to ask the meaning of it,

And at last he stumbled over a respectable old stick,

Lying half-covered with earth.

But a very stout and worthy stick it was,

For it belonged to good Roger Asham in old time,

And had carved on its head King Edward VI,

With the Bible in his hand.

What do you see?

Said the stick.

There were as pretty little children once as you could ever wish to see,

And might have been so still,

If they'd only left to grow up like human beings,

And then handed over to me.

But their foolish fathers and mothers,

Instead of letting them pick flowers,

And make dirt pies,

And get birds' nests,

And dance round the gooseberry bush,

As little children should,

Kept them always at lessons,

Working,

Working,

Working,

Learning weekday lessons all weekdays,

And Sunday lessons all Sunday,

And weekly examinations every Saturday,

And monthly examinations every month,

And yearly examinations every year,

Everything seven times over,

As if once was not enough,

And enough as good as a feast,

Till their brains grew big,

And their bodies grew small,

And they were all changed into turnips,

With little but water inside,

And still their foolish parents actually picked the leaves off them as fast as they grow,

Lest they should have anything green about them.

Ah,

Said Tom,

If dear Miss Dewis you would be done by new of it,

She would send them a lot of tops,

And balls,

And marbles,

And ninepins,

And make them all as jolly as sand boys.

It would be no use,

Said the stick.

They can't play now if they tried.

Don't you see how their legs have turned to roots,

And grown into the ground,

By never taking any exercise,

By sapping and moping always in the same place?

But here comes the examiner,

Of all examiners,

So you had better get away,

I warn you,

Or he will examine you and your dog into the bargain,

And set him to examine all the other dogs,

And you to examine all the other water babies.

There is no escaping out of his hands,

For his nose is nine thousand miles long,

And can go down chimneys,

And through keyholes,

Upstairs,

Downstairs,

In my lady's chamber,

Examining all little boys,

And the little boys' tutors likewise.

But when he is thrashed,

So Miss be done by as you did has promised me,

I shall have the thrashing of him,

And if I don't lay it out with a will,

It's a pity.

Tom went off,

But rather slowly and surly,

For he was somewhat minded to face the same examiner of all examiners,

Who came striding among the poor turnips,

Binding heavy burdens and grievous to the bone,

And laying them on little children's shoulders,

Like the scribes and Pharisees of old,

And not touching the same with one of his fingers,

For he had plenty of money and a fine house to live in,

And so forth,

Which was more than the poor little turnips had.

But when he got near,

He looked so big and burly,

And like a dictator,

And shouted so loud to Tom to come and be examined,

That Tom ran for his life,

And the dog too,

And really it was time,

For the poor turnips,

In their hurry and fright,

Crammed themselves so fast to be ready for the examiner,

That they burst and popped by dozens all around him,

Till the place sounded like Aldershot on a field day,

And Tom thought he should be blown into the air,

Dog and all.

As he went down to the shore,

He passed the poor turnips' new tomb,

But misbe done by as you did,

Had taken away the epitaph about talents and percocity and development,

And put up one of her own instead,

Which Tom thought much more sensible.

Instructions soar long time I bore,

And cramming was in vain,

Till heaven did please my woes to ease with water on the brain.

So Tom jumped into the sea,

And swam on his way singing,

Farewell I think my stars,

That not I know save those three royal hours,

Reading and writing sure,

With arithmetic,

Will help a lad of sense through thin and thick.

Thereby you may see that Tom was no poet,

But no more was John Bunyan,

Though he was as wise a man as you will meet in the month of Sundays.

And next he came to old wives' fabledom,

Where the folks were all heathens,

And worshipped a howling ape,

And there he found a little boy sitting in the middle of the road,

And crying bitterly.

What are you crying for?

Said Tom.

Because I'm not as frightened as I could wish to be.

Not frightened?

You are a queer little chap,

But if you want to be frightened,

Here goes.

Boo.

Ah,

Said the little boy,

That is very kind of you,

But I don't feel that it has made any impression.

Tom offered to upset him,

Punch him,

Stamp on him,

Fettle him over the head with a brick,

Or anything else whatsoever which would give him the slightest comfort.

But he only thanked Tom very civilly,

In fine long words which he had heard other folk use,

In which therefore he thought were fit and proper to use himself,

And cried on till his papa and mama came,

And set off for the Pow Wow man immediately.

And a very good natured gentleman and lady they were,

Though they were heathens,

And talked quite pleasantly to Tom about his travels,

Till the Pow Wow man arrived,

With his thunder box under his arm.

And a well-fed,

Ill-favored gentleman he was,

As ever served her majesty at Portland.

Tom was a little frightened at first,

For he thought it was Grimes,

But he soon saw his mistake,

For Grimes always looked a man in the face,

And this fellow never did.

And when he spoke,

It was fire and smoke,

And when he sneezed,

It was squibs and crackers,

And when he cried,

Which he did whenever it paid him,

It was boiling pitch,

And some of it was sure to stick.

Here we are again,

Cried he,

Like the clown in a pan of mine.

So you can't feel frightened,

My little dear,

Eh?

I'll do that for you.

I'll make an impression on you.

Yeah.

Boo!

Woo-roo!

Hullabaloo!

Hullabaloo!

And he rattled,

Thumped,

Brandished its thunderbox,

Yelled,

Shouted,

Raved,

Roared,

Stamped,

And then he touched a spring in the thunderbox,

And out popped turnip ghosts and magic lanthorns,

And pasteboard bogeys and spring-heeled jacks.

He clattered and clanked and rolled and rattled and roared,

So much that the little boy turned up with the whites of his eyes and fainted right away.

And at this his poor heathen papa and mama were as much delighted as if they had found a goldmine,

And fell down upon their knees before the powwow man,

And gave him a palaquin with a pole of solid silver and curtains of cloth and gold,

And carried him about on their own backs.

But as soon as they had taken him up,

The pole stuck to their shoulders,

And they could not set him down any more,

But carried him on willy-nilly,

As Sinbad carried the old man of the sea,

Which was a pitiable sight to see,

For the father was a very brave officer,

And wore two swords and a blue button,

And the mother was as pretty a lady as you ever saw.

But you see,

They had chosen to do a foolish thing just once too often.

So by the laws of misbe-done-by-as-you-did,

They had to go on doing it,

Whether they chose it or not.

Ah,

Don't you wish that someone would go and convert those poor heathens,

And teach them not to frighten their little children into fits?

Now then,

Said the powwow man to Tom,

Wouldn't you like to be frightened,

My little dear?

For I can see plainly that you're a very wicked,

Naughty,

And graceless boy.

You're another,

Quoth Tom very sturdily.

And when the man ran at him and cried,

Boo!

Tom ran at him in return,

And cried,

Boo!

Likewise,

Right in his face,

And set the little dog upon him.

And at his legs the dog went.

At which,

If you will believe it,

The fellow turned tail,

Thunderbox and all,

With a woof,

And ran for his life,

Screaming,

Help,

Thieves,

Murder,

Fire,

He is going to kill me.

I am a ruined man.

He will murder me,

And break,

Burn,

And destroy my precious and invaluable thunderbox.

And then you will have no more thundershowers in the land.

Help!

Help!

Help!

At which the papa and mama,

And all the people of old wives fabledom,

Flew at Tom,

Shouting,

Oh,

The wicked,

Impudent,

Hard-hearted,

Graceless boy.

Beat him,

Kick him,

Shoot him,

Drown him,

Hang him,

Burn him,

And so forth.

But luckily they had nothing to shoot,

Hang,

Or burn him with,

For the fairies had hid all the killing-tackle out of the way,

A little before.

So they could only pelt him with stones.

And some of the stones went clean through him,

And came out of the other side.

But he did not mind that a bit,

For the holes closed up again as fast as they were made,

Because he was a water-baby.

However,

He was very glad when he was safe out of the country,

For the noise there made him all but deaf.

Then he came to a very quiet place,

Called Leave Heaven Alone.

And there the sun was drawing water out of the sea to make steam-threads,

And the wind was twisting them up to make cloud-patterns,

Till they had worked between them the loveliest wedding-veil,

And hung it up over their own crystal palace for anyone to buy who could afford it.

While the good old sea never grudged,

For she knew they would pay her back honestly.

So the sun span,

And the wind wove,

And all went well with the great steam-loom,

As is likely considering,

And considering,

And considering.

And at last,

After innumerable adventures,

Each one more wonderful than the last,

He saw before him a huge building,

Much bigger,

And what is most surprising,

A little uglier than a certain new lunatic asylum,

But not built quite of the same materials.

None of it at least,

Or indeed,

For aught that I ever saw,

Any part of any other building whatsoever,

Is cased with nine-inch brick inside and out,

And filled up with rubble between the walls,

In order that any gentleman who has been confined during her majesty's pleasure may be unconfined during his own pleasure,

And take a walk in the neighboring park to improve his spirits.

After an hour's light and wholesome labor,

With his dinner-fork for one of the legs of his iron bed-stand,

No,

The walls of this building were built on an entirely different principle,

Which need not be described,

As it has not yet been discovered.

Tom walked towards the great building,

Wondering what it was,

And having a strange fancy that he might find Mr.

Grimes inside,

Till he saw running toward him and shouting,

Stop,

Three or four people,

Who when they came nearer,

Were nothing else than policeman's truncheons,

Running along without legs or arms.

Tom was astonished.

He was long past that.

Besides,

He had seen,

In the water,

Nobody knows how a hundred times without arms or legs or anything to stand on in their stead.

Neither was he frightened,

For he had been doing no harm.

So he stopped,

And when the foremost truncheon came up and asked his business,

He showed Mother Carrie's pass,

And the truncheon looked at it in the oddest fashion,

For he had one eye in the middle of his upper eye,

So that when he looked at anything,

Being quite stiff,

He had to slope himself and poke himself till it was a wonder why he did not tumble over,

But being quite full of spirit of justice,

As all policemen in their truncheons ought to be,

He was always in a position of stable equilibrium,

Whichever way he put himself.

All right,

Pass on,

Said he at last,

And then he added,

I had better go with you,

Young man,

And Tom had no objection,

For such company was both respectable and safe.

So the truncheon coiled its thong neatly around its handle to prevent tripping itself up,

For the thong had got loose and running,

And marched on by Tom's side.

Why have you no policemen to carry you,

Asked Tom after a while,

Because we are not like those clumsy made truncheons in the land world,

Which cannot go without having a whole man to carry them about.

We do our own work for ourselves,

And do it very well,

Though,

I say,

Who should not?

Then why have you a thong to your handle,

Said Tom?

To hang ourselves up by,

Of course,

When we're off duty.

Tom had got his answer,

And had no more to say,

Till they came up to the great iron door of the prison,

And there the truncheon knocked twice,

With its own head.

A wicket in the door opened,

And out looked a tremendous old brass blunderbuss,

Charged up to the muzzle with slugs,

Who was the porter,

And Tom started back a little at the sight of him.

What case is this?

He asked in a deep voice,

Out of his broad bell-mouth.

If you please,

Sir,

It is no case,

Only a young gentleman from her ladyship,

Who wants to see Grimes,

The master's sweep.

Grimes,

Said the blunderbuss,

And he pulled in his muzzle,

Perhaps to look over his prison lists.

Grimes is up chimney number three hundred and forty-five,

He said from inside,

So the young gentleman had better go on to the roof.

Tom looked up at the enormous wall,

Which seemed at least ninety miles high,

And wondered how he should ever get up,

But,

When he hinted that to the truncheon,

It settled the matter in a moment,

For it whisked around,

And gave him such a shove,

Behind as it sent him up the roof in no time,

With his little dog in his arm.

And there he walked along the leads,

Till he met another truncheon,

And told him his errand.

Very good,

It said,

Come along,

It will be of no use,

He is the most unremorseful,

Hard-headed,

Foul-mouthed fellow I have in charge,

And thinks nothing but beer and pipes,

Which are not allowed here,

Of course.

So they walked along over the leads,

And very sooty they were,

And Tom thought the chimneys must want sweeping very much,

But he was surprised to see that the soot did not stick to his feet,

Or dirty them in the least,

Neither did the live coals,

Which were lying about in plenty,

Burn him,

For being a water-baby,

His radical humours were of a moist and cold nature,

As you may read at large in Lemnius,

Cardan,

Van Helmont,

And other gentlemen,

Who knew as much as they could,

And no man can know more.

And that is the end of our story this evening.

Until next time,

Sweet dreams.

Reviews

So glad this chapter came out. Hope all is well with Hilary! 💕

Updated: I’m so happy that it was all good things keeping you busy! Hope your summer is terrific and your son goes to the college of his choice! 💕💕