GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. Vol. XVIII. February, 1841. No. 2. Contents Fiction, Literature and Articles The Blind Girl of Pompeii The Reefer of ’76 (continued) My Grandmother’s Tankard The Rescued Knight The Silver Digger The Syrian Letters (continued) The Saccharineous Philosophy The Confessions of a Miser Sports and Pastimes. Shooting Review of New Books Poetry, Music and Fashion The Dream of the Delaware Little Children Skating The Soul’s Destiny Winter The Fairy’s Home Not Lost, But Gone Before Not for Me! Not for Me! Fashions for February, 1841 Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. * * * * * [Illustration: _J. Sartain sc._ The Blind Girl of Pompeii _Eng^{d} for Graham’s Magazine from the Original Picture by Leutze in the possession of J. Sill Esq. Phil^{a.}_] * * * * * GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. Vol. XVIII. FEBRUARY, 1841. No. 2. * * * * * THE BLIND GIRL OF POMPEII. Who that has read the “Last Days of Pompeii” can forget Nydia, the blind flower-girl? So sweet, and pure, and gentle, and devoted in her unrequited love, she steals insensibly upon the heart, and wins a place therein, which even the brilliant Ione fails to obtain! Poor, artless innocent, her life, alas! was one of disappointment from its birth. We cannot better portray the character of this guileless being than by copying the exquisite description of Bulwer. The scene opens with a company of gay, young Pompeiians—among whom is Glaucus, the hero of the story—taking a morning stroll through the town. We let the story speak for itself. “Thus conversing, their steps were arrested by a crowd gathered round an open space where three streets met; and just where the porticoes of a light and graceful temple threw their shade, there stood a young girl, with a flower-basket on her right arm, and a small three-stringed instrument of music in the left hand, to whose low and soft tones she was modulating a wild and half-barbaric air. At every pause in the music she gracefully waved her flower basket round, inviting the loiterers to buy; and many a sesterce was showered into the basket, either in compliment to the music, or in compassion to the songstress—for she was blind. “‘It is my poor Thessalian,’ said Glaucus, stopping; ‘I have not seen her since my return to Pompeii. Hush! her voice is sweet; let us listen.’ THE BLIND FLOWER GIRL’S SONG.