"Dear Clare,--
You ask me for literary news. I have very little of a kind likely to
interest you. Have you seen in the 'Edinburgh Review' an account of
some poems by Elliott, a Sheffield workman? In his rhymes on the Corn
Trade are not 'words that burn,' but words that scald. In his 'Love'
there is a story told in a very affecting manner. In short they are
the only new things I have been struck with for some time, and that
before I knew who the writer was. I heard lately that our friend Mr.
Lamb was very well, and his sister just recovered from one of those
illnesses which she is often afflicted with. I have just sent to the
press a translation of an old Greek poet. I do not expect he will
please you much, as he treats of little but charioteering, boxing,
running, and some old heathenish stories. But I will send you a copy,
not requiring you to read it. Mrs. C., if she were at my elbow,
would, I am sure, desire to be kindly remembered to you.
Believe me, dear Clare,
Sincerely yours,