Dome, studded with three rows of globular eyelets, emulating the Coronets of the Tiara, and surmounted, at an elevation of four hundred and fifty feet, with a Lanthorn, Ball, and Cross.

The great Dome is accompanied by two lesser ones, which, though fifty feet diameter, and a hundred high, are scarcely noticed in the stupendous outline: for such is the charm of proportion, that the greatness of the parts, is lost in the immensity of the whole. It is only by comparison with objects of known dimensions, that you can form an idea of the unparalleled magnitude of the columns, the entablature, or the statues of the Frontispiece. You must actually enter the doors of the Portico, which you reckon diminutive, to convince yourself

Cc

yourself that they are forty feet high, and wide enough for entering and retir ing Crowds to intermingle upon their thresholds.

The Portico, an interior arcade, running the whole length of the front, and forming the foot of the prostrate cross, is fifty feet wide, and five hundred long, including the width of the two Corridors at the ends, in each of which appears an equestrian statue-on the right Constantine the Great, on the left Charlemagne-at distant periods the Champions of the Church.

A STRANGER, at his first visit to St. Peter's, cursorily glances over the mar

ble

ble columns, the brazen gates, and the stuccoed arches of this magnificent Vestibule-impatient to open upon the Middle Aisle, six hundred feet long, ninety wide, and a hundred and fifty high.— But at first sight of the Corinthian Arcade-glittering in white and gold, it does not strike the disappointed Visitor as very long, very wide, or very high (for neither length, breadth, nor height predominate in the proportions of this peerless Nave) and he doubts, for a moment, whether he at last beholds the largest, as well as the most beautiful Structure, that ever was erected by human hands.

He compares St. Peter's to the rival Edifices of London, Milan, or Constantinople, and scarcely suspects his error

till he approaches one of the Fonts, and perceives that the Cherubs which support them are chubby giants.-He looks up again at the resplendent vault, and discovers that he cannot distinctly perceive the variegated fret-work of the immense compartments.-He turns his eye across the marble pavement, and remarks that he can scarcely hear the distant footstep, that slowly advances, on the other side of the Nave.-He darts a glance of astonishment, toward the Golden Tribune, at the west end of the Temple; and, if the setting sun illumes the brazen Canopy, supported over the Altar of the Dome, by twisted columns, and irradiates the 'flaming glories that surround the Dove-descending on St. Peter's. Chair, as he approaches the bending radiance, it will seem to

fly

fly before him-like the rainbow of a passing shower!

He presses on, however, without stopping before the Chapels-shining with marble, and glowing with mosaic tints, to the opening of the Dome, a hundred and fifty feet diameter, and three hundred high-lighted by sixteen windows, and ribbed into lateral divisions, in whose broad circumference the twelve Apostles attend the Saviour, while above them-in contracting rows, Angels, and Cherubs, encircle the mysterious ring, through which is faintly seen-the forbidden Image of the Eternal Father.

Here he finds the altar, with its refulgent canopy, and the chair, supported by colossal Saints, still at a distance which

he