In outlying positions, where frequently everything is, so to speak, stagnant for weeks at a time, this messing arrangement goes a long way towards relieving the inevitable monotony and weariness of trench life and the strain on the nerves caused by the constant vigil. After lunch we went out for a stroll round the position, passing on our way an improvised bowling alley, where a crowd of soldiers off duty were interestedly watching a match in progress. Had it not been for the sand-bag breastworks around us and the incessant noise of the guns, it would have been hard to realise that we were in one of the most exposed positions on this Front, and were actually under fire the whole time. That one can get accustomed to anything was exemplified here, as the officers and men were quite unperturbed by what was to them merely a daily contingency. There was no heavy artillery on the Pal Grande when we were there; only a few machine guns, as the place was for the moment but an entrenched outpost, which had to be constantly on the alert against a surprise attack from the enemy’s lines below. I had a walk along the trenches where the men were firing through the loopholes as unconcernedly as though at a shooting competition instead of having human beings for their target. The Austrians were scarcely a hundred yards away in places, so it did not require to be an expert marksman to hit anything at that range; but it was not often that anything shewed itself above the parapets, either on the Austrian or the Italian side; still the men kept up a constant fusillade, for what reason I could not ascertain, except that perhaps it was to prove that no liberties were possible. Whilst in the trenches I was introduced to two important characters of the position. One, a white-haired old veteran well over sixty years of age, who was serving as a volunteer. A fearless, wiry old chap I was told, and who could hold his own even now with any individual Austrian if ever he had the opportunity. The other character was the pet of the position, a jolly little fox terrier that had, I was told, gone through all the fighting, and had now the run of the place and was looked upon as a mascot by the officers and men; in fact, there would be much perturbation if any harm came to it; curiously enough this was the only occasion that I saw a dog in the trenches. Gemona was a quaint little town, or rather big village, and the inhabitants were delighted to see us, and proved it by not overcharging in the least. When we arrived and reported at the Censorship, which was established in the Town Hall, we were given a list of houses where lodgings could be obtained, with the prices affixed. This was a capital idea, and worked out admirably; it saved a lot of time running about hunting for rooms, and as only those lodgings recommended by the Mayor were in the lists there was no risk of unpleasant surprises.