I'll make this arm a pillow for thy head,
And as thou sighing ly'st, and swell'd with sorrow,
Creep to thy bosom, pour the balm of love
Into thy soul, and kiss thee to thy rest."

This is a true and beautiful picture of constancy of mind, under those
rude blasts of adversity, which too frequently nip the growth of
affection. The only alternative against a decay of passion on such
occasions, is a sufficient portion of virtue, strong and well-grounded
love, and constancy of mind as firm as the rock. In short, without
constancy, there can be neither love, friendship, nor virtue, in the
world.

J.P.

* * * * *


CAVE AT BLACKHEATH.

_(To the Editor of the Mirror.)_


Allow me to hand you an account of a very curious cavern at Blackheath,
fortuitously discovered in the year 1780, and which will form, I have no
doubt, a pleasing addition to the valued communication of your
correspondent _Halbert H_., in the 348th Number of the MIRROR, and prove
interesting to the greater portion of your numerous readers. It is
situated on the hill, (on the left hand side from London,) and is a very
spacious vaulted cavern, hewn through a solid chalk-stone rock, one