Another dominant characteristic of the young man may here find its place.

While still at Oxford his tastes--the bent of his mind, and his temperament--
were beginning to outline his future. He spent his vacations in Dublin and
always called upon his old school friend Edward Sullivan in his rooms at
Trinity. Sullivan relates that when they met Oscar used to be full of his
occasional visits to London and could talk of nothing but the impression made
upon him by plays and players. From youth on the theatre drew him irresistibly;
he had not only all the vanity of the actor; but what might be called the born
dramatist's love for the varied life of the stage--its paintings, costumings,
rhetoric--and above all the touch of emphasis natural to it which gives such
opportunity for humorous exaggeration.

"I remember him telling me," Sullivan writes, "about Irving's 'Macbeth,' which
made a great impression on him; he was fascinated by it. He feared, however,
that the public might be similarly affected--a thing which, he declared, would
destroy his enjoyment of an extraordinary performance." He admired Miss Ellen
Terry, too, extravagantly, as he admired Marion Terry, Mrs. Langtry, and Mary
Anderson later.

The death of Sir William Wilde put an end to the family life in Dublin, and
set the survivors free. Lady Wilde had lost her husband and her only daughter
in Merrion Square: the house was full of sad memories to her, she was eager to
leave it all and settle in London.

The "Requiescat" in Oscar's first book of poems was written in memory of this
sister who died in her teens, whom he likened to "a ray of sunshine dancing
about the house." He took his vocation seriously even in youth: he felt that he
should sing his sorrow, give record of whatever happened to him in life. But he