To this day I never notice a squint: it is as normal to me as a nose or a tall hat.
"I was a boy at a concert in the Antient Concert Rooms in Brunswick Street in Dublin.

Everybody was in evening dress; and--unless I am mixing up this concert with another (in which case I doubt if the Wildes would have been present)--the Lord Lieutenant was there with his blue waistcoated courtiers.

Wilde was dressed in snuffy brown; and as he had the sort of skin that never looks clean, he produced a dramatic effect beside Lady Wilde (in full fig) of being, like Frederick the Great, Beyond Soap and Water, as his Nietzschean son was beyond Good and Evil.

He was currently reported to have a family in every farmhouse; and the wonder was that Lady Wilde didn't mind--evidently a tradition from the Travers case, which I did not know about until I read your account, as I was only eight in 1864.
"Lady Wilde was nice to me in London during the desperate days between my arrival in 1876 and my first earning of an income by my pen in 1885, or rather until, a few years earlier, I threw myself into Socialism and cut myself contemptuously loose from everything of which her at-homes--themselves desperate affairs enough, as you saw for yourself--were part.

I was at two or three of them; and I once dined with her in company with an ex-tragedy queen named Miss Glynn, who, having no visible external ears, reared a head like a turnip.