One night I pondered, deep and weary,
On matters typical of noble enquiry--
Taxes, estates, money--then
I noticed with a start 'twas the evening when
Ghosts and goblins hap upon the scene:
That most dread night of Hallowe'en.

'Twas then my neck pricked, hair by hair.
I heard a noise upon the stair!
A gentle creaking, spectral tred
Leading upwards. Reason fled
And there I shivered at sight unseen
That horrid night, last Hallowe'en.

I cracked the door. It floated wide;
I scanned the hall from side to side.
"What doom has come?" I whispered soft.
Dame Echo whisked my words aloft
To resound 'mongst the stately beams.
I cursed the night of Hallowe'en.

Another tiptoe then heard I fall!
A chambermaid came down the hall
With lantern lit. "I heard a noise,"
She said from afar with a timid voice.
"So dreadful 'twas, it might have been
A ghoul or sprite, on Hallowe'en."

She came much closer, and 'gan to scream
Gazing at me as if in a dream.
I followed her eyes and looked down.
I'd ventured out sans dressing gown.
(A bad mistake, had not it been
A most distressing Hallowe'en.)

We heard the sound once more. We turned
To follow the source, our fear well spurned.
The maid did quiver. I meant to scorn her
But then loomed large from around a corner
A greenish ghast, the worst I'd seen
On or outside of Hallowe'en.

The maid, she crumpled like a barley sack.
I gasped: 'Twas my wife in a cold mud pack!
A horrific sight in one's one manor.
Then she conked one with a spanner.
The moral? Wear your gown if you're to be seen
Wandering the halls with a maid on Hallowe'en.

Big Bow-Huntin' Bill writes:

Dear Sir Chuck,

That column by your wife a few months ago really got on my nerves.  You know, the one about the cattle prod. 

I don't buy it, Big Chuck.  She might've got around your idiot secretary and wangled it so her column got in instead of yours, but I can't believe that you would let yourself be prodded. 

Say it ain't so, Chuck!  Tell me it's you who wears the pants in the Grandiose family.  And just for the record, how do you handle your wife?

Big Bow-Huntin' Bill

Sir Charles replies:

My dear Mister Big,

Our Lord God has seen fit to create the sexes to compliment each other. Each has a role within the marriage to contribute. The man provides strength for the family. He provides the home and the means for sustenance. He guides his family along the paths of righteousness, and ensures that they are disciplined when they stray. The man is the foundation upon which the family is built.

And the wife? She is to provide nurture to the wee kiddies, and to make the home a pleasant environment for the hard-working manly man. She is to bring his slippers in the evening, pour him a whiskey when he blows his military whistle, and see to it that the meals are not slop fit only for the piggies.

So, how does one handle the Lady Felicia, Mr. Big? Very, very carefully. She is liable to give one a pistol-whipping.

Admitting defeat, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

Dougie writes:

oi! chuckles

i'm in a chuff ere over me wife, you see shes seeing other blokes and doin whatever wiv them and its just a bit of what for if you knowt i mean. an she wont get me a beer or nuffing. so. tell me how to give her what for.

yer mate dougie.

Sir Charles replies:

Ah, young Douglas,

Allow one to inquire into the health of your wife, your sister, and your cousin. She's fine, is she? Glad to hear it.

Noting that your present policy of keeping problems in the family is working admirably, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

Chiranjeevi writes:

Dear Lady Felicia,

Kindly send me ur opinion about my poem:.......

At the Hour of Success.

Necessity is the mother of Invention.
Only people with strong Motivation
Will be able to fight the Competition
So as to reach the doors of Elevation.

Inorder to reach the doors of Elevation.
One may even violate the prevailing Rules & Regulations
Well for your kind Information
You will be facing with charges pertaining to Prosecution.

Instead follow the road to Meditation.
It will teach you the art of Concentration
Blessed with the fruits of Dedication
You will find yourself standing amidst fame & Recognition.

This matured step towards Salvation.
Will pave way for the cremation
Of all your ill-thoughts and Action
Resulting in greater sense of Satisfaction.

Chiranjeevi

The Lady Felicia replies:

Dear Chiranjeevi,

This is just the sort of inspirational - nay, incendiary! - poetry that one keeps from one's servants. 

One supposes it is all very well for one's parlormaid to dream fantastic dreams of a fabulous life, but one feels it ought to be confined to a visit to the pantomime on her day out.  This sort of literature only perpetuates the myth that people can rise above their station or, more vulgarly, "pull themselves up by their bootstraps".  

My dear Chiranjeevi, the fact is: There are those who serve and those who are served.   You would do better to devote your considerable literary talents to encouraging people to accept their lot in life and not to tempting people from their duty with visions of fame and recognition. 

Is it not more seemly that people of the sort you are addressing in this poem should find their satisfaction and salvation in their dedication to their betters?  One does fervently believe this to be true.

Serenely, one remains,
Lady Felicia Grandiose