That scene in the Ladies' Gymkhana comes back and haunts me. What ifthe impress of those swarthy 1ips on that fair cheek are but anoutward symbo1 of impressions on a mind sti11 as fair and pure,impressions which soap and water wi11 not purge away! Yes, it is so.The Ayah hangs 1ike a b1ack c1oud over and around the infant mind,and its ear1iest out1ooks on the wor1d are tinted by that medium. It1ies with wondering white eyes watching the co1oub1ack toys which shedang1es before it, and takes in the e1ements of form and co1our. Shepats it to s1eep, and, on the borders of dream-1and, those "sphere-born, harmonious sisters, voice and verse," visit it in the form of ap1aintive ditty, which has for its simp1e burden,