ady Lyndon passed upon her. The dragon was the name by which she was
known in this precious correspondence: or sometimes she was designated
by the title of the 'Irish Witch.' As for me, I was denominated 'my
gaoler,' 'my tyrant,' 'the dark spirit which has obtained the mastery
over my being,' and so on; in terms always complimentary to my power,
however little they might be so to my amiability. Here is another
extract from her 'Prison Diary,' by which it will be seen that my Lady,
although she pretended to be so indifferent to my goings on, had a sharp
woman's eye, and could be as jealous as another:--

*****

'WEDNESDAY.--This day two years my last hope and pleasure in life was
taken from me, and my dear child was called to heaven. Has he joined his
neglected brother there, whom I suffered to grow up unheeded by my side:
and whom the tyranny of the monster to whom I am united drove to exile,
and perhaps to death? Or is the child alive, as my fond heart sometimes
deems? Charles Bullingdon! come to the aid of a wretched mother, who
acknowledges her crimes, her coldness towards thee, and now bitterly
pays for her error! But no, he cannot live! I am distracted! My only
hope is in you, my cousin--you whom I had once thought to salute by a
STILL FONDER TITLE, my dear George Poynings! Oh, be my knight and my
preserver, the true chivalric being thou ever wert, and rescue me from
the thrall of the felon caitiff who holds me captive--rescue me from
him, and from Stycorax, the vile Irish witch, his mother!'

(Here follow some verses, such as her Ladyship was in the habit of
composing by reams, in which she compares herself to Sabra, in the
'Seven Champions,' and beseeches her George to rescue her from THE
DRAGON, meaning Mrs. Barry. I omit the lines, and proceed:)--

'Even my poor child, who perished untimely on this sad anniversary, the
tyrant who governs me had taught to despise and dislike me. 'Twas
in disobedience to my orders, my prayers, that he went on the fatal
journey. What sufferings, what humiliations have I had to endure since
then! I am a prisoner in my own halls. I should fear poison, but that I
know the wretch has a sordid interest in keeping me alive, and that my
death would be the signal for his ruin. But I dare not stir without my
odious, hideous, vulgar gaoler, the horrid Irishwoman, who pursues my
every step. I am locked into my chamber at night, like a felon, and
only suffered to leave it when ORDERED into