The roof of the Chapel is divided into nine groined arches, supported by six octangular pillars in two rows, having small circular columns at the four points. At the back of the altar-screen of the church[4] are some tracery compartments, probably, according to Mr. Bray, once affording through them a view of this chapel. In the east end, on the north side, are three lancet-shaped windows, forming one great window, divided by slender pillars, and having mouldings, with zig-zag ornaments. The tracery windows on the south side are masoned up, but much of the original tracery remains. At the north-east corner are remains of sharp-pointed arches; here also is an enclosure with table, desk, and elevated seat. This part is, properly speaking, the Bishop's Court; but this name is common to the whole chapel, in which the Bishop of Winchester holds his Court; and in which are held the visitations for the Deanery of Southwark. The annexed view was taken from the north-west entrance, and shows the character of the groined roof, the supporting pillars, and the entrance to the Bishop's Chapel adjoining, by an ascent of two steps; this Chapel being named from the Tomb of Bishop Andrews, formerly standing in the centre of it. We recommend the reader to a clever paper in the _Gentleman's Megazine_ for the present month, in which the writer proves that Our Lady's Chapel, so far from being an excrescence, as has been idly stated, "bears the same relation to the church an the head does to the body." [1] Stow--These have lately been re-opened.--ED. M. [2] Parish Books. [3] Hist. and Antiq. Paroch. Church, St. Saviour, Southwark, 4to. 1818. [4] This Screen is about to be partially restored at an expense of about £800. now in course of subscription among the more respectable and intelligent parishioners. * * * * * NIGHT-MARE. (_For the Mirror_.) Sleeping in night-mare's thunderstorm-wove lap, On sunless mountain high above the pole; With ice for sheets, and lightning for a cap, And tons of loadstones weighing on his soul; And eye out-stretched upon some vasty map Of uncouth worlds, which ever onward roll To infinite--like Revelation's scroll. Now falling headlong from his mountain bed Down sulph'rous space, o'er dismal lakes; Now held by hand of air--on wings of lead He tries to rise--gasping--the hands' hold breaks, And downward he reels through shadows of the dead, Who cannot die though stalking in hell's flakes, Falling, he catches his heart-string on some hook, and--wakes. E.H.[1] [1] Where did the Sportsman's Letters come from?--ED. * * * * * LACONICS. There is nothing to be said in favour of fashion, and yet how many are contented implicitly to obey its commands: its rules are not even dictated by the standard of taste, for it is constantly running into extremes and condemns one day what it approves the next.