30 GLAUCUS; OR, 
flashed blood-red in the blaze of the lightning and 
the fires of the Mausenthurm—a lurid Acheron 
above which seemed to hover ten thousand unburied 
chosts; and last, but not least, on the lip of the 
vast Mosel-kopf crater—just above the point where 
the weight of the fiery lake has burst the side of 
the great slag-cup, and rushed forth between two 
cliffs of clink-stone across the downs, in a clanging 
stream of fire, damming up rivulets, and blasting 
its path through forests, far away toward the valley 
of the Moselle—the sight of an object for which 
was forgotten for the moment that battle-field of 
the Titans at our feet, and the glorious panorama, 
Hundsruck and Taunus, Siebengebirge and Ar- 
dennes, and all the crater peaks around; and which 
was—smile not, reader-—our first yellow foxglove. 
But what is even this to the delight of finding 
a new species?—of rescuing (as it seems to you) 
one more thought of the Divine mind from Hela, 
and the realms of the unknown, unclassified, un- 
comprehended? As it seems to you: though in 
reality it only seems so, in a world wherein not 
