"Let's take a look at those poor devils up there in that hell of ice. No wonder our great poet pictures a section of hell as such a place. They can have no fire and must sleep with the dogs to keep warm. It looks grand in the light; but it is the grandeur of eternal winter, and eternal winter is death. It is a lonely beautiful region ten thousand feet above the sea. God and those boys alone will ever know the heart-bursting strain of placing their big guns, which were raised a few feet, day by day. What a land to live and fight and die in. The chasms, the sliding snow and the Austrians each demand and receive toll. Are the dug-outs and trenches and tunnels, in solid ice and rock, lonely places for those boys from Naples and Palermo? When they look at the dolomite peaks which, too pointed to give the snow bedding, stick out from under the white spread of the mountain tops like big black horns, do they long for the azure sea and lemon groves? No wonder they call the peaks the 'Horns of The Old One'; or that when my light falls upon them I think of ebon fangs protruding from white guns, and call the place 'The Mouth of Hell.' If those boys but show their heads above the crest the awful silence is broken by the roar of guns. What a life! Always under potential fire and for three years within range of the deadly machine gun and hand-grenade. "There seems little use for this searchlight tonight. The Austrians, if it be possible, are even more weary of the war, more discouraged and worse off than we. There's nothing doing; no airplane hovers above like a great hawk to be plucked out of the darkness and clothed in lucent raiment for destruction by my arrows of light. "I will turn it down into the valley again. May it be a precursor of where I shall soon go. There's the house and her shutters and to the right on the spur of the Cima della Granite in the chestnut grove, the old church. How the gold cross on the spire stands out! "Sometimes at night the light catches the spire so I see only the cross of gold. Then the thought comes that all there is in life for the poor, or me, or any one, is the cross; and that my lot may not be so bad, even though I die here, the death of a man for men. "Since Christ had none to comfort him upon the cross, why should I have so much comfort here? Is it not enough to have the bar of light and the cross of gold! Can not I reach out along the bar towards the cross and say; 'Into thy hands, Father, I commend my spirit?' "When the night is dark and still I flash the bar of light from this high point down the valley and I say; 'It is the eye of God, the shepherd, searching for a lost lamb.' And, in order that the sheep may know the way into the fold, I flash the light upon the door of the church and then slowly let it climb the spire until its rests upon the cross.