The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1880-06-24
The Immortality Of the Soul.

\ AAC AmAAVA enAAPy Va 0AAo oouAs
We were dining yesterday at Victor
Hugo's. -Four of us were believers and
four atheists-not speaking of the ladies,
who were all too clever to be infidels.
Victor Hugo, of course, was among the
believers.
ITO believe in God is to believe moth.
ing" said one of the atheists.
ITO believe in God is to believe every
thing," cried Victor Hugo; "it id to be-
lieye in the infinite, and in ones immor-
tai soul. J. will prove it to you."
His face was bright with heavenly
halo. You know he was born with the
century. His face is crowned with white
hair, but it is the volcano under the
snow. His eyes shine like burning
Goals; his brow is arched like an Olym-
plans; the nose is refined, with disten-
ded nostrils; the mouth is eager and
smiling, still full of valiant teeth; the
chin finishes profile designed after the
laws of artistic grammar. It is a we'll
made head on robust body. BY robust
do not mean enormous. He has not
the stature of giant nor the torso of
Hercules. But he is man of steel, with
no sign of old age about him. He has
ell the agility, the suppleness, the case
and grace Of his past years. He is now
enjoying his third or fourth youth; do
not doubt be will see the century
through.
"I feel in myself" he continued, "the
future life. I am like forest which has
been more than once cut down. The new
shoots are stronger and livelier than
ever. am rising, know, to the sky.
The sunshine is on my head. The earth
gives me its generous sap, but heaven
lights me with the reflection of unknown
worlds. You say the soul is nothing but
the resultant of bodily powers. Why
then is my soul the. more luminous than
my bodily powers Winter is on my
head and eternal spring is in-my heart.
There I breathe at this hour the fra
GRANGE of the lilacs, the violets and the
roses, as at twenty years. The nearer I
approach the end, the palmer I hear
around me the immortal symphonies of
the worlds which invite me. 1t is mar
velous, yet simple. 1t is fairy tale and
it is history. For Lalf a,century I have
been writing my thoughts in prose and
verse; history, philosophy, drama, 70.
nance, tradition, satire ode and song-I
have tried ALL But I feel I have not said
the thousandth partiof what is in me.
When I go down to the grave, I can say,
like so many others, I have finished my
days work. but I cannot say Il have fin
ished. my life My days work viii
begin again the next morning. The
tomb isynot''a blind alleyi;s it is a:thor-
oughfare. 1t closes on the twilight to
open with the dawn. 1 improve every
hour, because love this world as my
fatherland, ,'and because the truth COM
pels me as it compelled Voitaire, that
human divinity. My work is only a be-
ginning. My monument is hardly above
its foundations. would be glad to see
it mounting and mounting forever. The
thirst forithe.. infinitely proves infnity.
What do you say of that, Messieurs
Atheists?"
~ say you are wonderful man."
"I am not wonderful man. I obey
my soul. My soul has its destiny, and
obeys unknown laws"
ut obeys the laws of creation" said
the atheist. eff you should suddenly
have headache, night would come over
your soul, and you would feel that it was
the creature of your brain. He-e, for
instance, is the coffee. Take some, as I
do, in this pretty japanese cup, and your
blood will be quickened, and your wit
livelier, and for an. hour. you will be a
greater poet than ever"
"Don't tall: such nonsense, my witty
friend. never drink coffee nor cham
pagne. Why do not those who take
these stimulants write either my verse or
my prosew
'It is because nature has not so we'll
fashioned their brains"
"There / have YOU" said Victor Hugo.
"What is nature?"
"It is an occult force" said the atheist.
"There are mo occult forces; there are
only luminous forces. Occult force is
chaos, luminous force is God. Man is an
infinite little copy'of God; this is glory
enough for man. am man, an inyis-
ible atom, drop in the ocean, a grain
of sand on the shore. Little as I am, l
feel the God in me, because I can also
bring form out Of my chaos. I make
books which are creations. I can say
this without boasting, for I have no more
pride than coral insect in its reef; no
more than the smallest bird which joins
in the universal hymn. I am nothing.
Here lies Victor Hugo-an atom, pass
ing echo, a flying cloud, wave which
laps the shore. I am nothing, but let
me live all my future lives; let me con.
tinue my work begun; let me scale in
coming ages all the heights, all the
perils, all the love, all the agonies.
Who will say that one day, after thou
sands of ascents, l shall not, like all
men of good will, have conquered place
in the supreme council of that adorable
tyrant whose name is God?"
For THE CREDIT OF THE FAMILY.
"A young gentleman was passing lit
tie girl on Seventh street recently who
was sitting on the doorsteps humming
over tune. He was interested by the
sweet and intelligent appearance Of the
child, and. accosting her, the following
dialogue took place:
''Sissy, what's your pas name"
This was politely answered by the lit
tie girl.
GLOW many brothers have your"
"Four or FIVE"
elbow many sisters?'
"Four or five"
The young mans curiosity being salts
fed he passed ON. The mother of the
l;t+la fan. .1aar rald i,uho bod reithar