It is precisely those commonplace "funny
things," whether they be persons, scenes, incidents, conversations,
or casual remarks, that happen under our very noses, which he excels
in depicting; and it is precisely the commonplace familiarity of
them that invests them with their peculiar flavour and charm.

[Illustration: THE INTRODUCTION.
_Time Sketch: London Sketch Club._]

Of the fine qualities of Frank Reynolds' technique the reader can
judge for himself from the varied specimens of the artist's work
which are reproduced in the present volume. His pencil drawings
represent, perhaps, his more familiar style, one reason of the
association of his name with this medium in the public mind being
the comparative rarity of its use for the purposes of reproduction.
Certainly it will be conceded that pencil, soft and amenable, with
its opportunities for delicate manipulation, is admirably adapted to
the interpretation of those refined shades of meaning and expression
which constitute the characteristic charm of Reynolds' drawings,
and of his masterly handling of it there can be no two opinions.

[Illustration]

His early drawings for publication were in line, and it was not
until his work in the illustrated press had appeared for some time
that he began to substitute pencil for pen-and-ink. His first
experiments in pencil were made at the Friday evening meetings of
the London Sketch Club, and it was at the suggestion of a fellow
member of that cheery coterie, his friend John Hassall, that he
adopted the softer medium for the purposes of reproduction.

The excellence of his pencil drawings notwithstanding, it is in
pen-and-ink that Frank Reynolds appears to me to be at his best.
There is a quality about his work in this medium which gives it
a peculiar distinction. Always instinct with the most subtle and
delicate feeling, there are occasions when his expressive line
does more than satisfy. It arrests: revealing in its simple
transcription of pose or expression a significance which had previously
escaped our shallow observation, but of which the truth is forced
upon us. By comparison, one feels that, despite the fine finish
of his pencil work, in the latter medium he loses, to a certain
extent, the opportunities for that incisive sureness--so suited
to his own unerring vision--which pure line affords him. Consider
the drawing (on page 32) of the girl singing in a Paris _cafe_.
There is no dependence on aught extraneous for