_Daily Mirror._ A typically Irish appointment. * * * * * "Masses of spectators crowded the pavements, filled windows, and occupied every inch of space, even to getting astride the Lions in Trafalgar-square, all of whom cheered themselves hoarse and flung flowers to the stalwart, hard-set Anzacs as they swung past." _Daily Paper._ This is not the only time the Anzacs have roused the British Lion to enthusiasm. * * * * * A TERRITORIAL IN INDIA. XIII. MY DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Since landing in India about 200 years ago we have had many novel and remarkable experiences, but I think in my case none has been more strange and disconcerting than my transformation into a civilian or a _dufter wallah_ (as we who sit at desks are contemptuously termed by the fighting men). Table manners are a great trial to me in my new employ. In barracks, if you want bread, you merely shout in the queer jargon of the British soldier in India, "_Hao_ up the _roti_ there!" You then duck quickly, brush the crumbs out of your hair and get on with the meal. As a civilian I have to count ten, take myself firmly in hand, prepare a courteous little speech and deliver it with care and precision, trying hard to avoid glancing over my shoulder to see if a lump is likely to catch me under the ear. And every night, though it is now over two months since I left the regiment, I carefully feel the legs of my bedstead before retiring to rest. For in barrack life, when you lie down unsuspectingly on a bed which has been "set," it instantly collapses into a shapeless mass of wreckage and shoots you out violently on the floor. In the office itself my new life is full of difficulties. Soon after my arrival I thoughtlessly celebrated the completion of a rather troublesome task by bursting into song, as we always did in barracks. Shortly afterwards I received a frigidly polite message from my superior officer, saying, if I had any complaint to make, would I be so good as to put it into writing and to refrain from any vocal advertisement of my grievances. But even office life has its compensations. There are moments of pure delight, such as that in which I discovered "_Cemeteries_" classified under the general heading of "_Accommodation for Troops_." And the Babu is always with us to make our days joyful. Babu English is perhaps rather _vieux jeu_ at this time of day; nevertheless it is a privilege to read on the spot a supplication for permission to "prostitute myself daily to your holy feet this time without fail whereby to beseech to Heaven to send to your Honour many posthumous olive branches"; or a request that "your Highness will not cause to _nip in the Bud_ my unworthy yet fragrant hopes by the December _cold snap_ of your august displeasure."