I hardly knew how to answer him. He certainly had lost a good deal of that poetical elevation of character with which I had invested him; yet there was a mixture of honesty and honour in his frankness that I could not help esteeming. I thanked him very sincerely for the openness with which he had spoken, but confessed that I had not quite made up my mind to think that expediency was the right rule for human actions. It certainly was not the noblest, and therefore I was willing to believe that it was not the best. "I must go," said he, looking at his watch, "for it is my hour of dining, or I think I could dispute with you a little upon your word _expediency_. Whatever is really expedient for us to do--that is, whatever is best for us in the situation in which we are actually placed, is really right. Adieu!--I shall present myself again ere long; and if you admit me, I shall be thankful." So saying, he departed,--leaving us all, I believe, a little less in alt about him than before, but certainly with no inclination to shut our doors against him. LETTER XXII. Père Lachaise.--Mourning in public.--Defacing the Tomb of Abelard and Eloïsa.--Baron Munchausen.--Russian Monument.--Statue of Manuel. Often as I have visited the enclosure of Père Lachaise, it was with feelings of renewed curiosity and interest that I yesterday accompanied thither those of my party who had not yet seen it. I was well pleased to wander once more through the cypress alleys, now grown into fine gloomy funereal shades, and once more to feel that wavering sort of emotion which I always experience there;--one moment being tempted to smile at the fantastic manner in which affection has been manifested,--and the next, moved to tears by some touch of tenderness, that makes itself felt even amidst the vast collection of childish superstitions with which the place abounds. This mournful garden is altogether a very solemn and impressive spectacle. What a world of mortality does one take in at one glance! It will set one thinking a little, however fresh from the busy idleness of Paris,--of Paris, that antidote to all serious thought, that especial paradise for the worshippers of SANS SOUCI. A profusion of spring flowers are at this season hourly shedding their blossoms over every little cherished enclosure. There is beauty, freshness, fragrance on the surface.... It is a fearful contrast!