"THE Cruel Sister," is a very ancient and remarkable Scottish ballad, which Sir Walter Scott reproduces with great praise, in his minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. It appears in other collections under the title of Binnorie. There can be but little doubt that it had its occasion in an actual occurrence. It is very beautiful and touching, and the incident of the harp "playing alone," although belonging to things impossible, is related so simply as to seem perfectly natural and true. Not so the means by which the harp is obtained. The illustration is exceedingly spirited and apt. The ballad is as follows:

"There were two sisters sat in a bour;
Binnorie, Oh Binnorie;

There came a knight to be their wooer;
By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie.
He courted the eldest with glove and ring,
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a' thing;

He courted the eldest with broach and knife,
But he lo'ed the youngest abune his life;

The eldest she was vexed sair,

And sore envied her sister fair;

The eldest said to the youngest ane,

Will ye go and see our father's ships come in?'

She's ta'en her by the lily hand,
And led her down to the river strand;

The youngest stude upon a stane,
The eldest came and push'd her in;

She took her by the middle sma',
And dash'd her bonny back to the jaw;
Oh sister, sister, reach your hand,
And ye shall be heir of half my land.'-

'Oh sister, I'll not reach my hand,
And I'll be heir of all your land;

Shame fa' the hand that I should take,
It's twin'd me, and my world's make.'-

Oh sister, reach me but your glove, And sweet William shall be your love.'

'Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove! And sweet William shall better be my love;

'Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair, Garr'd me gang maiden evermair.'

Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam Until she cam to the miller's dam;

'Oh father, father, draw your dam,

There's either a mermaid or a milk-white swan.'

The miller hasted and drew his dam, And there he found a drown'd woman;

You could not see her yellow hair,

For gowd and pearls that were so rare;

You could not see her middle sma',
Her gowden girdle was sae bra';

A famous harper passing by,
The sweet pale face he chanced to spy;

And when he look'd that lady on,
He sigh'd and made a heavy moan;

He made a harp of her breast-bone,
Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone:

The strings he fram'd of her yellow hair,
Whose notes made sad the list'ning ear;

He brought it to her father's hall,
And there was the court assembled all;

He laid his harp upon a stone,
And straight it began to play alone;

'Oh, yonder sits my father, the king;
And yonder sits my mother, the queen;

And yonder stands my brother Hugh, And by him my William, sweet and true.'

But the last tune that the harp play'd then,
Binnorie, Oh Binnorie;

Was-Woe to my sister, false Helen!"
By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie."

simplicity which the practice of fortune-telling presupposes and requires, are happily depicted by our artist in this impressive plate. Viewed aright, there is a striking moral in the scene, which addresses itself as obviously to the heart as to the eye. The passion which craves an insight into the future, the perversion and abuse of which gives to fortune-telling its aliment, is a

only a proper direction to kindle the purest aspirations. Yet perverted by ignorance, it can enfeeble the soul to the most unworthy superstition. The lesson of the engraving is that best principles of our nature become, when perverted, the worst, and that superstition partakes no less of folly than of sin.