Rousseau's antagonist and mental antipodes, Voltaire, is of this
order. The pert, the malignant, the arrogant, the lampooning author
in his youth and manhood, has become in his old age the mild, the
benevolent, and the venerable philosopher. Nothing is more absurd
than to receive the characters of great men so implicitly upon the
word of a biographer; and nothing can be less surprising than our
eternal disputes upon individuals: for no man throughout life is the
same being, and each season of our existence contradicts the
characteristics of the last.

And now in my solitude and my old age, a new spirit entered within me:
the game in which I had engaged so vehemently was over for me; and I
joined to my experience as a player my coolness as a spectator; I no
longer struggled with my species, and I began insensibly to love them.
I established schools and founded charities; and, in secret but active
services to mankind, I employed my exertions and lavished my desires.

From this amendment I date the peace of mind and elasticity which I
now enjoy; and in my later years the happiness which I pursued in my
youth and maturity so hotly, yet so ineffectually, has flown
unsolicited to my breast.

About five years ago I came again to England, with the intention of
breathing my last in the country which gave me birth. I retired to my
family home; I endeavoured to divert myself in agricultural
improvements, and my rental was consumed in speculation. This did not
please me long: I sought society,--society in Yorkshire! You may
imagine the result: I was out of my element; the mere distance from
the metropolis, from all genial companionship, sickened me with a
vague feeling of desertion and solitude; for the first time in my life