This is an extraordinary revelation of the heart of an Italian soldier. It is the last letter to his mother written by a young poet who fell on the Isonzo leading a platoon in battle. Father Pasquale Maltese, pastor of the church of St. Anthony, New York, translates it for The Parish Monthly as an "inspiration to the youth of every land."

I—"TO DIE A BEAUTIFUL AND GLORIOUS DEATH"

Mother:

This letter, which you will receive only in case that I should fall in this battle, I am writing in an advanced trench, where I have been since last night, with my soldiers, in expectation of the order to cross the river and move to the attack.

I am calm, perfectly serene, and firmly resolved to do my duty in full and to the last, like a brave and good soldier, confident to the utmost of our final unfailing victory; although I am not equally sure that I will live to see it. But this uncertainty does not trouble me in the least, nor has it any terror for me. I am happy in offering my life to my country; I am proud to spend it for so noble a purpose, and I know not how to thank Divine Providence for the opportunity—which I deem an honor—afforded me, on this fulgent autumnal day, in the midst of this enchanting valley of our Julian Venetia, while I am in the prime of life, in the fulness of my physical and mental powers, to fight in this holy war for liberty and justice. All is propitious to me, all is favorable to die a beautiful and glorious death; the weather, the place, the season, the opportunity, the age. A better end could not have crowned my life, and I feel the pleasure to have made a good and generous use of it. Do not grieve over my death, mother, or else you will offend my good fortune. Do not weep, mother, for it was written in Heaven that I should die. Do not mourn, mother, or else you would regret my happiness. I am not to be mourned but envied.

You know the ineffable hopes that give me comfort because they are the very same hopes in which you also have placed all that is dear to you. When you read these words of mine, I will be free, unfettered and in a safe place, far from the miseries of this world. My struggle will be finished and I shall be peaceful; my daily death shall have come to an end, and I shall have reached the place on high, to the life without end. I shall be face to face with the Judge whom I have greatly feared, to the Lord whom I have greatly loved.

Think of it, mother dear, when you read these words. I shall view you from heaven, side by side with our dear ones, with father, with my dear Laura, with Dino, our Guardian Angel. We shall be in the regions above, all united to celebrate your arrival, to watch over you and over Gino, to prepare for you, with our prayers, the place of your everlasting glory. Should not this thought alone be sufficient to dry your tears and to fill you with unspeakable joy?

II—"WEEP NOT, MY DEAR MOTHER"

No, no, weep not, my dear and saintly mother, and be brave, as you have always been. Should the pleasure of having offered to our adored Italy, this glorious land, this land predestined by God, should the pleasure of having offered the sacrifice of the life of one of your sons, be not sufficient for you, remember, nevertheless, that you must not rebel, not even for one instant, to the divinely wise and divinely loving decrees of our Lord. If He wanted to reserve me for other work, He could have permitted me to survive. Since He has called me to Himself, it is a sign that such was the best thing that could have happened and the best thing for me. He knows what He is doing, and it remains for us to bow and to adore, accepting with trustful joy His most Exalted Will.

I do not bemoan life. I have tasted of all its insane infatuations and have withdrawn with an insurmountable weariness and disgust.