These studies, for a purpose of necessity transient, destined to be transmitted to paper and pasted along street walls by a bill-poster’s brush, constructed to catch the crowd’s attention in order that their mission should be fulfilled--are neither vulgar nor sensational. Vigorous, strong, they are worthy the word Steinlen applies to his other work--“_Serious_.” They are done with his characteristic splendid stroke. Their colouring is brilliant, crude and boldly frank the drawing. Steinlen’s stroke is celebrated: eminently fearless, rapid, trenchant. It has been cleverly said that in each of his creations the _trait marquant_ is so deeply emphasised, the one idea is so imposed, that it is as though when his work were done he drew below it one dark black line. In his studio may be seen a wall-decoration destined rather for a _café_ than for a poster--a study of the streets, a bit of the passing crowd, taken out, as it were, and held before us. Steinlen has renounced this branch of popular decoration. His posters are already rare, and are becoming yearly more valuable. Steinlen has done an immense amount of illustrating. Many volumes of François Coppée, Anatole France, and Guy de Maupassant are made doubly attractive by his collaboration. He has illustrated the songs of Bruant and Jouy, of Montmartre and student fame. Among some of the publications valuable chiefly because Steinlen has collaborated with the writers may be mentioned “Chanson d’Aïeules” (Tellier, Paris); “Chanson des Cabots” (Guetville); and “Chanson Rouge” (Boukay). These illustrations number, amongst other subjects, “The Chief of the Claque,” “The Cabotins of Paris,” [Illustration: WORK-GIRLS] “The Souffleurs of the Theatre,” “The Director of the Theatre Himself.” Each little picture is gay, familiar, intelligent, finely conceived and finely drawn. For a song dedicated to Alphonse Daudet he has a strong study of symbolic misery: a nude creature kneeling in the middle of a deserted street, arms out-spread ready to clutch her prey, who is the passer-by. In the same book we have “The Knifegrinder,” “The Needlewoman,” “The Wine-seller.” Paris seems to have given up her hetacomb of human souls and human bodies for his observation and portrayal. In the drawing for a book of Coppée’s is “The _Gamin_ of Paris,” a little half elf creature, half human child. This ghoul, seated on a mass of refuse, is red-eyed and horrible in his misery. He typifies Belleville, the Whitechapel of Paris. He is the accrued poverty, squalor, and criminal tendencies of generations combined with the frailty of childhood, the slenderness of youth. The subject is powerful, the workmanship excellent.