inclination to decry perhaps too
strenuously the condition of the modern stage, it is fair to credit it
with a measure of amendment in regard both to rant and gag. Of late
years rant has certainly declined in public favour, and the
"robustious perriwig-pated fellow" tearing a passion to tatters, to
very rags, is a less familiar spectacle upon our boards than formerly;
albeit, this statement is obviously open to the reply that the system
of "o'er doing Termagant," and "out-Heroding Herod" has ceased to
prevail, inasmuch as the tragedies and vehement plays, which gave it
opportunity and excuse, have vanished from the existing dramatic
repertory. And gag, except perhaps in relation to certain
interpolations, which are founded upon enduring, if absurd, histrionic
traditions, acknowledges stricter limitations than it once did. A
gagging Polonius, Dogberry, Gobbo, or Gravedigger could scarcely
expect much toleration from a modern audience; while it is true
enough, that these famous personages do not often present themselves
upon the scene in these times. As a rule, the gag of the present
period is to be found mainly in those more frivolous and ephemeral
entertainments, which are not much to be damnified by any excesses
with which the comedians may be chargeable.

There is no gainsaying that in all times gag has been indulgently
considered, and even encouraged by the majority of the audience.
Establishing relations of a most intimate kind with his audience, the
comic actor obtains from them absolute licence of speech and conduct.
He becomes their "spoiled child," his excesses are promptly applauded,
and even his offences against good taste are speedily pardoned.

Of early gagging comedians, one of the most noted appears to have been
Will Pinkethman, who flourished under William and Mary, and won
honourable mention from Sir Richard Steele, in "The Tatler." Cibber
describes Pinkethman as an imitator of Leigh, an earlier actor of
superior and more legitimate powers. Pinkethman's inclination for
"gamesome liberties" and "uncommon pleasantries" was of a most
extravagant kind. Davies says of him that he "was in such full
possession of the galleries that he would hold discourse with them for
several minutes." Nor could he be induced to amend his method of
performance. It was in vain the managers threatened to fine him for
his exuberances; he was too surely a public favourite to be severely
treated. At one time he came to a "whimsic