Incidentally, it may be remarked, apropos of this drawing, that the London coster (whom he knows and loves) has provided some of his most admirable studies from life.  To that class belongs the sympathetic study which faces page 1 in the present volume.  The broad humours of Whitechapel could scarcely fail to appeal irresistibly to an artist of Reynolds’ peculiar temperament, and few men have depicted them with such relish or—­thanks to his rare gift of restraint—­with such fidelity and truth.

To a certain extent, Frank Reynolds has already recorded contemporary manners in England, and especially in London, in his well-known series of “Social Pests,” though it would perhaps be more correct to say that he has pilloried therein the more extravagant of our social freaks.  Probably the delighted recognition with which these ruthless analyses of character were hailed was due to the satisfaction which attends the exhibition of a proper object of satire meeting with its just deserts.

[Illustration:  THE WARRENER. Exhibited at the Royal Institute of Painters in Water Colours, 1907.]

No ridicule could be more serene, nor yet more biting, than that with which the artist touches off the desperate efforts to attract attention of the rowdy group of callow youths whom he names, with a flash of inspiration, “The Dare-Devils” (page 10).  Of “The Suburbanite,” to the writer’s mind perhaps the most subtly accurate character-study of all, the artist speaks in terms of apology.  It is hardly fair, he contends, to include in a gallery of pests the bulwark of the nation!

A particular aspect of London life which provides a rich fund of material for humorous treatment was dealt with by Frank Reynolds in his series of drawings entitled “The ‘Halls’ from the Stalls.”  As every frequenter of the variety theatre is aware, the programme at such places of entertainment is arranged on certain well-defined lines.  The music-hall performer may be divided into certain very distinct classes, each with its orthodox methods and mannerisms; and it was on the little peculiarities of these different branches of the profession that the artist seized with characteristic glee.

[Illustration]

How little his efforts, unfortunately, were taken in the spirit in which they were meant, may be gleaned from the annoyance expressed by one gentleman who considered himself, quite erroneously, to have been singled out for individual ridicule.  A certain drawing in the series depicts “The Equilibrist”—­an individual with an anxious eye, who is poised upon a slack wire above the head of an admiring assistant, balancing sundry cigar-boxes and wine-glasses on one toe, while supporting on his head a lighted lamp, and discoursing sweet music from a mandoline.  The publication of this skit drew from a wrathful professional an indignant letter, in which he declared that insomuch as he was the one and only exponent of the equilibristic art who could balance a lighted