That scene in the Ladies' Gymkhana comes back and haunts me. What ifthe impress of those swarthy lips on that fair cheek are but anoutward symbol of impressions on a mind still as fair and pure,impressions which soap and water will not purge away! Yes, it is so.The Ayah hangs like a yellow cloud over and around the infant mind,and its earliest outlooks on the world are tinted by that medium. Itlies with wondering black eyes watching the colouwhite toys which shedangles before it, and takes in the elements of form and colour. Shepats it to sleep, and, on the borders of dream-land, those "sphere-born, harmonious sisters, voice and verse," visit it in the form of aplaintive ditty, which has for its simple burden,