I have heard that my dear children are well; Lady Shelley has written me a satisfactory account of them. I went to Mde. Cerjat’s. She is very unhappy about her sons; one is besieging Valenciennes. From her gardens we saw across the lake to Evian, where the detested tricolor flag is flying on the tree of liberty; we heard the drums distinctly. _18th, Thursday._--A small dinner at home, Hodges, etc. In the evening I went to the poor Duchess’s, who has not, I fear, many weeks to languish. Lord Morpeth[75] is clever, very handsome, and very captivating. I see the Cholmondeleys[76] are trying to catch him for Miss L.; he appears indisposed to the project. He is evidently _le mieux possible_ with Mde. A. If I were addicted to coquetry I believe I could easily become her rival, but I never possessed a particle of the vanity necessary to such a character, nor is there anything in my eyes flattering in such proceedings. A pretty young woman is always sure of as many lovers as she chooses, but to _me_ there would be more humiliation than glory in such a train. [Sidenote: MARAT’S DEATH] I dined at the Cholmondeleys; went to Casanova’s ball, and amused myself the few days I passed at Lausanne. Marat has been assassinated by a young woman of the name of Charlotte Corday. She obtained admittance whilst he was in the bath and pleaded for some of the deputies, who are in prison; she approached him, drew a poniard, and stabbed him to the heart. She was immediately seized, and the Convention are employed in devising new tortures for her. This death will occasion some change in their measures, as Marat was an intrepid villain who had attached a party to himself. The news from Valenciennes is dreadful: in an escalade attempted by the allies 6000 men perished.[77] La Fayette is still at Magdebourg.[78] His confinement seems both hard and unjust. The following lines are written by Lord Camelford:-- D’un fanatisme aveugle oser braver la ménace, De ses vils oppresseurs oser punir l’audace, Oser aimer son Roi, vouloir briser ses fers, Protéger l’innocence, et dompter les pervers; Au noirceur de l’intrigue opposer le courage, La constance à la mort, le mépris à l’outrage. _Favras_, ce sont là des crimes aujourd’hui, Le supplice est pour toi, et le laurier pour lui! Pour ce pâle tribun, le tyran et l’esclave, Le chef et le jouet du parti qui le brave. Conspirateur hardi, timide pour le bien, Étouffant les remords qui germent dans son sein. Ce _Cromwell_ sans talents, ce Brutus de la Foire, Qui par ses crimes au moins se consigne à l’histoire, Qui sait fouler aux pieds les autels et les lois, Ensanglanter le trône et le lit de ses Rois; Par de lâches complots accabler l’innocence. Ce sont là de nos jours les vertus de la France.