ncern of the former at his failure is proportionately more marked
than that of the latter at _his_. And the general _rapport_ between
one of the two ill-assorted pairs is much closer than that of
the other. It is, indeed, the tantalizing approach to a mutual
understanding which gives so much more subtle a zest to the humour
of the relations between the two brothers Shandy than to that which
arises out of the relations between the philosopher and his wife.
The broad comedy of the dialogues between Mr. and Mrs. Shandy is
irresistible in its way: but it _is_ broad comedy. The philosopher
knows that his wife does not comprehend him: she knows that she never
will; and neither of them much cares. The husband snubs her openly
for her mental defects, and she with perfect placidity accepts his
rebukes. "Master," as he once complains, "of one of the finest chains
of reasoning in the world, he is unable for the soul of him to get a
single link of it into the head of his wife;" but we never hear him
lamenting in this serio-comic fashion over his brother's inability to
follow his processes of reasoning. That is too serious a matter with
both of them; their mutual desire to share each other's ideas and
tastes is too strong; and each time that the philosopher shows his
impatience with the soldier's fortification-hobby, or the soldier
breaks his honest shins over one of the philosopher's crotchets, the
regret and remorse on either side is equally acute and sincere. It
must be admitted, however, that Captain Shandy is the one who the more
frequently subjects himself to pangs of this sort, and who is the more
innocent sufferer of the two.

From the broad and deep humour of this central conception of contrast
flow as from a head-water innumerable rills of comedy through many and
many a page of dialogue; but not, of course, from this source alone.
Uncle Toby is ever delightful, even when his brother is not near him
as his foil; the faithful Corporal brings out another side of his
character, upon which we linger with equal pleasure of contemplation;
the allurements of the Widow Wadman reveal him to us in yet
another--but always in a captivating aspect. There is, too, one need
hardly say, an abundance of humour, of a high, though not the highest,
order in the minor characters of the story--in Mrs. Shandy, in the
fascinating widow, and even, under the coarse lines of the physical
caricature, in the keen little Catholic, Slop himself. But it i