who are in the Golden West at the present time to observe them, they are apt to be lost irrevocably, or to remain only for perversion in the revival of memory and legend.

The Indian with his feathers and blankets, or the Indian at the chase, or the Indian pursued by the Westward movement of Caucasian immigration, and it may be said, some of the Northern tribes, as, for example, the Mendocino Indians, who figure in the work of Raschen and Grace Hudson, as OVERLAND readers know, have long since been a familiar figure of the canvas. But in the Indians of the arid Southwest Mr. Joullin has discovered something profounder and more inspiring. In brief, it is the Indian a priori, the Indian in the purity of his own race, the Indian in a blaze of color unknown to the North. Upon a series of canvases, begun in 1892, he has been endeavoring to portray the primitive and uncontaminated characteristics, both physical, artistic, and spiritual, of the passing people. His results thus far show that he has entered a fertile field. The excellence of his work has been recognized and honored by the admission of one of his best efforts to the New York National Academy.

Reproduced herewith are four of the Indian paintings. "La Poterie" is the most recent of these, having been completed so lately as in December, 1897. 66 On the Trail" was the first of the conceptions, and "The Passing of the Wampum" and "Gone" followed in the order named.

"La Poterie" is the Indian at his arts, an occupation which, in the obscuration caused by the importance of an Indian as a warrior, the general public mind has probably almost forgotten, but which at one time was a favorite pursuit, with all the associations natural to art. A slothful, indifferent manner of art, it may have been, to be sure, but it was an art nevertheless, proceeding from original and native principles, and Mr. Joullin's painting is in all likelihood the first formal recognition by the modern world of art of the fact that the art existed.

The Passing of the Wampum" finds another aspect of primitive Indian life.

It is only a small subject, a fragment of the entire biograph; but the wampum was a distinctive element of the red man's existence, akin in its own way to the impor tant racial possessions, the covenanted symbols, the penates, the arks, whatever you will, that have been transmitted with some degree of sacred veneration from family to family, tribe to tribe, or generation to generation.

"Gone," which is the painting that has been accepted by the New York National Academy, allows to the Indian the common grief of sorrow, prostration over the demise of those who are loved. The grief is crude and barbaric, but it is none the less full of thoughtful poetic suggestion. Under Mr. Joullin's sympathetic brush it is apt to provoke a deeper respect for the human attributes of the American aboriginal than the Anglo-Saxon is accustomed to cherish.

The first of the series, "On the Trail," is an unexaggerated portrait of the Indian at his chase, bereft of the heroic and the untruthful, and surrounded with the simplicity which those who are familiar with the Indian's life know to be its inseparable associate.

In a line so new and untried it is not to be expected that the full possibilities of the theme will be realized. Mr. Joullin professes modestly to nothing more than to have opened the way; and to the end that the future pursuit may be the clearer and the easier, he is devoting himself for the time being to the verities rather than to the purely imaginative and heroic conceptions. Yet the heroic is in his mind, and it is probable that he will yet attain to it. The drift of his intentions may be gathered from the fact that one of the subjects now maturing in his thoughts is that of the Indian as an arrowhead-maker. It is easy to conceive that such a theme may have much heroic spirit.

Mr. Joullin is one of the better known of California artists. Without the age and experience of Keith cr Robinson, he has wrested respectful and appreciative attention from the general and the critical public, and has established himself in a position whence much is expected of him. for the future. By far the greater portion

in advance. There were incidental happenings in youth which might have diverted him from an artistic career had not the inherited painter's preference been too strong. The father attempted to apprentice him to the printer's trade, and Amédée himself had a passing desire to make of himself a locomotive engineer. But the clash of purpose between father and son resulted in a compromise, by which Amédée took to the brush and the palette.

The annals of Lincoln Grammar School, of San Francisco, as they are kept in the memory of its attendants, show that Amédée Joullin was for a number of years the pupil chosen to inscribe "rolls of honor," calendars, and other exhibition figures, in colored chalks upon the school blackboards. The practice here begun, augmented and re-enforced by native gifts, strengthened until, at the time of the compromise with the father, Amédée was in a position to profit thoroughly by direct study of art.

It was after a year and a half of instruction in the San Francisco School of Design, and another year and a half of instruction under the very capable French master, Jules Tavernier, then an honored

artist on the Coast and president of the Palette Club, that Joullin's various efforts concentrated and ripened into a high sense of color. He narrates the story of the process somewhat as follows:

In the days with Tavernier one of the studies had been a metallic helmet. Day after day for three protracted and troublesome weeks Joullin labored at securing the proper luster, and day after day for the same period Tavernier passed before the easel and remarked,

"Putty!" "Pasteboard!" "Paper!" On another occasion a spearhead was to be done. Day after day for two of the same kind of troublesome weeks Joullin struggled for the true color. Tavernier merely passed by and remarked,

"Chalk!" "Chalk!"

Joullin lost his temper and his courage simultaneously on one of these days, threw down his palette and brushes, and left the studio.

Two days later he returned. The interim had been filled with thoughtsthoughts of the same responsible sort that most men have who conquer the turningpoint in their lives by mastering the obstacles which hinder their purposes. When Amédée again applied his brush to

"Good!"

Thereafter Joullin knew how to paint color. He had discovered while the putty like helmet and the chalky spearhead were swimming before his eyes during the two days of rebellion, and holding him in the dilemma between disgust and ambition, that the secret of truthful coloring is

'value' of the high light on the cup, which is whiter than anything, you have to tone down the napkin and cup to bring out the value of the high light on the cup."

With the knowledge of this fundamental principle of coloring distinctly in control, the remainder of Mr. Joullin's course of development was comparatively simple and direct. The lesson stayed faithfully

an understanding of what artists call "values."

However much the spearhead and the helmet might be dominated by one color or one tone, they were in reality composed of a number of colors or tones-were, in other words, iridescent.

"I began to put a little brown here, a little green there, a little red somewhere else, and so on," said he, " and soon I had the luster that made Tavernier say, "Good!""

To use Mr. Joullin's own simple illustration, which by this time is familiar to the scores of students who have been under his tuition in the San Francisco School of Design and the Mark Hopkins Institute of Art: "Place a white cup on a white

At Prayer

with him, and entirely on the strength of it he was enabled, within two years from the date of his first entrance into the School of Design, to dispose of his first painting, an "Indian Trophy," and to receive an order from its purchaser, Mr. Alexander G. Hawes, of San Francisco, for a similar study of a "Japanese Trophy."

After two years' study in Paris the privilege of which he earned by hiring himself out as a scene-painter in the noted old California Theater stock company, Mr. Joullin located himself for his subsequent career in San Francisco. The vicinity is exceptionally prolific in colors of all gradations, from the boldest to the most subdued. Mr. Joullin's first obser