a sort of disinterested pleasure in them, than because he loves to see himself in the process of engineering them through:  for he has not a particle of ill-nature in him.  Though by no means a coward himself, he nevertheless enjoys the exposure of cowardice in others; yet this again is not so much because such exposure feeds his self-esteem, as because he delights in the game for its own sake, and for the nimble pastime it yields to his faculties:  that is, his impulses seem to rest in it as an ultimate object, or a part of what is to him the summum bonum of life.  And it is much the same with his addiction to vinous revelry, and to the moister kind of minstrelsy; an addiction that proceeds in part from his keen gust of fun, and the happiness he finds in making sport for others as well as for himself:  he will drink till the world turns round, but not unless others are at hand to enjoy the turning along with him.

* * * * *

Sir Andrew Aguecheek, the aspiring, lackadaisical, self-satisfied echo and sequel of Sir Toby, fitly serves the double purpose of a butt and a foil to the latter, at once drawing him out and setting him off.  Ludicrously proud of the most petty, childish irregularities, which, however, his natural fatuity keeps him from acting, and barely suffers him to affect, on this point he reminds us of that impressive imbecility, Abraham Slender; yet not in such sort as to encroach at all on Slender’s province.  There can scarcely be found a richer piece of diversion than Sir Toby’s practice in dandling Sir Andrew out of his money, and paying him off with the odd hope of gaining Olivia’s hand.  And the funniest of it is, that while Sir Toby understands him thoroughly he has not himself the slightest suspicion or inkling of what he is; he being as confident of his own wit as others are of his want of it.  Nor are we here touched with any revulsions of moral feeling, such as might disturb our enjoyment of their fellowship; on the contrary, we sympathize with Sir Toby’s sport, without any reluctances of virtue or conscience.  To our sense of the matter, he neither has nor ought to have any scruples or compunctions about the game he is hunting.  For, in truth, his dealing with Sir Andrew is all in the way of fair exchange.  He gives as much pleasure as he gets.  If he is cheating Sir Andrew out of his money, he is also cheating him into the proper felicity of his nature, and thus paying him with the equivalent best suited to his capacity.  It suffices that, in being stuffed with the preposterous delusion about Olivia, Sir Andrew is rendered supremely happy at the time; while he manifestly has not force enough to remember it with any twinges of shame or self-reproach.  And we feel that, while clawing his fatuous crotchets and playing out his absurdities, Sir Toby is really doing Sir Andrew no wrong, since the latter is then most himself, is in his happiest mood, and in the most natural freedom of his indigenous gifts and graces.  All which quite precludes any division of our sympathies, and just makes our comic enjoyment of their intercourse simply perfect.