Your letter was a surprise to me. I liked _The Colonel_ and thought I had said as much: but I liked it in my own way and I am not going to be bullied out of my admiration by the modesty of the author. I thought it a brightly written farce with a rather weak last act. You tell me, and of course you ought to know, that it is not a farce but a comedy: but if I were to adopt your classification I should not like it at all, and I want to like it if you will let me--in my own way. You ask where the puns are and in the same breath you tell me where they are. There are three of them you say, and they are all in the right places. But I never hinted, my dear fellow, that they were not in the right places. On the contrary it was your gravity not your humour I found to be in the wrong place. You ask me again where are the evidences of high animal spirits in your play; after your letter I shall begin to doubt my recollections, but I had certainly thought the interest of the play was mainly supported by its high spirits. To be able to keep a wildly extravagant notion alive for the space of three acts, demands I think an ample supply of animal spirits. But is it a crime to have high animal spirits? I thought it was only the gloomy apostle of high art who loathed hilarity. I haven’t the faintest objection to your tackling me, as you call it, but you must give me leave to speak freely. When I hear you say that _The Colonel_ is farcical neither in plot nor characters, I begin seriously to wonder whether your letter is not altogether a form of practical joke. I will not let myself be diverted by your allusions to _She Stoops to Conquer_. The suggested resemblance had not, I confess, occurred to me; there seem to me many differences between the two works but this is rather a question for posterity. If, however, you insist on taking Goldsmith into your skiff it will not be thought presumption on my part if I choose my place in Dr. Johnson’s heavier craft. I would prefer, however, to take your own account of your work. Not farcical in plot or character! Surely your career as a humourist has been fed by the rarest and most delightful experience, if it has brought you into contact with the kind of man who would be driven to the verge of immorality by a dado! No, I can’t think you serious!” Here my copy--the rough one of the letter sent--comes to an end; and I have not F. C. Burnand’s further reply. But it is good to remember that there was never any breach between the friends; I find a scenario by Burnand for a children’s Christmas play--evidently sent to Joe about the time when he produced Buchanan’s version of the _Pied Piper of Hamlin_ at the Comedy Theatre with Lena Ashwell--still a student at the Royal Academy of Music--acting and singing the girl’s part.