We detach this little descriptive gem from Sir Walter Scott's "Anne of
Geierstein," just published. An outline of this very delightful novel
will be found in a SUPPLEMENT with the present number of the MIRROR.
"The ancient tower of Geierstein, though neither extensive, nor
distinguished by architectural ornament, possessed an air of terrible
dignity by its position on the very verge of the opposite bank of the
torrent, which, just at the angle of the rock on which the ruins are
situated, falls sheer over a cascade of nearly a hundred feet in
height, and then rushes down the defile, through a trough of living
rock, which perhaps its waves have been deepening since time itself
had a commencement. Facing, and at the same time looking down upon
this eternal roar of waters, stood the old tower, built so close to
the verge of the precipice, that the buttresses with which the
architect had strengthened the foundation, seemed a part of the solid
rock itself, and a continuation of its perpendicular ascent. As usual,
throughout Europe in the feudal times, the principal part of the
building was a massive square pile, the decayed summit of which was
rendered picturesque, by flanking turrets of different sizes and
heights, some round, some angular, some ruinous, some tolerably
entire, varying the outline of the building as seen against the stormy
sky."
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