ld, Slash
Lane, the records and traditions of the place, and what remains were dug
up, and _exactly where_; for that generally shows where the stress of the
battle was. It is best to keep people to one point: else they wander off
into generalities: as for instance what the Lady tells of War Scythes
hung up in Horncastle Church: which, cruel as Oliver was, we must refer
back to an earlier warfare than his, I doubt. Pray thank Miss
Charlesworth: and believe me yours ever,

E. FITZGERALD.

BOULGE, _March_ 5/44.

DEAR MRS. CHARLESWORTH,

I have heard again from Carlyle who has sent me, a letter from Dr.
Cookson, which I am to burn or send, as I think best. Before I do so, I
should be glad to speak to Miss Charlesworth on the matter again: and as
my brother is going off on one of his comet excursions to-morrow (at
least so he purposed an hour ago) I shall go with him to Ipswich, unless
it snows, etc., and shall walk to Bramford. My humble request therefore
is nothing more than that you will be so good as to lock up Miss C. till
I have come and consulted as to what is best to be done: and how best to
address this Doctor: whom I conclude she knows.

However, I only mean that if the day is pretty fair I may hope to find
some of you at home: and Mr. Charlesworth well again.

Yours very truly,

E. FITZGERALD.

[19 CHARLOTTE STREET,
RATHBONE PLACE,]
LONDON, _April_ 11/44.

DEAR MRS. CHARLESWORTH,

I last night smoked a pipe with Carlyle. He has had two large packets
from Dr. Cookson, who shows alacrity enough to do what is asked, and may
turn up something. But he has chiefly spoken of Winsby: and your
Allenbys had so well cleared all that matter up with their map, etc.,
that the Doctor was going over needless ground. I hope we may be as
successful with some other field: or rather that Cookson will anticipate
us and save us all trouble.

London is very hateful to me. I long to spread wing and fly into the
kind clean air of the country. I see nobody in the streets half so
handsome as Mr. Reynolds {157} of our parish: all clever, composed,
satirical, selfish, well dressed. Here we see what the World is. I am
sure a great City is a deadly Plague: worse than the illness so called
that came to ravage it. I tried to persuade Carlyle to leave his filthy
Chelsea, but he says his wife likes London. I get radishes to eat for
breakfast of a morning: with them comes a savour of earth that brings all
the delicious