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tlements. Each stick of timber bears the private mark of its owner, and is left to work its own way. The gangs of lumbermen concentrate to the banks of the rivers on whose borders they have operated, and keep afloat all the timber, without reference to its ownership, which is drifting upon it. At certain fixed points, where there is a confluence of many streams, the timber is stopped by a boom, until each branch of the river above has completed its contribution; and then the entire mass is again let loose, and the combined gangs accompany it in its course. This is what is called a river-drive. It constitutes a rare spectacle. The voices of the men are heard afar through the woods as they approach down the winding river; at length they come in sight and pass by, and are again lost in the silent wilderness. It is a scene of the greatest activity, at times, where the bed of the river is shallow or obstructed. The logs fill the stream, as far as the eye can see; hundreds of men, all dressed in uniform, wearing red flannel shirts, are jumping from log to log, getting off those which have landed, sometimes springing into the water and pressing with their shoulders, and sometimes pushing with long poles, while the round and slippery logs are rolling over under their nimble feet. The occasions for strength, rapidity of sight and motion, courage, hardihood and perseverance, are frequent and greater than in almost any other business. By the month of June all the rivers of this part of the continent are filled with driving timber, which at last reaches its destination, is assorted to its several owners, and sent further down in rafts, or shipped, in the form of logs, dealboards, clapboards, shingles, laths, or slabs, to all parts of the world. The men who are thus exposed to the snows of winter and the privations of the wilderness, whose muscles are strung to such perpetual labor, and whose frames are hardened by cold and wet, constitute a material ingredient of the physical force of the country, and, in case of necessity, could contribute to its defence, with an energy, a bravery and an endurance, surpassed by no other description of the population. They are identified with the soil, almost as much as the deep-rooted trees themselves. They have no other ideas, no other attachments, than to its wild forests and bright streams, and to the freedom with which they have roamed through and floated over them.

In order to estimate the importance of Maine as a navigating State and a nursery of seamen, let any one, on a pleasant September day, secure to himself the gratification of as delightful a steamboat excursion as the country affords, by taking passage at Bangor or Belfast for Portland. Every bay, harbor and river, as he glides by, is receiving or sending forth its graceful sails. As he passes Owl's Head, he is in the midst of an innumerable fleet, threading their manifold courses through islands surrounded with breakers and sparkling in the sunshine; as the floating castle in which he is borne swings on the broad sea-swell of the outer passage, her track is crossed by a perpetual succession of vessels of all sizes, from the heavy Indiaman to the light skiff, in which the solitary fisherman pursues his exciting and surely rewarded labors.

Nearly twenty years ago an English gentleman was seen to pass up the Kennebec and disappear in the wilderness The precise point of his destination was not known. Soon after, two young men traveling in that region, having heard of the stranger, were impelled by curiosity to ascertain the place and manner of his wilderness abode; they succeeded in getting upon his track, and after having passed beyond the last settlement, and traversed a pathless forest for a distance of twenty-five miles, and crossed an elevated ridge, called Mount Saddleback, they reached the spot which the peculiar taste and enterprise of the unknown gentleman had selected; and a beautiful and romantic spot it was. He had purchased an entire township. Its southern boundary was a high mountain, wooded to the summit, and descending with a steep inclination to the shore of a large, deep lake. On the northern side of the lake, opposite the mountain, he had made his clearing and was erecting his various buildings. From his house to the lake was a beautiful slope, from which, with the exception of a border of trees along the shore, the forest had been removed, and which, when we saw it, was waving with a rich and most abundant growth of wheat. Behind his house the land flowed back in sweeping levels for three or four miles, and then ascended into mountainous ridges which on all sides marked the boundaries of his estate. After the cares of the day were over, and his numerous workmen were resting from their labors, our host sat down with us on the green embankment in front of his house, and

gratified us with a narrative of his life, and an explanation of the motives that had led him to that secluded spot. It was at lovely summer evening. The moon rose with a brightness and beauty which seemed to transcend even her own loveliness. No dust from the turmoil of life impaired the purity of that clear atmosphere. The rising and setting of the sun and moon were attended with peculiar interest in that mountain-compassed seclusion. As the disk of the moon was slowly lifted over Saddleback, light tipped the summits of the mountains in the opposite west, and its line gradually descended their sides, compelling, as it were, the shadows, and forcing them down lower and lower, until they all at last disappeared, and the lake glittered in the silver sheen, and the wide valley was filled with the mild and soft radiance of moonlight in its fulness.

He made his way, with great hardship, through the wilderness to this place; and he moment he beheld it, the beau-ideal in which he had indulged from childhood was so completely realized, that he sold his Virginia lands, and removed at once with his family. He brought with him a full supply of stock of the best descriptions, and implements of agricultural labor. He had a large company of workmen adapted to all the exigences of a new settlement.

He was the first occupant of the scene; no axe had ever before rung through that forest; no spade had ever turned up that soil; nature had delivered it into his hands in its untouched virginity, and it was for him to say where, and how, and to what extent labor should mingle with it, and art adorn or enrich it. We were the first travelers that had penetrated to his retreat. He delighted in the tranquility and independence of his secluded abode, which he likened to the vale of Rasselas. He sighed not for the world from which he had withdrawn, but still his heart leaped at the sight of a fellowman; he received us with the cordial grasp of a warm humanity, and treated us with a lively and generous hospitality.

But the tide of settlement has swept

From a child it had been the aspiration of his ambition to procure a spot of earth upon which man had never encroached, as it came from the hand of its Maker, and which, so far as his eye could see, he could call his own. With this view, he, early in life, engaged in commercial pursuits, and was led by his business to see much of the world, having spent many years on the continent of Europe, andover his mountain barriers. The land passed often across the Atlantic. He had witnessed many interesting scenes on both sides of the ocean, during the era of those great events which signalized the close of the last century and the beginning of this. At length, his mercantile enterprises having been crowned with success, he came again to America, and explored the Atlantic States to find a spot where his early and cherished visions might be realized. After a wide survey of the middle and southern States, he purchased 10,000 acres of land in a county of Virginia, bordering upon North Carolina; but before he had commenced operations there, some old business transaction threw into his hands a tract of wild land in Maine, which he conceived a desire to examine for himself before disposing of it.

mania which involved the whole country some ten years ago, broke like a flood into his retreat. The census of 1840 reports 216 inhabitants in his township. Unable to resist the pressure, he has sold out, as we have been informed; but whether, like Leather-Stocking or Daniel Boone, he has sought a deeper refuge in the wilderness, or given up the attempt to escape from the advancing wave of population, we cannot tell. But however it may be, wherever he is, we wish him well-if still in the land of the living, and this should reach his notice, may he receive the assurance that his kind hospitality to the young strangers who intruded upon his retirement is gratefully remembered.

THE BHAGVAT GEETA, AND THE DOCTRINE OF IMMORTALITY.

It is written in the Vedas, "The soul should be known, that is, it should be distinguished from nature; for then it will not return, it will not return." In this passage, under a form peculiar to the East, we find the enunciation of one of the fundamental problems of philosophy (that of the immortality of the soul) with an indication of its solution. It is the general belief of the Orientals, that the soul of a dying man, after leaving this present body, will be born again into the world under some new form. A man, in his next body, may be a horse, or a dog, and this re-birth, whether in the old or under a new form, is the return of the soul. The expiation of certain crimes consists, according to the description in the laws of Menu, in the soul's living a thousand successive lives, in the bodies of a thousand different spiders. This is a specimen of the return. The prospect, therefore, is by no means agreeable, and we cannot wonder that the whole force of the Oriental mind should have been directed to the discovery of some means whereby the return of the soul might be avoided.

But, before we go further, let us examine this doctrine of the transmigration of souls, to see whether it really be so devoid of plausibility as we sometimes suppose. In all ages of the world there have been philosophers who held that the soul built the body, that is, that the character and form of the body was dependent on the character of the soul. The diametrically opposite doctrine is, indeed, more fashionable at this time, for many of our phrenologists and other materialists, believe that it is the body which builds the soul, that is, that the soul is a function of (dependent upon) some portion of the organism, say the brain for example. An appeal is made, in both cases, to observation and experience, the phrenologist, from an examination of the skull, will give a pretty shrewd guess as to the character of its owner; the idealist will call our attention to the fact that the indulgence of certain passions will alter the conformation of the face, the expression of the figure. The man who acquires the disposition of a fox, will begin to look like a fox-will begin to become a fox as far as such a transformation is

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compatible with human nature. It is in the nature of Spirit, says the Idealist, to express itself in some form, and, as we are all rendered free at death, why should we not, in the next birth, take the form best adapted to express our inward natures? Why should not the man, who is, in heart, a fox, take, in the next birth, the outward form of a fox? why should not a fierce bloody man be born the next time as a bull-dog; and a woman, who has no desire, except for dress and display, be born as a peacock? Are their souls immortal? Yes, verily, but their present natures will remain with them, for their happiness or misery, throughout eternity. Conversely, a man of pure and angelic character begins inevitably to present a pure and angelic appearance, the countenance becomes placid, the manner sedate, and the soul of the man transforms the body till it becomes as angelic as is compatible with its present relations. And when it assumes a new form after death, what shall prevent it from assuming the one most appropriate to its nature?

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Our Transcendentalists, hold not only that the soul builds the body, but that it builds all things, God, the universe, the body, other men, &c. In the order of thought (says Mr. Emerson,) the materialist takes his departure from the external world, and esteems a man as one product of that. The Idealist takes his departure from his consciousness, and reckons the world as an appearance... The experience of the Idealist inclines him to behold the procession of facts you call the world, as flowing perpetually outward from an invisible unsounded centre in himself, centre alike of him and of them, and necessitating him to regard all things as having a subjective or relative value, relative to that aforesaid unknown centre of him." This doctrine of Mr. Emerson leads either to a denial of a future life, or to the doctrine of the transmigration of souls; for if the soul builds the body, and continues to live, it must inevitably assume, in the next state, a form appropriate to its nature. But, why, you ask, may not a Transcendentalist say that the soul assumes a spiritual body, in the old-fashioned heaven? If the Tanscendentalist takes this ground, he will furnish at once the means, not

only for the immediate destruction of a whole wing of the school, but also for ultimately sapping the entire system. For in admitting the old-fashioned heaven, he must acknowledge also the possibility of the old-fashioned special communications from the spiritual world to saints and prophets. He must thus admit the logical basis of the old-fashioned orthodoxy, inspiration, &c., and what will he do in the battle that ensues? But it is not necessary to push this inquiry; we know of no passage in the writings of transcendental writer which asserts the doctrine of a future life. We have no reason to believe that any of them hold the doctrine. The future state is, for them, not one of life, but one of persistence of essence.

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This theory that the soul builds the body, is connected with a vast system, which we have not time to examine, but a little thought will convince the reader that it is as plausible and as true as the other doctrine, that the body builds the soul; in short, subjective-idealism is just as true as materialism, and we may add, just as false. As was shown in the March number of this Review, if we start with man alone, our reasonings will leave us, at the end, in New England Transcendentalism, (subjective-idealism,) and, if we take our departure in nature alone, we end of necessity in materialrealism; both partial, exclusive, and inadequate systems. The fact is, the body builds the soul, and the soul builds the body, but it is God who builds both.

II. What reasoning, what train of thought, lay in the minds of the writers of the Vedas when they explained the method to be followed by men desirous of avoiding a return into this evil mansion of pain? Why did they suppose that a distinction of the soul from nature, by the exercise of thought, would be sufficient to overcome this necessity of a return? We shall endeavor in the following pages to give an answer to these questions. But it will be necessary to explain some of the peculiarities of the Oriental philosophy, that the reader may readily understand the somewhat obscure text we shall find it necessary to quote.

What is the invisible world of the Orientals? This invisible world, is identical with the world of potential existences of Aristotle; it is identical with the abyss of Jacob Behman and John Pordage. These three expressions, the invisible world, the

potential world, and the abyss, (which last term we prefer, as being more expressive,) are names indicating one identical thing in the universe of reality-we do not say in the universe of actuality.

What then is meant by the term, the abyss? Suppose, in thought, this visible universe to be broken. Let all the qualities by which we distinguish the differences subsisting among the different bodies of nature, cease to manifests themselves. Let all properties, all activities in nature, reënter into themselves. Let all that by which each manifests its own proper existence, reënter the virtual state, so that all properties, all activities, exist no longer in act, but only in the power of acting. Like a circle that contracts more and more till it vanishes in its own center; let all extensions contract into-into what, O ye Powers! Let all qualities derived from extension, or which are manifested to us through extension, enter again into themselves. Let, in short, all properties of things be only in potentiality of manifestation. The reader must endeavor to effect these operations in thought.

But perhaps it will be well to define some of our terms. What is essence? What is existence? What is the difference in signification between the words essence and existence? Essence is pure being, without efflux or manifestation. Existence involves out-going or manifestation. The soul of man, and every other substance, according to the foundation of its being, according to its center or root, is; but according to its out-goings, manifestations, or operations, it exists.

What is potential existence? What is actual existence? What is the difference between potential and actual existence ? A thing exists potentially, or in potentia, when it is possible only. This same thing exists actually when it has not only this possible (potential) existence, but also a real existence in fact.

A thing is, when in potentia, or when possessing only a possible existence; but it exists, when it has not only its root of substance or being, but also an actual manifestation.

When all outward things exist only in potentiality of manifestation, or, in short, when all things exist only in potentia, man also must cease from all actual existence; and must reënter the potential state In fact, how does man act, how does he manifest himself? He moves, eats, drinks, thinks, wills, remembers, hopes, loves, desires, &c. But can a man

eat without eating something, or can he drink except he drink something? Can he move without moving through some space, or moving something, viz: his body? Can he love, hope, desire, think, without thinking, hoping, loving, desiring, something? When all things are in the potential state, this something, which is necessary to all his actions, is withdrawn, and, as man cannot act or manifest himself, without the concurrence of this something, he must also himself cease from all action, all manifestation-he must himself, in like manner reënter the potential state. Conceive, if you can, that you are removed into some distant region of space where nothing can come into contact with you, where the light of the stars of heaven is extinguished, where the undulations of the all-pervading ether cease to operate, where all motion, all change, all springing sources, have reëntered into themselves; conceive, also, your memory to be so blotted out that the voices of the past sound no longer; conceive that no fact remains present to the mind on which to base an inference in regard to the future Would you live, act, think or desire? Of what would you think, or what would you desire? All these objects of thought and desire have entered, according to the supposition, into the potential state, and manifest themselves no longer to you. Evidently you have entered, as far as is possible this side the gates of death, into the potential state, into the invisible world, into the abyss.

When we thus conceive this universe to be broken, to have returned into its original essence, but non-existence when we conceive man also to have ceased from all actual existence-we shall perceive all our representations, humanity, the outward world, ourselves, all thought, all desire, reëntering into each other, so as to exist thenceforth only in germ, only in potentiality of existence. Man and the universe will be effaced together-all things will enter the potential state simultaneously; for the human intelligence reflects the universe, and the reëntering of the universe into the potential state will be marked by the smooth surface of the mirror (the mind of man) which gives thenceforth no reflection, which marks thenceforth no change.

Thus beings have become one being, in potentiality of manifestation. Yet when we say one being, our words must not be taken with too much strictness. Nature and man have reëntered into them

selves, and all things exist only in potentia; they have become one being, insomuch as each is now a cause existing in potentiality of operation-one being, inasmuch as these causes are undistinguishable the one from the other, since all that can effect a distinction is swallowed up in the abyss of potentiality. But they are many beings, insomuch as they are the potentiality of a world involving diversity and change.

This one being, this world in potentia, is the abyss of Jacob Behman, the invisible world of the Orientals.

Geeta,) in like manner, that which is the "I am (says Kreeshna, in the Bhagvat seed of all things in nature; and there is nothing, whether animate or inanimate, which is without me. But what, O Arjoon, hast thou to do with this manifold wisdom? I planted the universe with a single portion and stood still. [The son of Pandoo then beheld within the mighty compound being, within the body of the God of gods, standing together, the whole ty.] I see thyself (says Arjoon) on all universe, divided forth into its vast variesides of infinite shape, formed with abun dant arms, and bellies, and mouths, and eyes; but I can neither discover thy beginning, thy middle, nor again thy end, O universal Lord, form of the universe!"

shows the distinction between the potenThe following passage is clear, and tial and actual worlds, the first being the substance and seed of the latter, and the latter being the former drawn out into actual relations.

"They who are acquainted with day and night, know that a day of Brahma is a his night extendeth for a thousand more. thousand revolutions of the Yoogs, and that On the coming forth of that day all things proceed from invisibility to visibility; so, on the approach of night, they are all dissolved away into that which is called invisible. The universe even, having existed, is again dissolved; and now again, on the approach of day, by divine necessity, it is reproduced. That which, upon the dissolution of all things else, is not destroyed, is superior and of another nature from that visibility; it is invisible and eternal. He who is thus called invisible and incorruptible, is even he who is called the supreme abode; which men, having once obtained, they never more return to the earth: that is my mansion. That supreme being is to be obtained by him that worshipeth no other gods. In him is included all nature, by him all things are spread abroad."

We will give a few more extracts from

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