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.

The grand and distinguishing merit of the Panorama at the Colosseum is,
however, of a higher order than we have yet pointed out to the reader.
It has the _unusual_ interest of picturesque effect with the most
scrupulous accuracy; and, in illustration of the latter excellence, so
plain are the principal streets in the view, that thousands of visitors
will be able to identify their own dwellings. We have termed this an
unusual effect, because we are accustomed to view panoramas as fine
productions of art, with fascinating and novel contrasts, and altogether
as beautiful pictures; but pleasing as may be their effect on the
spectator, it must fall very short of the intense interest created by
the topographical or map-like accuracy of Mr. Hornor's picture, which is
correct even to the most minute point of detail. Thousands of spectators
will theref