Most of my classmates have undergone the same change. Their faces have
grown older, or sadder, as Leopardi would have us say; but with the
faces the souls have grown graver also. I have spoken of certain
changes in my friends that saddened me; but there are others which make
me glad. Now and then it has happened to me to come across some of the
most careless, happy-go-lucky of my classmates, and to be filled with
wonder when I hear them speak of their country, of their work, of the
duties to be performed, of the future to be prepared for. Owing,
perhaps, to the many and great events of these last years, their
characters have been suddenly and completely transformed. Some ruling
motive--ambition, family cares, or the mere instinctive love of
study--has gathered together and focused their vague thoughts and
scattered powers; has brought about the habit of reflection, and turned
their thoughts towards the great problem of life; has given to all a
purpose, and a path to travel, and left them no time to mourn the
vanished past. We have all entered upon our second youth, with some
disillusionments, with a little experience, and with the conviction
that happiness--what little of it is given to us on earth--is not
obtained by struggling, storming, and clamoring to heaven and earth WE
MUST HAVE IT!--but is slowly distilled from the inmost depths of the
soul by the long persistence of quiet toil. Humble hopes have succeeded
to our splendid visions; steady resolves, to our grand designs; and the
dazzling vision of war, the goddess promising glory and delirium, has
been replaced by the image of Italy, our mother, who promises only--and
it is enough--the lofty consolation of having loved and served her.