his existence; and now and then he would go to a concert or to the Italian Opera, for he was passionately fond of music. In London, in short, it was almost impossible for him to forget his sorrows: in Leicester the kind attentions of his friends, their cheerful pastimes and lively conversation, only allowed him to remember them at intervals.
I have already said that it was not Thomson's custom to parade his sorrows in public; but that he was, on the contrary, uncommonly reserved about his private feelings. It would never have occurred to a casual acquaintance that he was one whose existence was a burden that he could scarcely endure. When with friends he was an unusually pleasant companion. He conversed easily and fluently on whatever subject might happen to be started, and frequently gave utterance to a happy jest, or an epigrammatic phrase. There was not the slightest degree of assumption in his manner, nor did he ever allude to his own writings, except when he was invited to do so. But his wounds were not the less painful, because he did not exhibit them in public; and of their deep and permanent character, I had once a striking proof. We were talking together lightly and cheerfully enough, when a casual remark which I made chanced to recall the memory of his lost love. Well do I remember the effect upon him: how his voice changed, and how tears started to his eyes!
I have already related the circumstances under which his first volume of poems was ultimately published by Messrs. Reeves & Turner. This was in April 1880, and the book was on the whole favourably received by
