little gratification they experienced on their arrival at the summit. In
short, what had they for their pains but the distinct roofs of the
houses in the immediate vicinity, while the rest of the city was half
lost in fog and the smoke of "groves of chimneys." The only period at
which London _can be seen_, is at sun-rise on a fine summer
morning--such a morning, for instance, as that of the last Coronation.
This too must be before the many thousand fires are lighted--exactly the
period at which it is impossible to gain admittance to the cathedral. In
the Panorama of the Colosseum, therefore, alone it is that we can see
the "mighty heart," the town we inhabit; and for this grand scene we are
indebted to the indefatigable genius of Mr. Hornor.[2]

The magnificent effect of the Panorama, however, baffles all description
of our pen. Indeed, the scene gives rise to so many inspiring
associations in an enthusiastic mind, that few Englishmen, and still
fewer Londoners, are equal to the detail of its description. Every inch
of the vast circumference abounds with subject for reflection. The
streets filled with passengers and vehicles--the grandeur of the public
buildings, churches, and palatial structures--the majestic river winding
grandly along, with the shipping, vessels, and gay trim of civic barges
gliding on its surface, its banks studded with splendid hospitals,
docks, and antique towers--and its stream crossed with magnificent
bridges--till it stretches away beyond the busy haunts of industry, to
the rural beauties of Richmond, and the castellated splendour of
Windsor. Of course, the river is the most attractive object in the
painting; but overlooking the merits of the town itself, and the world
of streets and buildings--the representation of the environs is
delightfully picturesque, and the distances are admirably executed;
while the whole forms an assemblage of grandeur, unparalleled in art, as
the reality is in the history of mankind.