.
Above the last-mentioned gallery is placed the identical copper ball
which for so many years occupied the summit of St. Paul's; and above it
is a fac-simile of the cross by which it was surmounted. Over these is
hung the small wooden cabin in which Mr. Hornor made his drawings for
the picture, in the same perilous situation it occupied during the
period of the repairs which some years ago were done to the cathedral. A
small flight of stairs leads from this spot to the open gallery which
surrounds the top of the Colosseum, commanding a view of the Regent's
Park and the subjacent country.

The communication with the galleries is by staircases of curious
construction, built on the outer side of the central column already
mentioned. This column is hollow, and within it a small circular chamber
is to be caused to ascend when freighted with company, by means of
machinery, with an imperceptible motion to the first gallery. The doors
of the chamber will then open, and by this novel means of being
elevated, visiters may avoid the fatigue of ascending by the stairs, and
then walk out into the gallery to enjoy the picture.

In extent and accuracy, the Panorama is one of the most surprising
achievements of art in this or any other country. The picture covers
upwards of 40,000 square feet, or nearly an acre of canvass; the dome of
the building on which the sky is painted, is thirty feet more in
diameter than the cupola of St. Paul's; and the circumference of the
horizon from the point of view, is nearly 130 miles. The painting is
almost completed; indeed, sufficiently so, for the general effect;
although this will be considerably increased by the insertion of the
remaining details, and the last or finishing touches. Much as the
spectator will be struck by the fidelity of the representation, there is
one claim it has to his admiration, which has only to be explained to be
universally acknowledged. It is simply this. Only let such of our
readers as have ascended the galleries of St. Paul's, think of the
fatigue they experienced in the toil, and comparatively speaking, the
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,