The hermit smiled--he stroked his chin-- Then quaintly answered he, "There's something very singular Connected with that tree! Once on a time, when bark was dear, The boughs I thought to peel, But that same hurricane arose And tossed me head o'er heel. I think the oak will last my time-- But hark! I hear the bell!" With his left hand he crossed himself, Then slid into his cell. But what the herd of porkers were, He never told to me; Nor who might be the MANNIKIN Was sawing at the TREE. FESTUS.[5] [5] _Festus, a Poem._ By PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. Third Edition: with Additions. Those who are acquainted with the Faust of Goethe (and who is not?) cannot fail to have observed the influence which it has exercised over several of our contemporary poets. We do not infer that those poets have exhibited any signs of slavish imitation, or that any other than an honourable influence has been exerted over their minds. Before them also nature and thought lay open; they too have had their philosophy--their own mode of solving, or stating, the problems of human life; and of the great German himself, as perhaps of all men of genius, it can only be said that he felt more strongly, and reflected more vividly than others, the common spirit of his age--the spirit of bold inquiry, of discontent, of aspiration, and of doubt. We would merely infer that, in their writings, there is much, either in the tone and temper, or the structure of the composition, which irresistibly reminds us of the master-piece of Goethe.